Chapter Three The Road No One Chose
Chapter Three
The Road No One Chose
Naomi slept for exactly forty-three minutes.
For one suspended moment, she forgot why her body felt so heavy.
Then memory returned.
Amara.
Alive.
The hidden sewing studio.
The photographs.
The plane tickets.
Spain.
Naomi stared at the ceiling.
Her biological mother had been watching her from the shadows for years.
Not months.
Years.
Graduation.
College shows.
Birthdays.
London.
Lucas.
Naomi still couldn’t decide which part hurt most.
That Amara had survived.
That she had stayed away.
Or that everyone around Naomi seemed to believe love gave them the right to control what truth she was allowed to know.
Beside her, Lucas slept on his side facing her.
The room was dim, but dawn had begun to soften the darkness around the curtains.
Naomi studied him.
His face looked younger when he slept.
Less burdened.
No Taylor board.
No Hudson.
No Serrano.
No bloodline.
Just Lucas.
She reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.
His eyes opened immediately.
“You’re staring at me.”
Naomi smiled faintly.
“You weren’t supposed to wake up.”
“I’ve been shot at too often to sleep through someone touching my face.”
“That is a depressing sentence.”
“I’ve had a complicated year.”
She traced the edge of his eyebrow.
“Try a complicated week.”
Lucas reached for her and pulled her closer.
Naomi settled against his chest.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
His heartbeat steadied her.
Eventually he asked, “What’s the loudest thought?”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“That she was there.”
“Amara?”
“Yes.”
“She watched me graduate.”
Lucas said nothing.
“She watched me cry after Dad died.”
His arm tightened around her.
“She knew when I started college. She knew when I got the London internship. She knew about Marcus. She knew about you.”
Her voice lowered.
“And she never came.”
Lucas kissed the top of her head.
“That hurts.”
“It makes me furious.”
“That too.”
“I understand hiding from Elias.”
“Yes.”
“I understand hiding from Serrano.”
“Yes.”
“But thirty years?”
Naomi pushed herself upright.
“Thirty years, Lucas.”
He sat up beside her.
“She said she promised Joseph.”
“I know what she said.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I believe Joseph may have asked her to stay away.”
Naomi looked toward the darkened window.
“I’m beginning to question whether everyone in my family interpreted my father’s wishes according to whatever choice they already wanted to make.”
Lucas absorbed that.
“That’s fair.”
“Dad wanted me protected. Fine. But protection somehow became secrecy, surveillance, fake birth records, hidden identities, and strangers teaching me lessons without telling me why.”
She shook her head.
“I’m tired of being someone else’s plan.”
Lucas reached for her hand.
“Then Spain happens on yours.”
Naomi looked at him.
“That simple?”
“No.”
His thumb moved over her knuckles.
“Nothing involving your family is simple.”
That finally made her laugh.
Barely.
But enough.
Lucas continued.
“We don’t take Amara’s tickets.”
“No.”
“We don’t use a Taylor aircraft.”
“Definitely not.”
“We don’t tell Hudson the route until we’re already moving.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
“He’s going to love that.”
“I’m strangely comfortable disappointing him now.”
“You’re growing.”
“I’m trying.”
She studied him.
“And Anthony?”
“He’ll insist on security.”
“He’ll be right.”
“That is irritatingly common.”
Naomi leaned back against the headboard.
“What about Evelyn?”
Lucas hesitated.
“Your mother or—”
“My mother.”
The word felt different now.
Not false.
Changed.
Evelyn had raised her.
Stayed beside her through fevers, heartbreak, school dances, fashion competitions, and grief.
Amara’s blood did not erase any of that.
Still, something inside Naomi resisted pretending the new truth had no weight.
“She’s still my mom,” Naomi said quietly.
Lucas nodded.
“She is.”
“But Amara is also my mother.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to call her.”
“You don’t have to decide before breakfast.”
Naomi looked toward him.
“You say smart things occasionally.”
“I save them for emotional emergencies.”
She leaned into him.
He kissed her forehead.
The tenderness settled some of the anger without erasing it.
That was what Naomi had come to love about Lucas.
He never demanded that comfort replace truth.
He simply stayed close enough that she could survive both.
By seven-thirty, Commander Ross had converted the penthouse dining room into another operations center.
Naomi walked in wearing dark jeans, a cream blouse, ankle boots, and her father’s pendant beneath her collar.
Lucas followed carrying coffee.
Anthony was already there.
Of course he was.
He had placed a croissant on the table beside three encrypted tablets and a map of Europe.
Naomi stared.
“Do princes ever sleep?”
Anthony took a bite.
“Sleep is mostly for elected officials.”
Lucas set down the coffee.
“Ignore him.”
“You invited me.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
Commander Ross entered from the balcony access corridor.
“Good. Everyone’s awake.”
Anthony raised his coffee.
“Debatable.”
Ross ignored him.
“We have a decision to make about Spain.”
Naomi sat.
“We’re going.”
“I assumed.”
“We’re not using the tickets Amara left.”
“I also assumed.”
“We choose the route.”
“That’s where I intend to disappoint you.”
Naomi frowned.
Ross placed a map on the table.
“Every commercial route from London to Barcelona is already being monitored.”
“By whom?”
“We don’t know.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Ross tapped several airports.
“Two separate surveillance teams identified individuals connected to shell security companies linked to Mercer.”
Lucas leaned closer.
“Not Serrano?”
“Not on the visible records.”
Anthony added, “Someone wants to know whether Naomi follows the tickets.”
Naomi sat back.
“So tearing them up was the right choice.”
“Yes.”
Ross almost looked pleased.
Naomi noticed.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I appreciate people who make the sensible decision before I have to threaten them.”
Lucas looked toward Naomi.
“She’ll recover.”
Naomi ignored him.
“What’s the alternative route?”
Ross pointed north.
“Train.”
Naomi frowned.
“Through France?”
“Not directly.”
Anthony smiled.
“We go the long way.”
“How long?”
“Long enough to be annoying.”
Naomi looked suspicious.
Anthony continued.
“London to Edinburgh.”
Lucas blinked.
“Scotland?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we depart from there.”
Ross brought up a second route.
“A private research vessel leaves Leith tomorrow night for Bilbao.”
Naomi stared.
“A ship?”
“Technically a marine archaeology vessel.”
Anthony looked pleased with himself.
“My foundation funds it.”
Lucas shook his head.
“Of course it does.”
“The crew is cleared. The passenger manifest will list Naomi as an invited textile conservation consultant.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
“That’s oddly specific.”
Ross shrugged.
“You know textiles.”
“And Lucas?”
Anthony grinned.
“Architectural heritage adviser.”
Lucas stared at him.
“I have never advised maritime archaeology in my life.”
“You drew a building.”
Naomi covered a laugh.
Ross continued.
“The route keeps us away from the obvious air corridors. From Bilbao, we drive through northern Spain under separate identities.”
“Final destination?” Naomi asked.
“The monastery region.”
Her chest tightened.
The House of the Bluebird.
Every clue eventually returned there.
Lucas noticed her reaction.
He moved his hand beneath the table and touched hers.
Naomi squeezed once.
Ross went on.
“We do not enter the monastery immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because Elias knows we’re coming.”
“Amara too,” Naomi said.
“And Mercer,” Anthony added.
“Possibly Serrano.”
Ross nodded.
“Which means the monastery may be the least safe location in Europe.”
Naomi looked toward the map.
“Then we need to know who reaches it before us.”
“That is exactly what we intend to learn.”
Ross produced several surveillance photographs.
One showed a mountain road.
Another showed an old stone village.
A third showed the monastery itself.
At first glance, nothing appeared unusual.
Then Naomi noticed vehicles.
Three black SUVs.
A delivery truck.
A motorcycle.
“Who are they?”
“We don’t know.”
Ross changed the image.
A figure appeared near the monastery gate.
Naomi leaned closer.
Daniel Mercer.
He stood beneath an archway talking to a monk.
“He’s already there.”
“Yes.”
Another photograph.
The silver-haired Keeper.
Same location.
Different day.
Naomi exhaled.
“And Amara?”
Ross shook her head.
“No confirmed sighting.”
“Elias?”
“None.”
“What about Serrano?”
Anthony answered.
“We have something.”
He displayed a financial transfer.
A chartered aircraft had departed Bogotá for Madrid eighteen hours earlier under a company connected to Serrano.
Lucas’s expression hardened.
“He’s in Spain.”
“Likely.”
Naomi stared at the monastery photograph.
Everyone was converging.
Mercer.
The Keeper.
Serrano.
Possibly Elias.
Possibly Amara.
And now Naomi and Lucas.
The House of the Bluebird was no longer a destination.
It was a collision point.
“What do they all want?” Naomi asked.
No one answered immediately.
Then Ross said, “Probably the same thing.”
Naomi looked toward her.
“What?”
“Whatever is beneath that monastery.”
Hudson arrived at nine.
Uninvited.
No one was surprised.
He entered the penthouse wearing a dark suit and carrying the kind of expression that once made board members reconsider entire strategies.
Lucas looked up from the map.
“Who told you?”
Hudson removed his gloves.
“Your mother.”
Lucas sighed.
“Of course.”
Naomi stood.
Hudson looked toward her.
He did not ask permission to join the discussion.
Old habits.
Then he stopped.
A subtle correction.
“May I?”
Naomi noticed.
So did Lucas.
She gestured toward the empty chair.
“Sit.”
Hudson did.
Progress could look embarrassingly small sometimes.
His eyes moved over the route maps.
“You’re traveling through Scotland.”
Ross frowned.
“That information was classified.”
Hudson looked almost offended.
“I recognized the vessel.”
Anthony laughed.
“I knew naming it Blue Heron was too obvious.”
Hudson ignored him.
His gaze settled on Naomi.
“You found Amara’s studio.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
Naomi stared.
“You knew she was alive.”
Silence.