Chapter 2 - THE SOUND OF THE GLASS
The transition from the air-conditioned interior of the mansion to the courtyard was like stepping into a blast furnace. The July heat hit Adrian like a physical wall, forty-five degrees Celsius radiating off the dark granite stones.
"Which door?!" Adrian roared as his heavy leather shoes hit the scorching driveway.
Behind him, two of his full-time close-protection security detail—large, muscular men in dark suits named Marcus and Knox—vaulted down the grand marble steps, their hands instinctively dropping toward their belts.
From around the far east wing of the mansion, walking slowly along the stone path, appeared Natalie Cross.
Natalie was thirty-two, an elegant, striking blonde woman wearing a tailored, pale cream linen summer dress and expensive sunglasses. She was Owen’s mother—Adrian’s ex-fiancée—and the primary petitioner in the multi-million-dollar custody battle scheduled for nine o'clock the following morning in federal court.
The moment Natalie saw Adrian running toward her parked vehicle, a sharp, sudden flash of panic crossed her pale face. Her hand, resting near the pocket of her cream dress, twitched violently.
"Adrian, stop!" Natalie screamed, her voice rising in a high, theatrical panic as she began trotting across the stones toward him. "Adrian, wait! I can explain! Don't touch the car!"
Adrian didn't slow down by a single mile an hour. He bypassed her completely, his massive frame charging toward the passenger side of the black SUV.
Maisie was faster. The tiny four-year-old girl ran straight up to the rear door of the vehicle. Because of her small height, she climbed directly onto the low stone border of the raised garden bed beside the car, bringing her face flat against the dark, heat-scalding glass of the rear passenger window.
Maisie took her cheap, pink plastic toy stethoscope off her neck.
With the fearless, innocent logic of a child trying to help, she pressed the small plastic diaphragm flat against the dark, boiling glass of the SUV window, pressing her ear against the plastic earpiece.
She stood motionless for two agonizing seconds, the metal frame of the car hot enough to fry an egg.
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Maisie’s face went completely, unnaturally pale. She pulled the plastic earpiece away from her head, looking at Adrian with wide, horror-filled brown eyes.
"He's not crying anymore, Adrian," Maisie whispered, her voice trembling softly over the hum of the heat. "He stopped making the little breathing noise."
