Chapter 13 - Shadows on the Coastal Cliff
The security team Julian hired arrived within four hours of his return from York. Six ex-military contractors in discreet tactical gear swept the three-acre property, installing thermal sensors along the cliffside, infrared perimeter tripwires, and high-definition cameras on every gabled corner of the cottage.
Clara paced the living room, holding Lucas against her shoulder. The French doors were locked, the heavy blackout curtains drawn. The ocean outside roared against the cliffs, whipped into a frenzy by an incoming nor'easter, but to Clara, every gust of wind sounded like glass shattering, every creak of the floorboards sounded like Eleanor’s heels approaching.
"The perimeter is clean, Mrs. Sterling," Mark Vance—no relation to Victoria, an ex-Secret Service operative Julian had put on massive retainer—reported quietly as he entered the study. "No foot traffic on the driveway. No heat signatures in the woods."
"Then how did that box get in our mailbox without triggering the motion lights?" Clara demanded, her voice taut as a piano wire.
"The delivery vehicle stayed out of range of our road camera," Vance replied steadily. "A local courier dropped it off. We tracked the dispatcher in Bangor; the order was placed online through an encrypted VPN, paid with an untraceable prepaid Visa purchased at a gas station in Newark."
"She’s orchestrating this from inside a maximum-security prison," Clara said, turning to Julian as he entered the room, his eyes dark with sleepless exhaustion. "Julian, she’s doing this with surgical precision. She’s toying with us."
"She’s trying to terrify you, Clara," Julian said, taking Lucas gently into his arms and pulling Clara into his side. "She wants us to run. She wants us to make a mistake."
"I am terrified!" Clara cried, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. "I looked down at that lock of hair, Julian, and I felt her fingers in my scalp all over again. I felt the tearing. I heard her whispering in my ear that I was nothing, that Lucas would belong to her. She will never stop! Even locked behind bars, she will haunt us until we are dead!"
Julian kissed her forehead, his jaw clenching with an iron resolve. "I won't let her touch you. Neither will Vance. We have the money, we have the resources, and we have the truth."
Just then, Lucas whimpered, squirming in Julian's arms. Clara took the baby back, cradling his head against her chest, rocking him toward the bay window. She gently lifted the edge of the blackout curtain to peek out at the storm-tossed sea.
Lightning split the purple-black sky, illuminating the jagged rocks three hundred feet below.
And there, standing on the sheer edge of the wet granite cliff—where no sane human could stand without safety ropes in fifty-mile-per-hour winds—was a figure.
Clad in a long black trench coat, holding a heavy umbrella against the driving rain, the figure was staring directly up at the nursery window.
Clara froze. The air left her lungs in a strangled gasp.
Another flash of lightning tore through the clouds. For a fraction of a second, the light caught the figure’s face.
It was not Eleanor. It was a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones that looked horrifyingly, undeniably identical to Julian’s own.
"Julian..." Clara choked out, pointing a trembling finger at the glass. "Look! Look at the cliff!"
May you like
Julian and Vance lunged toward the window. Julian tore the curtain fully back, peering into the tempestuous darkness.
The cliff edge was empty. Only the foaming white crests of waves battered the empty granite.
