Chapter 4 - THE SOUND IN THE GARDEN
The sound Claire would never forget was the snap of the toolbox lid.
She had heard it a hundred times from the maintenance crew. Now she understood what was inside this one.
Atlas slammed into the first man before he could pull anything out. The toolbox skidded across the path. A second man grabbed Claire’s arm. She twisted away, pulling Lily behind her.
“Run to the house!” she shouted.
Lily ran three steps and stopped. Atlas had pinned the first man against the hedge, but he was struggling to put weight on his bad leg.
“Atlas!”
“Lily, go!”
A shot cracked into the stone wall beside Claire. Dust burst across the path.
The gunman had missed. Whether he meant to, Claire couldn’t tell.
She scooped Lily into her arms and sprinted for the service door. It was locked. Claire hit the keypad with shaking fingers. Behind her, Atlas barked once, sharp and furious.
The door opened. Claire stumbled inside and slammed it shut.
A guard came around the corner. “Main gate’s damaged. Stay away from the windows.”
“They’re at the west gate!” Claire shouted. “Three men. Victor sent them.”
The guard’s expression changed. He spoke into his radio, then ushered them down the hall.
Grant met them at the stairs. Lily reached for him before Claire could explain. Grant took her, startled, while Claire fought to catch her breath.
“Atlas is outside.”
“I know.” Grant handed Lily back and spoke into his radio. “West garden. Now.”
Two guards approached the intruders from behind. The men fled through the open gate, abandoning their toolbox. Atlas stayed at the hedge until Grant called him. This time he came, limping hard.
Dr. Salazar was summoned. Atlas had strained his injured hip but had no new fracture. Lily sat beside him while the veterinarian worked.
Grant examined the toolbox with the police. Inside were restraints, a phone, and a folded photograph of Lily in the courtyard with Atlas. On the back, someone had written: KEEP THE DOG CLOSE.
Claire saw it over Grant’s shoulder.
“They were going to take her.”
Grant did not soften the truth. “Yes.”
Victor was gone when police reached his office. His desk had been cleared, his car was missing, and the security system showed he had disabled one camera before the explosion.
But Victor had left something behind: a sealed envelope in Grant’s desk drawer, placed there that morning.
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Inside was a single photograph of Grant’s front entrance. Across it, in black marker, were six words:
YOU KNOW WHAT HE WANTS. CALL HIM.
