Chapter 5
Miranda’s frantic eyes darted across the service hall and landed on the long mahogany sideboard. Sitting on the polished wood was the small security monitor, its screen displaying a live, high-definition feed of the estate’s rear service gate. A small microphone rested beside it, connected directly to the exterior intercom.
Driven by pure, cornered-animal desperation, Miranda lunged for the security monitor. If she could just reach the microphone, she could scream for the heavily armed buyers waiting outside to breach the doors and save her.
"Help!" Miranda gasped, her manicured fingers stretching toward the console.
Bennett intercepted her with terrifying, effortless speed.
His tattooed hand shot out, catching her wrist in mid-air. He did not squeeze; he simply stopped her momentum like a concrete wall. Before she could scream again, Bennett pulled his other hand back and delivered a sharp, punishing slap across her face.
The force of the blow drove Miranda violently backward. She stumbled out of control, her high heels twisting beneath her, and crashed directly into the folding privacy screens positioned near the wall.
The heavy, ornate screens collapsed around her in a clattering wave of wood and fabric. Miranda fell to the floor, buried beneath the lightweight panels, gasping for breath as the sting of the slap radiated across her fair, rosy cheek. She looked up at her husband, her eyes wide with total submission.
Bennett did not look at her. He turned his attention entirely to the small security monitor resting on the sideboard.
He reached out and turned the monitor toward himself. The screen displayed bright, clear video colors without any text overlay. It showed a live view of the estate’s service gate. Parked idling in the shadows of the brick wall was a large, unmarked black van.
The side door of the van was wide open. Inside the vehicle, illuminated by the interior dome light, Bennett could clearly see three empty child car seats, waiting to secure their stolen cargo.
A sharp, staticky crackle erupted from the small speaker on the monitor console.
"I’m ready," a gruff, male American accent echoed through the speaker, the driver completely unaware that the operation had been intercepted. "Which door are they coming out of? We need to move before the boss realizes they're gone."
The sound of the trafficker's voice sent a fresh wave of ice through Bennett's veins. He stared at the three empty car seats on the monitor. He thought of Milo, Nora, and Tess, bound to luggage like commodities to be shipped away in the night. The artistic tattoos on his neck shifted as his jaw locked into a rigid, unforgiving line.
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Bennett reached out with his right hand, his fingers resting lightly over the intercom button. He did not press it. He let the driver wait in the silence of the night.
He slowly turned his head, his cold, intimidating eyes sweeping over the collapsed privacy screens where Miranda wept quietly. He had neutralized the immediate threat, but the chilling reality of the situation had just expanded. The men in the van were merely the transport; someone inside the party had orchestrated the purchase.
