The Price of Protection
1576 Words
Chapter Four
Damien's POV
The library door closed behind Genevieve.
I remained where I was.
For several seconds, I listened to the sound of her footsteps disappearing down the corridor.
She had left angry.
Good.
Anger was easier to work with than fear.
But her words stayed with me.
I don't need you to control me.
Most people who came into this house understood very quickly that I wasn't a man they could challenge.
Genevieve Moreau apparently hadn't received that particular message.
I looked at the folder on my desk.
Her name was printed across the front.
GENEVIEVE MOREAU.
Six months of questions.
Six months of dead ends.
Six months of finding pieces of a puzzle that never seemed to fit.
And now the missing piece had walked into my house on her own.
I picked up the folder and opened it.
Her father's photograph was clipped to the first page.
Julian Moreau.
The man had been dead for four years.
Officially, his death had been an accident.
I had never believed that explanation.
Neither had my father.
That was where the trouble began.
A knock sounded at the door.
I closed the folder.
“Come in.”
Elias entered.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it.
For once, there was no amusement in his expression.
“How bad?”
I looked at him.
“You tell me.”
He exhaled.
“The south camera was disabled for three minutes and forty-two seconds.”
“Deliberately?”
“Looks that way.”
“Can you trace it?”
“I'm working on it.”
I stood.
“Don't work on it. Find whoever did it.”
Elias nodded.
Then his expression changed.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“We found tire marks near the eastern boundary.”
My jaw tightened.
“From tonight?”
“Yes.”
“How many vehicles?”
“One.”
“Description?”
“Black sedan.”
I stared at him.
The same car that had brought Genevieve to the estate.
“License plate?”
“Covered.”
Of course.
I walked toward the window.
The grounds below were quiet.
Too quiet.
The security lights illuminated the driveway, the stone walls, and the dark trees beyond them.
“Did anyone see the driver?”
“No.”
“Cameras?”
“Nothing useful.”
I turned.
“Then we have a problem.”
Elias gave me a humorless smile.
“We've had a problem since she took that photograph.”
I didn't respond.
He looked toward the door.
“She's upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust her?”
The question irritated me.
“Trust isn't the issue.”
“It should be.”
I looked at him.
Elias pushed away from the door.
“You know what the Moreau name means to this family.”
“I know.”
“Then you know bringing her here was a risk.”
“She was already a risk.”
“Not the same thing.”
I said nothing.
Elias was right.
Before tonight, Genevieve Moreau had been a name in a file.
A loose thread.
Something I could investigate from a distance.
Now she was inside my home.
That changed everything.
“She doesn't know anything,” I said.
Elias's expression hardened.
“That's what you think.”
I looked at him.
“What are you implying?”
“I think she knows more than she realizes.”
I didn't answer.
Because that possibility had already crossed my mind.
Genevieve had no idea why she had been targeted.
She didn't know what her father had been searching for.
She didn't know what had happened at the lighthouse years ago.
And she certainly didn't know why my father had kept Julian Moreau's final letter hidden from me until the day before his death.
But someone knew.
Someone had always known.
“What happened to the man at the lighthouse?” I asked.
Elias's expression darkened.
“We moved him.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“Old Harbor.”
“Alive?”
A pause.
“No.”
The word settled heavily between us.
I turned toward the window again.
“Cause?”
“Still unknown.”
“Anything on him?”
“Wallet was empty. Phone was missing. No identification.”
“Then they wanted him untraceable.”
“Exactly.”
I thought about the photograph Genevieve had taken.
Three men.
One dead.
Elias.
And someone else whose face hadn't been clear.
“Did you recognize the other man?”
“No.”
“Did he recognize you?”
Elias looked at me.
“I think so.”
My eyes narrowed.
“That changes things.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me earlier?”
“Because Genevieve was standing in the room.”
I looked toward the library door.
He was right.
Some truths were dangerous even when spoken behind closed doors.
“Did he say anything?”
Elias shook his head.
“Before he died, he kept repeating one thing.”
“What?”
Elias's eyes met mine.
“Moreau.”
I went still.
Of course.
It always came back to that name.
“Did he say Julian?”
“No.”
“Genevieve?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Elias hesitated.
“Just Moreau.”
I looked down at the folder in my hand.
The photograph of Julian stared back at me.
For four years, I had tried to understand what had happened to him.
Now his daughter was standing in the middle of it.
And she didn't even know.
“There's another thing,” Elias said.
I looked up.
“The message.”
I immediately remembered the words.
THE DEAL HAS ALREADY BEGUN.
“What about it?”
“We traced the number.”
“And?”
“It's not registered.”
“Burner?”
“Yes.”
“Can you locate it?”
“No.”
I expected that.
“Anything else?”
Elias hesitated.
“It was sent from inside Blackwater Cove.”
I frowned.
“That isn't surprising.”
He shook his head.
“You're misunderstanding.”
He stepped closer.
“It wasn't sent from the town.”
I waited.
“It was sent from somewhere inside the estate.”
Silence.
For the first time that night, something cold moved through me.
“That's impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
“Run the trace again.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“The signal came from this property.”
I looked around the library.
The walls.
The windows.
The door.
Someone inside this house had sent that message.
Someone knew Genevieve was here.
Someone knew about the deal.
“Who has access to the security system?” I asked.
“Me. You. Two guards. Eleanor.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Check every account.”
“I already did.”
“Then check them again.”
Elias nodded.
I walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Genevieve.”
His expression tightened.
“Damien—”
“She needs to know the rules.”
“What rules?”
I looked at him.
“No leaving the estate alone. No answering unknown calls. No giving anyone access to the photograph.”
“And if she refuses?”
“She won't.”
Elias gave me a skeptical look.
“You're very confident.”
I almost smiled.
“She wants answers.”
“And you have them?”
“Some.”
“Will you tell her?”
I paused.
“No.”
“Then why would she stay?”
I looked toward the staircase.
Because I knew something Genevieve didn't.
Her father's final investigation had led directly to my family.
And whatever Julian Moreau had discovered before his death was still important enough to kill for.
I couldn't tell Genevieve the truth yet.
Not until I knew which side of the story she belonged to.
Not until I knew whether she was a target...
Or bait.
“Because she has nowhere else to go,” I said.
Elias didn't reply.
I opened the door.
Then stopped.
A faint sound came from upstairs.
A door closing.
I looked toward the corridor.
Genevieve.
I started walking.
Halfway to the staircase, my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
My blood ran cold.
It was a picture of Genevieve.
Taken moments ago.
She was standing in the upstairs corridor.
Someone had photographed her from inside the house.
I looked toward the staircase.
My grip tightened around the phone.
Another message appeared.
YOU BROUGHT HER HOME.
Then another.
NOW KEEP YOUR PROMISE.
I stared at the screen.
The final message arrived.
OR SHE DIES LIKE HER FATHER.
My breathing stopped.
For four years, nobody had mentioned Julian Moreau's death to me as a threat.
Nobody had connected it to Genevieve.
Until tonight.
I slowly looked toward the staircase.
Genevieve was upstairs.
Alone.
And whoever had just sent me those messages was somewhere inside my house.
Watching her.
Watching me.
Waiting for me to make my next move.
I slipped the phone into my pocket.
“Elias.”
He looked at me.
“Lock the house down.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
I looked toward the staircase.
“Because we have a traitor.”
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