Prologue
Six daysago
I’m the last to climb the steps and enter the private jet.
My little lap dog followed through. By mid-Sunday, the news of Lilly McGuire being victim number one had broken everywhere. They even gave Nate a cute serial offender name: The Babysitter. How very fitting.
I can imagine how he reacted when he got the alert. I hope he lost his temper in front of his dimwitted fiancée; he has never been able to handle it when someone bad-mouths his family.
As soon as I tasked my informant, I set everything else in motion. It was not easy to organize transportation for my pawn and the medical staff I require to keep him in check, let alone a place for all of us to stay. It needs to be secure and large enough so I don't have to listen to him yell at the nurse every time she administers the paralytic drugs. I thought, after years of not using his legs, he would be too weak. Obviously, I was wrong. Last week's escape attempt was proof of that. A mistake I will not make twice.
Gray assured me the house he procured is far away from any other residence in the area, close enough to drive to Westbridge on short notice, and still meets my aesthetic requirements. This is going to be interesting, knowing Gray’s taste in interior design.
Everyone is on board, and he is secured in the back of the plane. As far as the pilots and flight attendant are concerned, the unconscious man is my terribly ill husband that will be receiving medical treatment in the United States.
Standing in the door, I take in the interior of the jet. This will do for the next ten hours.