Chapter 309

Cailin closed her eyes. Think. What does Hilliard care about most? Not his company. Not his name. Something he thinks is his alone. The coordinates. The tiny, uninhabited island in the Aegean where he had first told her he loved her — a place no one else knew about, a secret he would assume Cailin had long forgotten.

She typed in the string of numbers.

The screen unlocked.

Cailin almost laughed. Predictable narcissist.

She opened the browser, logged into her encrypted email, and typed one message to Kegan.

Subject: Laundry. Body: The service entrance. 2 AM. Bring the garbage truck.

She deleted the sent message, wiped the history, and put the tablet back.

Now she had to get to the service entrance.

She went to the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of Hilliard’s cologne, and smashed it on the floor. The glass shattered. The smell was overpowering.

Cailin screamed.

“Help! I’m hurt!”

The bedroom door burst open. The guard rushed in, gun drawn. “Mrs. Holloway?”

“I dropped a bottle,” Cailin sobbed, clutching her foot. “There’s glass everywhere! I’m bleeding!”

The guard lowered his weapon and surveyed the mess. “I’ll call housekeeping,” he said, reaching for his radio.

“No!” Cailin cried. “Just help me to the chair. Please.”

He hesitated, then holstered his gun and walked toward her.

As he bent down, Cailin spotted the laundry cart sitting in the hallway behind him. The night maid must have left it there.

“Actually,” Cailin said, “I think I’m fine.”

She shoved him. Hard.

He stumbled back, his boots slipping on the cologne-slicked tiles. His training kicked in and he fought for balance, but the floor offered no purchase. His arms flailed and he went down with a heavy thud, his head cracking against the porcelain tub.

He didn’t move.

Cailin knelt quickly and pressed two fingers to his neck. A steady pulse — just unconscious. She couldn’t have a death on her conscience.

She ran.

She sprinted into the hallway and dove into the large canvas laundry cart, burying herself under a pile of towels.

A moment later, she heard footsteps. The maid.

“What was that noise?” she muttered, grabbing the handle of the cart and pushing.

Cailin held her breath as the cart began to move. The wheels rumbled over carpet, then hardwood. They descended in the service elevator, the smell of stale linen suffocating in the tight space.

The cart stopped.

“Hey, load this up,” the maid said. “Truck’s here.”

Cailin felt the cart tipping. She braced herself and tumbled out onto a pile of garbage bags in the back of a truck. The smell was horrific.

But it smelled like freedom.

“Go! Go! Go!” a voice whispered.

Cailin looked up. The driver wore a sanitation uniform, but she recognized the eyes. One of Kegan’s men.

The truck roared to life and sped away from the Manor.

Cailin lay back on the garbage bags and laughed.

The truck dropped Cailin off three blocks from the hospital.

A black sedan was waiting. Kegan was in the driver’s seat.

“You smell terrible,” he said as Cailin climbed in.

“Drive,” Cailin said. “We need to get Elia.”

He floored it.

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