Chapter 23 Eddie
Eddie
The gate clangs shut behind us with a finality that makes my stomach drop. Robbie and I walk up the long, winding driveway, our footsteps crunching on the white gravel, the sound too loud in the quiet evening.
“So, this is cool,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, yeah, totally,” Robbie replies, even in a moment like this struggling to keep things totally serious as he sees right through my attempt. “Sweet crib!”
We both giggle, which actually makes us more convincing as na?ve airheads lost in the woods. Or at least I hope it does.
Caulfield's mansion looms ahead… modern and grand, all sharp angles and glass walls that reflect the setting sun like fire. It's spacious even from the outside: wings spreading out on either side, manicured lawns rolling away into the shadows of encircling woods.
Immediately, my mind turns to Daddy. How long would it take to find Viktor in a place this big? Assuming he's even here. The thought sends a fresh wave of nerves through me, my hands clammy despite the cool air.
Alexander might think that Viktor is here, but until we get eyes on him, it’s all speculation. I can’t even bring myself to think about what we’ll do if we don’t find him. All I know is that I’ll never give up, not when my Daddy is concerned.
We reach the massive front doors—double height, sleek wood with polished brass handles. Before I can knock, they swing open. A security guy stands there before us. He’s tall, built like a fridge, earpiece coiled around his neck. His eyes narrow at us, scanning head to toe. "Who the hell are you?"
Robbie squeezes my hand once—much needed reassurance—then steps forward, voice small and shaky. "Um, hi. Our car broke down a couple miles back. We're... lost. Phone's dead. Can we use yours? Please?"
The huge man crosses his arms, blocking the doorway. “There must be a mistake here. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this ain't a phone booth. Strictly private property. Turn the hell around."
I feel my pulse spike. If he turns us away now, the plan's dead. "Please," I add, making my voice waver. "We're tired. Scared. Just a quick call for a tow?"
He hesitates, radio crackling at his belt. He's about to respond when a voice echoes from inside—smooth, commanding.
"Problem, Jones?"
The guard steps aside. Harry Caulfield appears at the top of the grand staircase that sweeps down into the foyer like something from a movie. He looks exactly like the photo I saw of him. Boy, he really does rate himself highly. Even from here I can tell that he thinks his shit doesn’t stink.
Caulfield is in a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glass of amber liquid in hand. His eyes land on us, and I see it—the creepy gleam, like a cat spotting mice. He descends the stairs slowly, smile widening. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
The guard straightens. "Lost boys, sir. Car trouble. Want to use the phone. I told them to get their asses off the property."
Caulfield waves him off. "Of course they can. Can't turn away damsels in distress. I wouldn’t have okayed them in unless I wanted to help." He sends the security away with a flick of his fingers, then turns to us, all charm. "Come in, come in. You both look exhausted."
Robbie and I exchange a subtle glance as we step inside…
he's hooked. Just like we hoped. His reputation as a party-loving politician, always surrounded by "admirers," made this predictable. But to see that it’s actually working is just perfect.
Caulfield can't resist two pretty boys showing up at his door.
But rather than get over excited, I focus myself to make sure that this first step toward finding Viktor isn’t also my last. I look around and see that the foyer is huge—marble floors, high ceilings with chandeliers dripping crystal, modern art on the walls that looks expensive but soulless.
Spacious doesn't cover it… it's cavernous.
Hallways branch off in multiple directions, stairs curving up to balconies.
Finding Viktor in this maze? Daunting.
"Tell me what happened," Caulfield says, leading us deeper into the house.
"Our car broke down about two miles back," I say, keeping my voice shaky. "We're lost. Tired. Just need a phone to call for help."
He nods sympathetically, but his eyes linger too long on our legs, our faces. "Poor things. Tell you what… use my health suite to freshen up first. Shower, relax. Then we'll get you food, water, and I'll arrange a ride home personally. Sound good?"
Robbie nods eagerly. "Thank you so much, sir."
He smiles, pleased. "Call me Harry. This way. Both of you."
He leads us to a side door, down a short hall to what he calls the health suite—a spa-like room with steam shower, sauna, plush robes hanging on hooks, even a mini-fridge stocked with bottled water and face masks.
"Take your time," he says, winking. "I'll be in the living room when you're ready. I’ll have my chef prep some food and drink. Only the best for you two babes…"
The door closes behind him and I let out a long breath. Caulfield is gross. Just as anticipated. But I have to get over that, and fast.
Robbie and I wait a beat, then spring into action. "Cameras," he whispers.
We spot them quickly. Small, discreet domes in the corners. Robbie grabs towels from the rack, drapes them over the lenses. I do the same for the one above the mirror. "Done."
"Now we find them," I say, heart pounding. "Viktor and Ivan."
“How long do you think we have before Caulfield gets suspicious?” Robbie asks.
“Not long enough,” I say, a wry smile on my face. “But we’ll make it work.”
We slip out the door—quiet, barefoot for stealth—and start moving. The mansion is a labyrinth: wide corridors with polished floors that echo every step, rooms branching off… library, gym, home theater.
We peek in doors, listen at walls, avoiding the main areas where voices murmur.
Nervous energy buzzes through me—every creak makes me jump, every shadow looks like a guard.
We turn a corner and nearly collide with two thugs in black tactical gear, guns holstered at their hips. Robbie grabs my arm, pulls me back. We duck behind a doorway, hearts slamming.
Footsteps approach.
Closer.
Closer…
"Shit," Robbie breathes.
I spot it—a large pile of bedding stacked near a wall panel, waiting for... laundry? Robbie follows my gaze, nods. We dive behind it, burrowing under sheets just as the thugs round the corner.
Their voices are low, gruff. "Boss wants the Russian broken by morning."
"Stubborn fucker. But he'll crack."
Footsteps fade. We wait, breathless, until silence returns.
Robbie peeks out. "Clear."
I exhale. "Too close. And did you hear that… they must have been talking about Viktor."
Robbie nods, a worried look on his face. But before we can get too deep on what’s happening to Daddy, Robbie notices the panel beside the bedding pile—a laundry shaft, hatch slightly ajar. He opens it carefully. A faint echo of music drifts up, thumping bass, a real dance beat but ominous too.
My gut twists. "That's... not party music."
Robbie listens. "Sounds like... I don’t know what. But nothing good.”
"Viktor's down there,” I say. “I know it."
He nods, grim. "Okay. But careful."
The shaft is narrow, metal, like a slide. We climb in. Me first, feet braced against the sides to control the descent. Robbie follows. We slide down in controlled drops, landing in a heap of linens in the laundry room below—washers humming, dryer heat thick in the air.
"Basement level," Robbie whispers.
We creep out. The room is industrial… concrete floors, pipes snaking overhead. A secondary staircase at the far end—narrow, dimly lit. The music louder now, vibrating through the walls. It’s coming from above us.
We climb slowly, step by creaky step, hearts in our throats. At the top: a door, metal, no window.
I press my ear to it.
The techno pounds, relentless, but in a brief break between tracks—a thug's voice: "...the so-called Pakhan still not talking."
Viktor.
Joy and terror crash through me. I fumble for my phone to text Alexander.
But... no bars. There’s zero signal down here.
"Shit," I whisper.
Robbie checks his. "Nothing. We need to get out, find a signal."
But Viktor's right there. Behind that door. I can't leave. I just can’t.
Stay or go? The dilemma tears at me. Risk everything to save him now? Or follow the plan, get help?
Robbie tugs my arm. "Eddie—we have to go. I’m not freakin’ kidding."
I hesitate, my ear still pressed to the door. Music starts again.
What would Viktor want? He’d want me to make the pragmatic play, the one that keeps me safe.
But he's my Daddy.
Only this is one time that he doesn’t get to tell me what to do…