Chapter 219: Breadcrumb Trail

"Why were you pretending you didn’t see me?" the girl asked.

Naomi shrugged as she straightened with the spoons in hand. "It’s none of my business."

The girl frowned. "Then why ask anything at all?"

"Curious."

"First it’s none of your business, then next you are curious. Which are you going for exactly?"

"Do you only ask questions?"

"Isn’t that what curious people should do?"

Naomi lifted a brow. "I can’t tell if you are incredibly smart or just plain rude."

"Which would you prefer?"

Naomi actually had to think about that one. "Plain rude," she decided. "But I don’t take offense easily." She rested one hand against the edge of the bin. "First off, if you keep staying in here, you will run out of oxygen."

Naomi glanced toward the open truck doors. "Second, you may not like a party, but have you considered that maybe this party isn’t exactly for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are older. Your parents must have a lot to be grateful for. Maybe this party is a way for them to show just how happy they are to have you, and they want to celebrate with friends and family." Naomi picked up the tub of spoons she had come for and tucked it against her hip. "Happy birthday, by the way."

She said it without even trying to peek at the girl behind the bin.

Then she turned toward the open truck doors.

"I’ll give you ten minutes before I tell your parents where you are." Naomi stepped out of the truck, deliberately leaving one of the doors slightly open behind her.

The girl had already made it abundantly clear that she didn’t appreciate being treated like a helpless child, and Naomi had no intention of doing so. If Clara wanted to stay hidden, she could stay hidden for another ten minutes.

After that, Naomi was absolutely telling her parents.

She had food to arrange. She wasn’t adding accomplice in the disappearance of a twelve-year-old to her list of responsibilities for the day. Naomi returned to the party setup and immediately got back to work. She handed the spoons over, checked one of the serving tables when movement from the direction of the garage caught her attention.

It hadn’t taken ten minutes.

Clara was walking toward the house in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, looking entirely unimpressed with the celebration waiting for her.

Naomi lowered her eyes before the girl could catch her watching and smiled to herself.

Kids.

As the party drew closer to starting, the atmosphere in the Hawthorne house finally began to settle. The earlier panic eased, music started playing and guests began arriving. Naomi stayed focused on the food, moving between her staff and the serving stations while trying to ignore the exhaustion sitting heavily behind her eyes.

Just when everything was almost ready, Mrs Hawthorne approached her.

Clara was beside her.

Naomi straightened.

It was only then that she got her first proper look at the birthday girl.

She was a pretty child, but she looked unusually contained. While her parents seemed naturally warm and expressive, Clara’s face gave nothing away. Her expression wasn’t hostile exactly, nor did she look angry about being brought over. She simply looked... blank.

Naomi immediately planted a pleasant smile on her face.

"Clara tells me you found her and made her come back for the party," Mrs Hawthorne said.

Naomi glanced at Clara. "I was merely looking for spoons. Happy coincidence... no?"

Clara met her gaze with the same frosty expression.

Naomi held the smile.

Sheesh.

How had two people as warm as Maxwell and his wife produced a child who seemed to have been assembled from entirely different emotional materials?

Then again, perhaps Clara was simply shy. Or just being twelve. Twelve alone explained several things.

"Thank you," Mrs Hawthorne said, and the relief in her voice made it obvious just how frightened she had been earlier.

Naomi shook her head. "It’s nothing, really." She looked back at Clara. "It was nice to meet you, Clara."

"It was nice to meet you too." Clara glanced toward the tables behind her. "Can I have some of the food?"

Naomi smiled. "Of course." She gestured to one of the servers nearby. "You won’t have time to eat during the party anyway."

Clara gave a small nod and moved toward the food.

All through the few minutes Clara stood there, there hadn’t been the slightest change in her expression.

Honestly, if Naomi didn’t know better, she would have thought Alexandra Heathcliffe was the girl’s mother.

The resemblance wasn’t physical. It was that same terrifying ability to look at another human being with a perfectly blank face and somehow make them wonder whether they had already disappointed you.

Naomi smiled to herself and returned to work.

Soon, the party was in full swing. Music filled the house, teenagers moved between the food and entertainment. Naomi barely had time to think about anything except keeping the food moving and making sure her staff stayed ahead of demand.

By the time she finally glanced at the clock, she realised it would be inconvenient to have Dorian drive all the way back to pick her up.

She had already dragged him through enough of her exhausting weekend schedule, and the catering truck was returning in the direction of home anyway.

So she sent him a quick message telling him not to bother coming for her.

She would ride back in the truck instead.

*****

When Dorian arrived back at the townhouse later that night, he knew two things were about to happen before he even switched off the engine.

He was going to lose his shit.

And his wife was going to kill him. The car parked in his garage was the first clue.

Dorian sat behind the wheel, staring at it. He leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly.

Really, he needed to check the damned SVR system at some point.

He reached for his phone, opened the motion-sensor system and began checking the house.

Someone was in his bedroom.

After leaving Naomi at the Hawthorne house, Dorian hadn’t returned home immediately.

He had gone to his parents’ place for a while, intending to stay there until it was time to pick Naomi up. But once her message came through saying she would ride back in the catering truck instead, he changed his plans.

There was work waiting for him anyway. So he headed back to the townhouse, expecting a quiet evening, maybe a few hours with his laptop before Naomi returned.

Instead, he found a bright green Lamborghini Urus sitting in his garage.

Dorian remained in his car. He knew that car.

More importantly, he knew who owned it.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether Adrian had ever gotten around to removing the access from the SVR after she moved out, but considering her car was currently sitting comfortably inside his garage, the answer was clearly no.

Another task for the ever-growing list of things Dorian had foolishly assumed were already handled.

This was what happened when he became overly dependent on an assistant capable of running his life even while he was on another continent. Adrian had been so efficient for so long that Dorian had practically forgotten what it felt like to check certain things himself.

His mind immediately began working through possibilities.

Was this some kind of publicity stunt? Had she planted a camera somewhere? Was she planning to photograph herself leaving his house and let the internet do the rest?

He had an unknown amount of time to remove his ex-wife from his house before his current wife walked in and discovered her there.

Dorian exhaled slowly.

How exactly was he supposed to play this? At some point during the mental exercise, Dorian realised something very simple.

He honestly did not care anymore.

Camille had crossed the line too many times.

It was time to have a restraining order handy.

Dorian got out of the car, shut the door and marched into the house. He noticed the breadcrumbs almost immediately.

Her handbag was sitting in the living room. Her sunglasses were on the coffee table.

Then he reached the elevator. A shirt lay on the floor inside.

Dorian stepped inside and pressed the button for the master suite.

The elevator doors closed. As it moved upward, he folded his arms and stared straight ahead. The doors opened to the fourth floor.

Dorian stepped out.

The house was quiet.

He walked toward the bedroom door, noticing more small signs that Camille had wanted him to know exactly where she had gone.

She had staged a trail.

Which meant whatever waited on the other side of that door had been planned.

He pushed the bedroom door open carefully.

Camille was in there, lying in his bed.

The bed he shared with his wife. And she was wearing nothing but underwear.

Camille turned lazily at the sound of the door and smiled as though she had been expecting him all along. "Hey, sugar."