Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Hallway
The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 3:15 AM.
Willa lay awake on top of the silken coverlet in the guest suite assigned to her, staring up at the intricate plaster molding of the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the echo of Kendrick’s voice and saw the cold, calculating intelligence in his gray eyes.
She needed to leave. She needed to pack the few cheap clothes she owned, slip out the service elevator while the penthouse was asleep, and disappear into the sprawling maze of Queens before sunrise.
Slowly, silently, Willa slid off the bed. She padded across the thick Persian rug in her stocking feet, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight filtering through the glass. She reached for the brass handle of the bedroom door and turned it with agonizing slowness.
Click.
The door swung inward, revealing a long, dimly lit hallway paneled in dark mahogany. Portraits of stern-faced Ashford ancestors hung along the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow her every move.
Willa took a step into the corridor—and froze.
A few yards away, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the hallway, was Penny.
The little girl wore a pale pink nightgown, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. In her arms, she clutched a worn, headless cloth rabbit. She wasn't crying. She wasn't making a sound. She was simply sitting there, staring straight at Willa with those unsettling, luminous gray eyes.
"Penny?" Willa whispered, stepping forward instinctively, her escape plans momentarily forgotten. "What are you doing out here? It's the middle of the night."
Penny didn't answer verbally. Instead, she raised her small hand and pointed a finger down the dark corridor toward the western wing of the penthouse—toward Kendrick’s private study.
Willa frowned, taking another step closer. "Are you looking for your dad?"
Penny shook her head slowly. Then, she raised her index finger to her lips, making a tiny shh sound, and reached out, grabbing the hem of Willa’s uniform skirt with her small fingers.
Clank.
A muffled, metallic sound echoed from the end of the hallway—the distinct sound of a sliding security latch being unbolted.
Willa’s maternal and survival instincts locked into fierce competition. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees in front of the little girl, wrapping her arms protectively around Penny’s small frame.
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"Who's there?" Willa called out in a sharp, low whisper.
From the shadows near the study door, a tall silhouette detached itself from the dark mahogany paneling.
