Chapter 2 - The silent observer
The quiet question barely disturbed the air, but Daniel heard it. Every muscle in his broad, masculine frame went rigid with realization, though he kept his rugged face completely slack. He let his eyes drift shut entirely, playing the part of a man severely dazed by a fall.
"Vanessa, call Dr. Evans," Grace pleaded, not having heard the fiancée's whispered words. Grace's hands were warm against Daniel's cold skin. "Tell him it's an emergency."
Vanessa blinked, her gaze snapping up from the empty floor near Daniel's hand. She quickly smoothed her features into a mask of refined panic. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll call him from the study." She turned and practically fled down the corridor, the luxurious fabric of her pale-pink gown trailing behind her.
Daniel waited until the clicking of Vanessa's heels faded. Slowly, he opened his dark, intense eyes.
Grace let out a breathless sigh of relief. "You're awake. Don't try to sit up yet, Mr. Whitfield. The doctor is on his way."
Daniel looked up at the young woman kneeling over him. In his dangerous world, trust was an illusion, but the genuine, unfiltered concern in Grace's blue eyes was entirely real. He slowly reached up, his large, powerful hand gently grasping her wrist to move the towel away.
"I'm fine, Grace," Daniel said, his voice a low, frighteningly calm rumble that betrayed no weakness at all.
He sat up effortlessly, the tailored lines of his black suit settling perfectly across his broad shoulders. He didn't look like a man who had just taken a violent fall. He looked like a predator who had just finished laying a trap.
Grace sat back on her heels, bewildered. "But you fell. I saw you."
"I slipped," Daniel corrected smoothly, adjusting his black dress shirt. "But sometimes a fall is necessary to see who reaches out to catch you. And who steps over you."
Before Grace could process his cryptic words, Daniel reached into his interior jacket pocket. Between his long, elegant fingers was a heavy, ornate silver key. The vault key. He had palmed it the moment he hit the floor, testing to see what Vanessa would look for first: his life, or his fortune.
Grace's eyes widened slightly as she recognized the key, but she was smart enough not to ask questions. In the Whitfield mansion, the less a maid knew, the safer she was.
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"Help me up," Daniel commanded softly.
Grace immediately stood, offering her hand. Daniel didn't need her help to stand, but he took her hand anyway, his large palm engulfing hers. He leaned slightly on her shoulder as they walked toward the leather-bound study, keeping up the charade. He needed Vanessa to believe he was vulnerable. He needed to know why his glamorous fiancée was suddenly obsessed with the syndicate's underground vault.
