Chapter 3 - The Small Witness
Lily stood in the threshold, her small frame swallowed by the cavernous doorway of the study. Her nightgown was cotton, printed with faded yellow ducks, and her dark hair was sleep-tossed on one side. But it wasn't her appearance that commanded the room; it was the object clutched in her small arms.
Mr. Buttons was no longer a whole bear. The white thread holding his belly together had been sliced open—not torn by rough play, but cut clean with a sharp blade. The plush stuffing billowed out like soft clouds, and embedded right in the center, glinting under the harsh light of the chandelier, was a sealed plastic tube containing a liquid-filled syringe.
Marcus Vance, Dominic’s chief of security and Isabella’s cousin, stepped forward from the shadows near the bookshelf, his hand instinctively dropping toward his holster. "What is this child doing here? Where are the nursery guards?"
"Stand down, Marcus," Dominic commanded, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that brooked no argument. He kept his eyes fixed on the little girl. He knew whose child she was. Grace Carter was one of the senior housemaids, a quiet, hardworking woman who kept to herself and asked for nothing. Lily occasionally wandered, but she had never breached the inner sanctum of the executive wing.
Lily didn't cower from Marcus, nor did she look at the armed guards flanking the walls. She walked straight toward Dominic's high-backed leather chair, her lower lip trembling slightly. She held out the mutilated teddy bear like an offering of state.
May you like
"Mr. Russo," she whispered, her voice carrying an uncanny clarity in the dead silence of the room. "My bear has the same needle as yours."
Dr. Thorne dropped his gaze instantly, his face draining of all color. The silver tray rattled as his fingers brushed against the edge.
