Chapter 3 - The Flight of the Fox
"She’s running," Natalie shouted, spinning toward the hallway.
Adrian dropped the Cartier box onto the vanity table and bolted out the door. The long corridor of the east wing was empty, but the distinct, frantic click-clack of designer heels echoed sharply against the marble floors toward the back service staircase.
"Adrian!" Rachel called out from the doorway of the bedroom, holding Emma tight. "She went toward the terrace stairs!"
Adrian sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the shouting rising from the distant ballroom below. Downstairs, the guests were undoubtedly growing restless, wondering why their host had vanished upstairs with a housekeeper's child and his bride-to-be. Let them wonder. Right now, the only thing that mattered was catching the woman who had poisoned his life for three years.
He hit the heavy glass doors leading to the second-floor stone terrace.
The winter air hit him like a physical blow, smelling of wet evergreens and freezing asphalt. The gale-force winds whipped his hair across his forehead as he stepped onto the balcony.
There she was.
Madison had kicked off her high heels—leaving the expensive designer pumps abandoned on the stone tiles—and was running across the icy slate roof of the conservatory, her midnight-blue silk gown billowing behind her like the wings of a trapped bird. She was heading toward the auxiliary iron fire escape that led down to the service courtyard and the subterranean parking garage.
"Madison!" Adrian roared, his voice cutting through the wind.
She didn't look back. She scrambled over the wrought-iron railing of the fire escape, her fingers slipping slightly on the frost-covered metal before she caught herself and began descending the rungs with terrifying speed.
Adrian cleared the terrace railing in a vault, his leather-soled shoes sliding dangerously across the frozen slate before he regained his footing. He lunged for the fire escape ladder, descending three steps at a time, the freezing metal biting into his palms.
By the time his boots hit the asphalt of the service courtyard, the rear security gates were swinging open.
A sleek, black European sedan was idling near the dumpsters, its engine humming in the dark, exhaust plumes billowing into the freezing night. The passenger door was wide open.
Madison threw herself into the vehicle, slamming the door shut with a violent crash.
"Stop the car!" Adrian yelled, sprinting across the wet asphalt, his hand diving instinctively into his jacket pocket—though he carried no weapon tonight.
The sedan’s tires squealed, throwing up a spray of slush and gravel as the vehicle fishtailed across the courtyard, careening toward the main exit road. Adrian chased it for twenty yards until his lungs burned, watching the red taillights vanish into the blinding sheets of the winter storm.
He stopped, hands resting on his knees, chest heaving, staring at the empty driveway.
She had help.
Somebody inside the estate had left that car idling in the service bay. Somebody had provided the master key fob to bypass the perimeter gate.
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Adrian stood up straight slowly, wiping the freezing mist from his face. The cold air tasted like iron. He turned around and walked back toward the brightly lit entrance of the mansion, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached.
The game was over. Now, it was time to find out who else was playing.
