CHAPTER SIX #2
But Mimi balks instantly. She lets slip a very distinct sound of fear and hides behind Monroe’s legs, gripping Jules’ pyjamas with both hands.
‘No, no, no!’
‘Mimi, baby, it’s OK,’ Jules tells her, voice wobbling slightly. ‘Stay with the bodyguard, he’ll keep you—!’
‘NO!’ the kid screams. ‘NOT BODYGARDEN BAD MAN, NO!’
Monroe’s mouth curls with distaste and she rears back to kick Mimi physically away, but Lachlan sees his opening and so does Carrigan. In the space of three seconds, several things happen in swift procession.
Lachlan uses the half-formed kick to knock Monroe off her feet and grab Jules by the hand, yanking him down, dragging him directly behind Lachlan for cover.
At the same time he reaches for the gun that was aimed right at his head, steals it, flips it and takes each of the intruders down with a headshot apiece, right between the eyes.
He’s always had good aim.
Carrigan takes out the rest in equally fast fashion, joining his side, but by the time they swing their aim at Monroe, she already has Mimi in her arms, kneeling on the floor, blade pressed to the kid’s neck.
Mimi is clinging to Monroe for dear life, crying.
‘Give him to me,’ Monroe instructs with deadly calm. ‘Now.’
Jules is trying to get to Mimi. Carrigan keeps him where he is.
‘Don’t hurt her, please, please! Mimi let go, baby, let—!’
‘NO!’
The poor kid is clearly terrified and won’t let go of her childminder, doesn’t seem to realise she’s bad. Every second that passes, the likelihood of her survival is dropping.
Lachlan makes a snap decision.
He lowers his gun, all movements telegraphed.
‘Jules, go to her,’ he instructs calmly. ‘We’ll trade.’
Jules looks surprised but he doesn’t hesitate to crawl across the floor. Monroe tries to pull Mimi off to honour the trade, but she’s gripping like a little koala, wailing loudly.
‘Mimi, let go,’ Jules begs. ‘It’s me, please let go!’
‘NO! YOU GONNA GIVE ME TO THE BAD MAN!’
‘Mimi, come on! He-he’ll keep you safe, please!’
Monroe and Lachlan are in a staring contest.
He’s just waiting for his moment.
‘Remove her,’ she snaps at him, drawing Jules closer so she can press the scalpel over his skin in regained threat, ‘and then we can—’
Lachlan’s knife strikes dead centre between her eyes, thrown with cold tactical precision. It’s small, heavy for its size, and he’s been hiding it in his palm for the past minute.
Monroe falls backwards, dead.
Mimi screams louder than ever.
It’s so loud he feels his own eardrums recoiling, so pitched with abject horror that Lachlan physically winces, his own vision faltering briefly, makes it seem like the flashlights are flickering.
‘Secure the wing,’ Lachlan tells Carrigan, moving to the distressed kids and the now dead childminder. ‘Jules, get inside your room.’
‘Mimi, please,’ the boy yells, trying to pull his little sister off the dead body. ‘Please, baby. Please, it’s me, it’s OK now, it’s gonna be OK!’
Lachlan’s patience frays because their safety has to be priority, so he pulls Mimi roughly off the dead woman and holds her tight while she screams and beats him with tiny fists.
A violent migraine spreads thickly behind his eyes, and nausea roils in his guts for reasons he can’t fathom. It’s hardly his first kill.
He drags them both inside Jules’ bedroom.
Once inside, he locks it securely and then hands Mimi over to Jules, but she won’t stay with him. She scurries under the bed, sobbing in the dark.
Jules follows her, crawls underneath too. He’s trying to explain it’s OK, that they’re safe now, but she won’t listen.
The backup frequency comes in with reports of the intruders being taken care of. He gives the OK for missile launch to take out the chopper that was circling for extraction.
One is kept alive for questioning.
The whole time, he can hear Mimi crying that the bad man bodygarden killed her Morning Momma, and it feels like lightning in his chest.
?
There’s no official reprimand levelled at Lachlan, but the old man is unhappy to say the least. In the week following the incident, Alistair Penhalyx’s presence in the Estate is a heavy-handed punishment for everyone, but no one more than Clara Barnes.
Lachlan personally oversaw the intel-extraction of the man they kept alive. He presented the information to the old man directly. Alyssa Monroe’s real name was Larisa Belkin.
She had been working as Mimi’s childminder for almost a year.
It was Clara who hired and vetted her.
While cleanup and rebuilding takes place, Alistair has Lachlan demonstrate how he would have vetted Belkin. He physically watches Lachlan, monitors him while they’re in his office, shooting looks at Clara now and then who sits on a chair nearby, hands and feet tied.
It takes Lachlan less than ten minutes to find a flag in Belkin’s legend. ‘This here,’ he explains, pointing to the screen.
‘And you’d have seen this even if you weren’t looking for it?’
‘You have to rotate background checks to monitor for changes or discrepancies,’ Lachlan simply says. ‘You can’t just do it once.’
Alistair nods slowly. ‘You will be in charge of vetting staff going forward, new and old. Your pay scale will reflect this additional responsibility. Let me know what you need.’ Clara is trying to say something through the gag.
She’s shaking her head and crying. Alistair directs his attention to her, all three of them inside the vast office where Lachlan signed that fucking contract.
‘You have failed me greatly, Clara,’ he says, tone silky.
‘I’m very disappointed.’ Then he looks at Lachlan, who already knows exactly what he’s going to be asked to carry out.
‘Dispose of her for me, Lachlan, please.’
Clara is screaming but it’s muffled by the gag.
Lachlan has already run the possibility of this through his head and weighed outcomes. All are bad, all lead to bad places.
But there is a lesser evil, and that’s the path he must walk.
So he takes the gun that Alistair offers and gives a sharp nod, prepared to do what he must, noting that the weight of the handgun is slightly off. He doesn’t hesitate either way, strides over to her, aims the gun at her temple, dead centre and he pulls the trigger three times in rapid succession.
Bang, but no blowout.
He was right, they were blanks.
He would have carried it out anyway. Lachlan is a professional.
And he can’t take the risk of someone else replacing him.
Hyperventilating under her gag, Clara seems almost entirely broken by primal fear. Lachlan cocks his head at the gun just as he would if he hadn’t noticed the weight. He looks to Alistair who is watching him with glassy satisfaction.
‘Excellent.’ He takes the gun back when Lachlan offers it, pulls out the magazine and shows it to Lachlan. ‘Your loyalty to my family is commendable, Lachlan.’ The old man then snaps a fresh magazine into the handgun, aims it at Clara’s chest and fires a single bullet, right in the middle.
It’s a bad death because it misses her heart.
Lachlan gives nothing away, no reaction.
‘Why don’t you show me some of the ground upgrades?’ Alistair suggests pleasantly, leaving the gun on his desk.
Lachlan falls into line. ‘Yes, sir.’
Outside, Alistair studies with interest the roof of the East Wing, cleanup still underway. ‘The Moroz Front have made attempts in the past, but this was one of the most sophisticated,’ he observes. ‘You did well to keep my son safe, but I’m sure you noticed weaknesses.’
‘I did, sir.’
‘Those weaknesses will be reinforced.’
‘They will, sir.’
‘Good.’ The old man sighs. Daylight shows all his lines and imperfections. ‘I will begin fielding replacements for Clara. In the meantime, can you suggest an interim?’
Lachlan bites back his immediate urge to recommend Carrigan, who has no experience being head of household in this capacity. Instead he says, ‘I might suggest Blaire Montbelliard, sir.’
‘Your assistant?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can assume she has been thoroughly vetted?’
‘She has, sir. I did it myself this morning.’
‘I will consider that, thank you, Lachlan. How is my son?’
‘Shaken but holding up. He was very brave.’
‘I understand there was some difficulty with Jessamine.’
It’s only the second time he’s ever heard the little girl referred to in such a way. Everyone else calls her Mimi. ‘Yes, sir. She’s very wary of me.’
‘Hm,’ the old man says, walking around a nearby pond. ‘I assume it’s Julian encouraging said wariness?’
‘I wouldn’t presume to know, sir.’
‘It’s your business to know. Julian is yours to manage but both my children are yours to protect. If you cannot even pick her up, how can you protect her?’
‘I’ll find a way, sir.’
‘See that you do. Perhaps the woman you hired as your second, Priscilla Carrigan, can form a bond with her.’
‘That was my instinct also, sir.’
‘Women flock to women.’ The old man smirks.
‘They have their uses. I will be hiring a male replacement as head of household, but your assistant may take over in the interim. Clara left much to be desired, and yet she came so highly recommended from Harker.’ Alistair Penhalyx shrugs and faces Lachlan head on, gaze raking over him.
‘I read your file extensively. Your background indicates a same-sex inclination.’
It's not a question.
Lachlan only hesitates a beat, wondering where the fuck he pulled that from. ‘Both ways, sir.’
Alistair waves away what he perceives of Lachlan’s brief discomfort.
‘I have no qualms with it. I do not carry my father’s prejudice.
The world is new and full of wonders.’ His gaze sharpens somewhat.
‘My son is similarly inclined, I suspect. Remember what I instructed about Julian’s curiosities.
I would be most disappointed to discover he was exploring himself anywhere outside of your management. ’
'Sir, may I seek to clarify something?’ Lachlan asks after debating back and forth whether to even try.
But Alistair Penhalyx seems in a much better mood after killing Clara, so he smiles indulgently. ‘But of course.’