Chapter 2

The armored SUV moved down the interstate toward Long Island. Hertha Mcintosh stared out the window, her hands trembling around her leather handbag. The sudden encounter with Abram Davidson at the mountain road still troubled her mind. Beside her, Kira sat in total silence. Her arms were folded across her chest. Her black hood covered her forehead. She appeared relaxed. Her breathing remained steady and controlled. Arthur looked into the rearview mirror. "Ma'am, Mr. Denver called. The kitchen staff is preparing a quiet welcome dinner at the estate tonight." Hertha turned her head toward the front seat. Her eyes swept over Kira's faded denim pants and scuffed combat boots. Disgust filled Hertha's voice. "A welcome dinner? Looking like this? She is a disgrace. Arthur, take the Midtown exit. We are going straight to Fifth Avenue to buy her proper clothes." From beneath the dark hood, Kira spoke in a flat voice. "I am not going." Hertha's temper flared. She reached out, aiming her fingers at the hood covering the girl's head. "You think you have a choice? You carry the Mcintosh name now, and you will obey me!" Kira moved her hand swiftly. Her slender fingers clamped onto Hertha's wrist with exact pressure, pressing firmly against the radial nerve. Hertha cried out in sudden pain. A sharp ache shot straight up to her shoulder. "Do not touch me," Kira said in a low voice. She tilted her chin, letting Hertha see the cold resolve in her amber eyes. Kira released Hertha's wrist with a brief flick. A dark red mark formed on Hertha's pale skin. "You dare lay a hand on me?" Hertha rubbed her wrist, her eyes wide with shock. "I am your mother!" Kira reached into her pocket, unwrapped a peppermint candy, and tossed it into her mouth. "Mother?" Kira crunched down on the sugar, her voice heavy with scorn. "Where were you eighteen years ago when you abandoned me?" Hertha stared at her, unable to speak. The direct accusation took the breath from her lungs. Her face twisted into bitter resentment. "Arthur! Drive straight to the Long Island estate! Do not buy her a single thing!" "Yes, ma'am," Arthur said, pressing the gas pedal. Inside Kira's pocket, her custom mobile phone vibrated twice. A tiny bone-conduction earpiece hidden behind her ear gave a soft tone. A direct audio link connected. Abram Davidson's deep voice came through the channel. "You diverted my tracking probe, Kiddo," Abram said smoothly. "You have impressive technical skills." Kira leaned her head against the window, shielding her lips with her dark sleeve. She spoke in a faint murmur that Hertha could not hear over the engine noise. "Stop hacking my devices, Davidson. I told you to stay out of my way." Abram let out a low chuckle. "You are entering the Mcintosh estate. That family survives on financial schemes and empty pride. They will try to break you." "Nobody breaks me," Kira replied firmly. "I believe you," Abram said, his tone softening with subtle intensity. "Say the word, and my car will pull alongside your SUV. I can bring you to Manhattan right now." Kira felt curious about his persistence. She kept her boundaries firm. "I handle my own battles," Kira said. "Stay out of my business." "We will see about that," Abram murmured. "I do not give up easily." The audio link clicked off. Kira pushed the earpiece deeper into her pocket. Abram Davidson was dangerous, arrogant, and determined to follow her every move. The SUV turned past the tall iron gates of the Mcintosh estate on Long Island's Gold Coast. Fifty feet away, parked beneath a large oak tree outside the perimeter wall, a custom black Maybach waited in the shade. Kira saw the vehicle through the dark glass of the SUV. Abram had arrived ahead of her. He was watching the estate entrance. Hertha checked her reflection in the vanity mirror, fixing her lipstick and smoothing her hair. "Leave your crude habits outside," Hertha warned, glaring at Kira. "Your brother Javen is home from his press tour. He demands respect. Do not provoke him." Kira ignored her words and picked up her canvas backpack. The SUV stopped before the limestone steps of the mansion. Arthur opened the door for Hertha. Kira pushed her door open and stepped onto the white gravel. At the top of the wide marble staircase stood Javen Mcintosh. He had his hands in the pockets of his designer trousers, his dark hair carefully styled. His eyes moved down the steps, scanning Kira's dusty boots, torn jeans, and cheap hood. His upper lip curled in open disgust. Kira stopped at the base of the stairs, her amber eyes locking onto her brother with cold indifference.