Chapter 2 - THE BOTTLE THAT WAS NEVER THEREClaire did not remember Roman finding her.
She remembered the cold.
She remembered crossing the south lawn with one arm over her face while the wind drove snow beneath the collar of her thin uniform.
She remembered thinking the carriage house looked impossibly far away even though she had walked there hundreds of times.
And she remembered Vivian Mercer’s final words.
You don’t want tonight to become expensive for your family, do you?
After that, everything came in pieces.
The carriage-house door refusing to open.
Her fingers becoming too numb to grip the handle.
A light appearing inside the building.
Someone moving behind the frosted window.
Then darkness.
When Claire opened her eyes again, she was staring at a chandelier.
Not the servants’ quarters.
Not the kitchen.
Roman DeLuca’s private bedroom.
“No.”
The word scraped painfully through her throat.
Claire tried to sit up.
A hand appeared against her shoulder.
“Don’t.”
Roman.
She immediately stopped.
He sat beside the enormous bed wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. His hair was still damp from melted snow.
There was a scratch along his jaw.
His expression frightened her more than the storm had.
“Where am I?”
“My room.”
Claire looked toward the fireplace.
Two paramedics were packing equipment.
Dr. Leonard Price, Roman’s private physician, stood near the window.
“You were severely hypothermic,” he said. “Your temperature is coming up. Your hands and feet look better than I expected.”
Claire stared down.
Her uniform had been replaced by thick pajamas she recognized from the guest wing.
Several heated blankets covered her.
She suddenly remembered why she had gone outside.
“The wine.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“What wine?”
“The Bellamy Reserve.”
“What about it?”
“Ms. Mercer said you needed it.”
Roman went completely still.
Claire noticed.
“I didn’t ask for any wine.”
Her heartbeat accelerated.
“She said her father wanted it.”
“She told the dining room I requested it.”
Claire stared.
Roman leaned forward.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
She hesitated.
Vivian knew about Lily.
The debt.
Harbor Ridge.
Claire’s silence told Roman more than she realized.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“I just need to call my sister.”
“You can.”
“Now.”
Roman handed over her phone.
Claire called Harbor Ridge.
No answer in Lily’s room.
Again.
Nothing.
Her breathing quickened.
Roman noticed.
“Who is Lily?”
“My sister.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Why is she at Harbor Ridge?”
Claire looked away.
“That’s private.”
Roman would normally have reacted badly to an employee refusing a question.
Tonight he didn’t.
“Fine.”
Claire tried again.
Finally, someone answered.
“Harbor Ridge Rehabilitation Center.”
Claire nearly cried.
“This is Claire Bennett. I need to speak to Lily Bennett.”
A pause.
“Miss Bennett, it’s nearly midnight.”
“I know. Please.”
Another pause.
Then Lily’s sleepy voice came through.
“Claire?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
It was an automatic lie.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Roman watched her.
Lily yawned.
“You sound weird.”
“I’m tired.”
“Did rich people eat too much again?”
Despite everything, Claire laughed weakly.
“Yes.”
“They always do at Christmas.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Claire hung up.
Roman said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
“What does Vivian have on you?”
Claire’s eyes snapped toward him.
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
“I’m tired.”
He understood the boundary.
“Sleep.”
Roman stood.
She caught his wrist.
It surprised both of them.
“Please.”
He looked down.
“Don’t confront her.”
“Why?”
Claire released him.
“Because she’ll hurt Lily.”
Every trace of restraint disappeared from Roman’s face.
“What did you say?”
Claire immediately regretted it.
But before she could answer, the bedroom door opened.
Roman’s head of security, Gabriel Stone, entered.
Gabriel had worked for the DeLucas for thirteen years.
Former Marine.
Forty-two.
The kind of man who could stand motionless and still make people move out of his way.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“We checked the carriage house.”
Claire looked toward him.
Gabriel continued.
“There’s no Bellamy Reserve.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe inventory moved.”
“All Bellamy bottles are downstairs in the main wine room.”
Claire whispered, “Mr. Howard said it was locked.”
“It wasn’t.”
Roman looked at Gabriel.
“You’re sure?”
“I opened it myself.”
The room went quiet.
Claire’s fear returned.
Someone had lied about everything.
The wine.
The cellar.
The carriage house.
Roman asked, “Anything else?”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“The carriage-house heating system was shut down at 8:04.”
“Storm failure?”
“No.”
“Power?”
“Manual disconnect.”
Claire felt suddenly colder beneath the blankets.
“And the exterior security camera?” Roman asked.
“Offline.”
“For how long?”
“From 8:02 until 9:11.”
Claire had left the mansion around 8:17.
Roman understood immediately.
“Who can disable it?”
“Six people.”
“Names.”
Gabriel listed them.
Roman.
Gabriel.
Estate manager Harold Howard.
Two senior security technicians.
And Vivian.
Claire closed her eyes.
Roman noticed.
“What happened when you reached the carriage house?”
“I couldn’t get in.”
“Locked?”
“The handle moved.”
She tried to remember.
“The door opened maybe an inch. Then stopped.”
Gabriel glanced at Roman.
“What?”
“There’s no interior chain on that door.”
Claire stared.
Gabriel continued.
“But someone had wrapped electrical cable through the inside latch.”
Roman’s expression became frighteningly calm.
“You’re saying somebody secured it from inside.”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone there?”
“We found footprints.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“What footprints?”
“Not yours.”
Roman looked toward the storm outside.
“Where did they go?”
Gabriel hesitated.
“To the west service road.”
“Vehicle tracks?”
“Snowmobile.”
Claire remembered the movement behind the window.
“I saw someone.”
Three men turned toward her.
“What?” Roman asked.
“There was a light.”
She swallowed.
“Inside.”
“When?”
“Right before I… I don’t know. Before I fell.”
Gabriel approached.
“Did you see a face?”
“No.”
“Height?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
Claire closed her eyes.
A shape.
A coat.
The smell when the door moved.
Something familiar.
Cigars.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Roman looked toward Gabriel.
“Seal the estate.”
Gabriel nodded.
“No one leaves.”
“What about guests?”
“Especially guests.”
Gabriel departed.
Claire looked at Roman.
“You can’t trap forty people here.”
“I own the gates.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Somebody sent you into a blizzard toward a building they had already prepared.”
He stepped closer.
“Then they waited inside.”
Claire said nothing.
Roman’s voice lowered.
“That wasn’t an errand.”
He looked toward the blankets covering her trembling body.
“That was an execution.”
Downstairs, Vivian Mercer stood beside the Christmas tree telling Senator Thomas Avery’s wife that Claire had dramatically fainted outside after ignoring instructions.
She did not see Roman enter.
The conversations gradually stopped.
Roman crossed the ballroom.
Vivian turned.
“Roman.”
“Who told Claire I wanted Bellamy Reserve?”
Vivian blinked.
“You did.”
“No.”
Her smile remained perfect.
“You mentioned it before dinner.”
“I asked whether your father had tried the 1990 vintage.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t an order.”
“Well, Claire misunderstood.”
“Claire says you sent her.”
Several guests began watching openly.
Vivian lowered her voice.
“Do we really have to discuss staff problems tonight?”
Roman stared at the woman he was supposed to marry in eleven weeks.
“Somebody disabled the carriage-house heat.”
Vivian’s face changed.
Barely.
But Roman saw it.
“Someone secured the door from inside,” he continued. “Someone shut off the camera. Someone waited there while Claire walked through a storm.”
Vivian’s champagne glass stopped halfway to her lips.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Roman leaned closer.
“Then you won’t mind giving Gabriel your phone.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Excuse me?”
“Your phone.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“A woman nearly froze to death.”
“She’s a maid.”
The sentence escaped before Vivian could stop it.
Roman stared at her.
The ballroom went utterly silent.
Vivian recovered.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Roman’s voice was quiet.
“I think it is.”
For the first time in their six-month engagement, Vivian looked afraid of him.
She placed her phone on the table.
“Fine.”
Roman turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“To find out why Claire believes you can hurt her sister.”
Vivian’s face drained of color.
Roman saw it.
And that was when he knew Claire’s fear had not started in the snow.
The storm had merely exposed it.
Twenty minutes later Gabriel entered Roman’s study carrying Vivian’s phone.
“We found something.”
Roman took it.
“What?”
“A deleted message.”
“To whom?”
“Harold Howard.”
The estate manager.
Gabriel placed the restored message on screen.
It had been sent at 7:56 p.m.
Twenty-one minutes before Claire walked outside.
She’s going for the bottle. Make sure nobody follows.
Roman read the sentence twice.
Then Gabriel showed him Howard’s response.
Only four words.
And if she returns?
May you like
Vivian’s reply had come immediately.
She won’t.
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