The Trap at the Gallery
Chapter 08 - The Trap at the Gallery
The safehouse where Clara had taken Mia was an isolated lake house owned by Mark’s private security firm, deep in the pine woods two hours north of the city.
Adrian sat in the darkened living room of the lake house, holding a 9mm pistol in his lap, watching the security monitors set up by Mark’s team along the perimeter fence.
Mia was upstairs sleeping under Clara’s watchful eye, wrapped in three heavy blankets, her favorite stuffed bear tucked under her arm.
Outside, the wind howled through the tall pines, driving cold rain against the glass panes.
At 11:45 PM, Adrian’s personal phone rang. It was an unlisted satellite number.
Adrian brought the phone to his ear, his grip on his gun tightening until his knuckles turned white. “Julian.”
“You always were quick on the uptake, Adrian,” Julian’s smooth, mocking voice purred through the speaker. “I hear you paid a rather noisy visit to poor old Marcus this afternoon.”
“If you or Vanessa step near this property, Julian, I won't call the police,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register so lethal it sounded inhuman. “I will put a bullet in both of your chests and bury you in these woods.”
Julian laughed—a sharp, arrogant sound. “Oh, how the sweet, gentle architect has changed! But you’re looking in the wrong direction, old friend. I don't care about your little lake house. And Vanessa... well, Vanessa is currently standing inside your city art gallery downtown.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Your late wife’s memorial exhibition,” Julian sneered. “Sarah’s original paintings—the ones you donated to the city gallery last year. Vanessa is currently standing in the main hall with a five-gallon can of gasoline and a lighter. She says if you don't bring Mia to her within forty-five minutes, she will burn every single memory of Sarah into ash.”
Adrian felt his breath catch in his throat.
Sarah’s paintings were the last physical connection Mia had to her biological mother. They were irreplaceable treasures, filled with Sarah’s love, light, and memory.
“She wouldn't,” Adrian choked out.
May you like
“Test her,” Julian hissed. “You know how unhinged she is when she’s jealous of Sarah. Forty-five minutes, Adrian. Come alone. If I see a single police car within three blocks of the gallery, Vanessa flickers her lighter, and Sarah’s legacy burns.”
The line went dead.
