Chapter 3 - The Scent of Lavender
The wrought-iron gates of the estate swung open with a smooth, silent glide as my sedan rolled up the curving driveway.
The Tuscan-style mansion stood illuminated by soft landscape uplights, looking like a postcard of architectural perfection.
To the rest of the world, this was paradise; to me, it was a butcher's slaughterhouse draped in Italian travertine marble.
I parked beside Daniel's midnight-blue Aston Martin, taking three deep, measured breaths to steady my racing pulse.
Taped flat against the curve of my sternum, beneath my silk blouse and woolen cardigan, was a micro-transmitter no larger than a postage stamp.
Four unmarked tactical vans were parked half a mile down the private desert road, listening to every vibration of my breath.
I pushed open the heavy mahogany front door, the chime ringing softly through the grand two-story foyer.
The scent of fresh lavender and simmering rosemary chicken filled the warm air, exactly as it had every evening for six months.
From the open gourmet kitchen, soft classical music played through the hidden architectural speakers.
Daniel stepped around the marble island, wearing a charcoal cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, looking breathtakingly handsome.
He smiled that radiant, disarming smile that had made me forget thirty-three years of age difference, holding out a single red gardenia.
"Welcome home, my queen," he murmured, stepping forward to wrap his strong arms around my shoulders.
Every cell in my body screamed to recoil, to claw his eyes out, to scream until the windows shattered.
Instead, I forced my muscles to relax, leaning into his chest and burying my face into his shoulder.
Beneath the expensive cologne, I caught the faint, unmistakable chemical tang of hospital-grade antiseptic lingering on his cuffs.
"You look exhausted, sweetheart," he murmured against my hair, kissing my temple with practiced, gentle affection.
"Did you spend the whole afternoon browsing those dusty antique shops downtown?"
"Just looking for a vintage reading lamp for the library, darling," I lied smoothly, handing him my coat with a tired smile.
"My back has been aching terribly all afternoon. I think the cold desert wind doesn't agree with my joints."
Daniel's dark eyes flickered with intense, predatory interest for half a second before his expression melted back into concerned devotion.
"I told you to let me hire a personal physical therapist, Margaret," he scolded gently, guiding me toward the dining room.
"Your health is the only thing that matters to me. Dinner is almost ready, and then I'll make your favorite chamomile tea."
He turned back toward the kitchen counter, and my eyes dropped to the open drawer beside the prep sink.
May you like
Resting on a white linen napkin was the small, dark amber dropper bottle, its glass pipette already filled with clear, lethal liquid.
Tonight was the night they planned to put me to sleep for the very last time.
