Sutton gripped the senator’s shoulder. “Not a chance. We’re driving you back to Bullstow before anyone notices that your hands aren’t behind your back by choice.”
“You have one minute,” Lila whispered, her voice still on fire. If she didn’t humor him, she’d always wonder what he wanted to say.
The blackcoats drifted off several meters away, circling around the pair, watching every move the senator made with cold precision.
“Don’t let them charge me with this. My children, my family, they can’t know. Make something up. I won’t tell them about you or your father, just spare—”
“Don’t make things worse for yourself. Shaw heard everything. The senate disciplinary committee will see the evidence and hear an edited version of our conversation—your confession in your own words. Go quietly, cooperate, and no one else might know of your crimes but a few Saxon senators who judge your case.”
“And my family?”
“Your matron will be informed. Chairwoman Masson will choose someone to finish the job. I doubt she’ll want to tell anyone either. It would shame the family too much.”
She couldn’t have wounded him as much if she had pulled the Colt from her sleeve, loaded it with bullets rather than darts, and shot him point-blank in the chest. He merely nodded at her and tilted his head for Shaw to lead him away to the waiting car. There was an exchange between the pair of them, and he gave Lila one last parting glance before he crawled inside the backseat, the two Bullstow officers dwarfing him on either side.
Sutton offered Lila a wave, climbed into the front seat, and drove the vehicle to the south gate. No one would stop the estate’s commander, not if she didn’t stop first.
Sutton didn’t stop.
Lila watched the car pul
l from the compound, bound for Bullstow.
She didn’t return to the house for some time. Lila wrapped her scarf tighter and trudged through the compound, buttoning her red woolen coat to the neck. The air was colder than it had been all year, and the wind lashed the rosebushes, ripping away the new buds.
She stayed out until she no could longer feel her toes, then slipped back into the great house, through the scullery, and past the kitchens. No one met her on the staircase. The only sign that anyone had been around at all was a tray that had been left on her desk. It contained fruit and her favorite chocolate cookies, but Lila did not eat any of it. Her throat hurt too much, even to swallow a sip of wine.
Stripping off her scarf and coat, she poured the wine down her bathroom sink, then fell into bed early.
Chapter 26
Lila fumbled the vibrating palm on her bedside table and glanced at the dark windows, drapes closed tightly. She tapped the screen, expecting Commander Sutton’s voice on the other end, ready with an emergency.
“Hello,” she said, then regretted it immediately. Her voice emerged in a hoarse croak, as if she had caught a cold overnight. The jagged, rough pain in her throat and her sore ribs brought everything back. Her new position, Tristan, La Roux, the arrest, her near murder. She buried her head under the pillow at the memories, cheek brushing against a plastic baggie filled with cool water. Sutton had forced it upon her after returning to the compound.
She shoved the makeshift icepack away.
“I apologize for the short notice, but I need you to come down to Bullstow as soon as you can,” Chief Shaw said delicately. “I waited for as long as I could, but we have some things to discuss, and we need to get your side of the story.”
“My side?”
“For the report. Senator La Roux told us his side. We need to file your side as well. It would also help to take a few pictures, and maybe even get the medical report from your doctor. I can call her for you. Which doctor did you see last night?”
Lila frowned. After the shock of La Roux’s attack wore off, she had just wanted to be alone, to go to bed, to try for sleep and oblivion. She had never considered seeing a doctor, not even when Sutton suggested it. It was only a few punches and kicks from a madman, after all, a brief moment spent with someone’s hands around her neck.
But it hadn’t just been that, had it?
In a country where violence was an anathema, it had happened to her.
Again.
“Madam?” Shaw asked tentatively.
“One hour.”
Lila hung up, wincing as she got out of bed, her ribs protesting every movement and breath.
After a quick shower, Lia opened her closet to a sea of crimson. She avoided the dresses and chose red trousers and a red sweater, donning her new red leather coat atop it. If she’d been truly free to wear whatever she wished, she would have chosen her militia uniform and blackcoat instead. She would have felt ready for battle, and she needed that feeling again. Someone else was still trying to kill her, after all, and it wasn’t La Roux.