the little girl told him to open his dead wife’s closet. what adrian found inside proved the wrong woman had died that night.

The heavy mahogany door of Claire’s dressing suite stood wide open when Adrian and Lieutenant Miller reached the third-floor landing.

Inside, Trooper Davis was standing near the center of the room, looking bewildered and pale as he stared into the open alcove of the secret wall panel.

“What is it, Davis?” Miller demanded, stepping into the room with his service weapon drawn.

“She’s gone, Lieutenant,” Davis stammered, pointing toward the window.

Adrian pushed past them, stepping up to the floor-to-ceiling bay window. The glass was unlocked, pushed open a crack to let in the cold midnight air. A sturdy nylon rappelling rope was secured around the heavy iron radiator beneath the sill, dangling down three stories toward the dark, manicured gardens below.

“She used a backup escape route,” Adrian muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. “She must have installed it months ago.”

Lieutenant Miller leaned out the window, shouting down into the courtyard via his radio. “All perimeter units! This is Miller! Suspect has fled the third-floor window toward the east gardens on foot! Lock down the property gates immediately!”

Static hissed from the radio, followed by a tense reply: “Negative, Lieutenant. East gates are currently jammed by an automated override from the main security console. We have movement near the service road!”

Adrian didn't wait for the troopers to coordinate. He knew every inch of this estate better than anyone alive. He knew the hidden paths, the old servants' tunnels, and the steep embankment leading down to the private boat dock along the lake.

If Madison was running toward the water, she was heading for Claire’s old boathouse—the only place on the property with an operational speedboat capable of breaking through the estate’s perimeter security on the lake.

“She’s going for the boathouse,” Adrian said, turning sharply toward the door.