“No, sweetheart.”
She pointed toward Damian.
He needs help.
“The doctor is helping him.”
Lila shook her head violently. Tears filled her eyes.
Wrong medicine.
I froze.
“What?”
She pointed to the syringe Dr. Petrov had taken from the case.
Wrong.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Dr. Petrov turned sharply.
“What are you doing?”
“My daughter says the medicine is wrong.”
“This is not the time—”
Damian’s hand shot out and caught the doctor’s wrist.
Even weakened, his grip was fierce.
“Put it down.”
Dr. Petrov stared at him.
“Sir, your heart—”
“Put it down.”
The doctor lowered the syringe.
One of the guards returned with another emergency case. Dr. Petrov opened it, removed a sealed ampoule, and prepared a fresh injection. Within moments of receiving it, Damian’s convulsions eased. His heartbeat remained erratic, but the terrifying alarm slowed.
Everyone looked at the first syringe.
Dr. Petrov’s face had gone pale.
“I filled that from the medication tray this morning.”
Damian turned his head toward Lila.
“How did she know?”
I signed the question.
Lila touched her nose, then pointed toward the syringe.
Bad smell.
“She smelled something,” I said.
The doctor picked up the syringe carefully and examined it.
“Aconite can have a faint bitter, earthy odor in concentrated mixtures. Most adults wouldn’t notice it over the antiseptic.”
Lila had always possessed an unusual sense of smell. Doctors once explained that because her hearing loss was profound, she relied more heavily on sight, vibration, and scent. She noticed smoke before alarms sounded. She could identify my perfume from across a crowded room. She once refused a carton of milk hours before I discovered it had spoiled.
But this was different.
She had just stopped Damian from being poisoned again.
Damian looked toward the hallway.
“Who prepared the tray?”
No one answered.
Viktor returned moments later carrying a clipboard.
“The night nurse signed the medication record.”
“Where is she?”
“She left at six this morning.”
Damian’s gaze darkened.
“You said the gates were sealed.”
“They are now.”
“Find her.”
Viktor hesitated.
“There is a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The address she gave the agency does not exist.”
Silence spread through the room.
Damian closed his eyes.
Every nurse who had entered his room had left trembling.
Every nurse except the one who had nearly killed him.
“She was not sent by an agency,” Damian murmured.
Dr. Petrov looked horrified.
“Then who hired her?”
Damian’s eyes opened.
“That is what we are going to discover.”
For the rest of the morning, Grayhaven House transformed from a mansion into a fortress.
The iron gates were chained. Armed guards searched the gardens, garages, kitchens, and servants’ quarters. Every phone was taken. Staff members were questioned one by one in the west salon beneath a portrait of Damian’s father.
No one was permitted to speak privately.
No one was permitted to leave.
Lila and I remained in Damian’s room.
He refused to let her out of sight.
At first, I believed it was suspicion. Then I noticed the way his eyes followed her. She sat on the carpet near the fireplace, arranging wooden chess pieces in careful rows. Damian watched her with an expression I could not name.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You look at her as though you know her,” I said.
Damian did not answer immediately.
“Who was her father?”
The question struck me harder than it should have.
“His name was Noah Bennett.”
“What did he do?”
“He repaired electrical systems.”
“In Baltimore?”
“Wherever the work took him.”
Damian’s gaze sharpened.
“When did he die?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
I looked toward Lila.
“A warehouse fire.”
Damian’s face became unreadable.
“Which warehouse?”
“Near the harbor. The police said faulty wiring caused the fire.”
He looked away.
The movement was small, but I saw it.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You do.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“I know many warehouses near the harbor.”
“Then why did you react to that one?”
He stared at the rain sliding down the windows.
“Because three years ago, one of my warehouses burned.”
My skin prickled.
“Noah never told me who owned the building.”
“He would not have.”
“What does that mean?”
Damian’s gaze returned to mine.
“It means your husband may not have been there to repair electrical wiring.”
The floor seemed to shift beneath me.
“Noah was not involved in crime.”
“I did not say he was.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied that men sometimes take dangerous work without telling the people they love.”
