Fortune. Erica Spindler
it was absolutely dependable.
Madeline had parked it a dozen blocks away, in a transitional neighborhood where it wouldn’t scream that it didn’t belong. Everything was in place.
Madeline checked her watch, then twisted her fingers together. Dammit, when were they going to leave? Every moment counted. Because every moment meant another moment’s head start before Pierce and Adam realized what she had done.
As if in answer to her silent plea, Madeline heard the slam of car doors. She raced to the window in time to see Adam and Pierce drive off.
Finally! Heart in her throat, she flew to the door, into the hall and down the stairs. At the foyer she stopped, forcing herself to appear calm on the off chance someone was about. She made her way to the study, closing and locking the door behind her.
She leaned against the door, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she held. She drew another. Across the room hung a small, exquisitely rendered landscape. Behind it, a wall safe.
She stared at the painting, working up her courage. For four months she had used every excuse to be in here when Pierce opened the safe; she had even used an insatiable need for sex, all in an attempt to learn the combination. She had watched, she had listened and counted and prayed.
And she had learned it, number by excruciating number. Or she thought she had.
Dear God, please let me have the right numbers. Don’t let me be wrong.
Madeline crossed to the painting. She swung it away from the wall. Her hands shook. They were clammy, slick with sweat. She spun the wheel to the first number, then the next and next. She grasped the handle and pulled.
It didn’t open.
She almost cried out in disappointment, physically biting back the sound. Without money, she couldn’t go as far as the corner. Without money, there was no way she could get Grace away from here, no way she could hide and protect her.
Stay calm, Madeline. Take a deep breath and try again.
She did.
The safe opened.
Light-headed with fear and relief, she reached inside. She moved aside a black velvet pouch emblazoned with Monarch’s “M” logo, counted out five thousand dollars, enough, she thought, to get her and Grace far from here and settled, until she could find a job.
She stuffed the bills into one of her cardigan’s deep pockets, then moved the pouch back to its original position and started to close the safe door. Her gaze landed on that black velvet bag.
What was in it?
On impulse, she opened the bag and dipped her hand inside—and pulled out a fistful of sparkling, fiery gems. Diamonds, rubies and sapphires. She caught her breath, stunned. By their beauty. By their heat. For even though they were cold against her palm, their fire made them hot.
What were they doing here? she wondered, selecting a particularly large, brilliant stone and holding it up to the light. Why weren’t they in the store’s vault, where they belonged? There they would be both safer and fully insured. It didn’t make sense. Adam and Pierce were nothing if not shrewd businessmen.
Madeline frowned at her own thoughts. She didn’t have time for this; what Pierce and Adam did with the store’s property wasn’t her concern. It never had been. She dropped the stones back into the bag, then shoved the bag back into the safe.
Take them.
The thought raced into her head, and with it a feeling, sharp, overwhelming—that she would need them, that Grace would need them. Madeline shook her head, denying the thought, the feeling. She was overwrought and anxious; she wasn’t thinking clearly. If she took the stones, Pierce and Adam would be that much more determined to find her. They would have that much more to hold against her in a court of law.
She swung the safe shut, made sure it was locked, turned and started out of the study. Halfway across the room she stopped, frozen, blinded by an indistinct but chilling image. She saw snow. And blood spilling across a gleaming floor. She saw the twinkle of gems and the glitter of ice. Her mouth went dry; sweat beaded on her upper lip. She saw dark water sucking someone down, swallowing them whole.
She began to shake. Take the gems. Take them now.
With a cry of pure terror, Madeline spun back to the safe, reopened it and grabbed the pouch. She slammed the safe shut and as quickly as she could, twisted the dial, then eased the painting into place.
She couldn’t turn back now.
Clutching the pouch to her chest, she ran from the library. Hysteria tugged at her; she fought it. She had to stay calm if she was to protect Grace. Today she was taking the first step, but every day after would prove as much of a challenge.
No one was about. Madeline supposed the housekeeper had already left. She made her way up to the nursery. She crossed to Grace’s bed.
“Baby,” she murmured, shaking her daughter gently, “sweetheart, it’s time to get up.”
Grace whimpered and rolled over, crushing her favorite teddy bear to her chest. Madeline shook her again. “Come on, sweetie, we’re going on a trip. Time to wake up.”
Grace yawned. She cracked open her eyes. Her lips curved up. “Hi, Mommy.”
Madeline’s heart turned over. She never got enough of hearing her daughter call her that, never got enough of that sweet, baby voice or the way the little girl looked at her—as if Madeline were the most important, the best, person in the world.
She loved Grace so much it terrified her. She prayed she was doing the right thing.
“I need you to dress, baby. Your clothes are right over there.” She pointed to the rocking chair, where she had laid out her daughter’s garments. She saw that her hand shook. “Can you do that for me?”
Grace nodded and sat up; she stuck her thumb in her mouth—a habit Pierce couldn’t abide—and eyed her mother. “Mommy’s upset.”
“No, honey. Just rushed.”
“Where are we going?”
Madeline hesitated. What could she tell her daughter? That she planned to drive until she could drive no more, her only goal to put as much distance between them and the Monarchs as possible? Hardly. Instead, she tapped Grace on the nose. “It’s going to be so much fun. Just you and me.”
“Not Daddy?”
Madeline shook her head. “He has to work.”
Grace accepted her explanation without question or murmur. The truth was, Grace and Pierce weren’t especially close; he was always busy, and when he did have time for Grace he was critical—she was too loud, too messy, she didn’t pronounce words correctly. He hardly ever hugged or kissed her; he always spoke of her in terms not of love but of value. To the family. To the business.
“Not Grandfather or Grandmother?”
Madeline shook her head. “Nope.”
Grace curved her arms around herself. “Not brother?”
“Not brother,” Madeline answered sharply. Never brother. “We’re going to have such fun, just you and me.”
“Okay.” Yawning again, Grace climbed out of bed. “Clothes over there?”
“That’s right, honey.” Madeline went to the nursery door, stopping when she reached it. “You get dressed. I’ll be right back, then I’ll help with your socks and shoes.”
“Thanks, Mommy.”
Madeline squatted and held out her arms. “I think I need a hug.”
Grace trotted over. She wrapped her chubby little arms around Madeline’s neck and squeezed. Madeline hugged her