“Get out of my bedroom,” she commands softly. The vulnerability is gone. Back to giving orders.
I don’t argue. I need air. I need space. I need to get away from the overpowering scent of roses before I lose my mind.
I turn sharply on my heel. I stalk toward the heavy mahogany bedroom door.
I reach out and grip the brass handle.
A loud commotion erupts in the sitting room outside.
Heavy footsteps. Nick’s sharp, commanding voice barking an order. A woman’s panicked apology overlapping his words.
Then a different sound slices through the heavy wood.
“Mommy!”
A tiny, high-pitched voice. Utterly joyful.
I freeze. My hand locks around the brass handle.
“Mommy, Enrique said you were home!”
Small feet pound across the plush rug in the sitting room. Running directly toward the bedroom door.
A woman’s panicked voice follows. “Tyra, wait! You cannot run in here!”
Tyra.
The sound of a small child in this place hits me like a physical blow.
I stare at the solid wood paneling. My brain struggles to process the sudden influx of impossible information.
Dominic Costa did not mention a child in the briefing files. The detailed documents contain zero reference to a daughter. The compound blueprints don’t label a nursery.
There’s a child in this house.
I slowly turn my head. I look back at Lucia.
All the color has drained from her face. Her skin is chalk white. Terror, raw and undisguised, radiates from her dark eyes.
She isn’t looking at me. She’s staring at the closed door.
The brass handle in my grip turns from the outside.
Small hands push the heavy door open.
I step back. I clear the path.
A tiny girl bursts into the bedroom. Maybe four years old. Bright pink pajamas covered in cartoon unicorns. She clutches a ragged, grey stuffed wolf to her chest.
A chaotic mop of dark, curly hair. Bright, intelligent eyes.
A breathless, terrified woman in a simple uniform rushes through the open doorway a second later. The nanny.
She skids to a halt. One look at my size, my tactical armor, the lethal weapons strapped to my thighs. She lets out a sharp squeak and freezes.
Lucia ignores the nanny. She ignores me.
She drops to her knees on the plush rug. She opens her arms wide.