Chapter 7
The heavy brass lamp struck the assassin squarely in the jaw. He grunted in pain, stumbling backward, the assault rifle discharging wildly into the ceiling. Plaster rained down as the deafening crack of gunfire echoed through the luxurious suite.
"Run, Archie!" Lena screamed.
She grabbed the toddler’s hand and lunged toward the heavy wooden door of the walk-in closet. The assassin recovered quickly, cursing violently, and leveled his weapon again. Lena shoved Archie inside the dark closet just as a bullet splintered the doorframe inches from her head.
She dove in after the boy, slamming the heavy door shut and throwing the deadbolt. The closet was massive, lined with custom cedar shelving and rows of expensive suits. But it was a dead end.
"You can't hide in there, bitch!" the assassin roared from the bedroom. A heavy boot kicked the door, making the wood groan under the impact.
"I'm scared, Lena," Archie whimpered, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks as he clung to her leg.
"I know, baby. We have to be quiet like mice. Very, very quiet," Lena whispered, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she pulled him toward the back of the closet.
She pressed her hand against her pregnant belly, silently begging her unborn child to hold on. Her mind raced. She knew this house better than anyone. As a maid, she had memorized every hidden corridor and servant's passage designed to keep the staff out of sight of the wealthy guests.
Behind a row of heavy winter coats at the very back of the closet was a small, disguised access panel used for servicing the mansion's intricate plumbing and electrical systems. It led directly into the walls of the estate.
Another violent kick hit the closet door. The wood splintered, the lock beginning to give way.
Lena frantically pushed the heavy coats aside and found the small brass latch. She pulled it open, revealing a narrow, pitch-black crawlspace. It was tight, incredibly dusty, and smelled of old wood and copper pipes.
"Archie, go inside. Quick," Lena urged, ushering the toddler into the darkness.
Archie hesitated, his eyes wide with fear. "It's dark."
"I'll be right behind you. I promise," she pleaded.
Archie crawled in. Lena followed, squeezing her five-month pregnant frame through the narrow opening. It was a tight fit, her cashmere sweater snagging on a loose nail. Just as she pulled the panel shut behind her, the closet door in the bedroom burst open with a deafening crash.
"Where the hell did you go?" the assassin snarled, his heavy boots stomping around the closet.
Lena held her breath, wrapping her arms tightly around Archie to muffle any sound he might make. She could see thin slivers of light coming through the cracks in the panel. The assassin was standing mere inches away, sweeping the clothes with his rifle.
"You think you can hide?" he mocked, his voice muffled through the wood. "Arthur Wren is burning this estate to the ground. Harrison is dead."
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Lena squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping to track through the dust on her cheek. She refused to believe it. Harrison promised he would come back.
Slowly, agonizingly, she began to guide Archie backward through the dark, narrow passage, crawling away from the master suite and deeper into the hidden veins of the mansion, praying they wouldn't be found before Harrison returned.
