Her expression suggested she was annoyed by an interruption, not worried about a family emergency.
“Oh,” she sighed dramatically.
“It’s you.”
“Where’s Emily?” Richard asked.
Victoria rolled her eyes.
“She’s having one of her episodes.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“Move.”
“Honestly, Colonel Hayes, she became hysterical again. Ethan is trying to calm her down.”
Richard stepped forward.
Victoria planted one manicured hand against his chest.
“This isn’t your house.”
“You don’t belong here.”
Without raising his voice, Richard gently removed her hand from his jacket.
He didn’t shove her.
He simply walked past her.
She stumbled backward anyway.
“You can’t just barge in here!”
He ignored her.
The house was decorated for Easter.
White lilies filled crystal vases.
Pastel ribbons wrapped around expensive centerpieces.
Silver serving trays overflowed with desserts.
Soft classical music drifted through hidden speakers.
It looked like the cover of a luxury magazine.
Then Richard saw his daughter.
Emily lay motionless on a white living room rug.
One side of her face was grotesquely swollen.
Her left eye had nearly swollen shut.
Blood matted the hair above her temple.
She struggled to breathe.
Richard crossed the room in seconds.
He dropped to one knee.
Military instincts he’d relied upon for decades returned instantly.
Airway.
Breathing.
Pulse.
Her pulse was weak.
As he gently lifted her chin, he noticed dark red fingerprints wrapped around her neck.
Not bruises from falling.
