That night, the atmosphere in the master bedroom was suffocating.
Hansford came in carrying a tray. On it was a bag of yellow fluid and an IV line.
"Dr. Sayer thinks you need a boost," Hansford said, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Vitamins. For the stress."
Gina looked at the bag. It wasn't vitamins. She recognized the chemical signature from the research she'd done in her past life. It was a cocktail of sedatives and a synthetic hormone that caused long-term sterility. He wanted to keep her docile and barren. A cold, triumphant fury settled in her heart. He was so predictable. She had anticipated this move weeks ago, in another lifetime, and just yesterday had Vesper swap the vial in the locked medical cabinet with a simple saline solution mixed with a mild, harmless sedative. The real poison was now safe in her possession, waiting for a more deserving recipient.
"I hate needles, Hansford," she whispered, shrinking back against the pillows.
"It's for your own good, Gina." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't make me call Miller to hold you down."
The threat was naked.
Gina extended her arm. "Okay. Just... hold my hand?"
Hansford smiled, satisfied with her submission. The nurse he had hired-a silent woman who asked no questions-inserted the needle.
"Good girl," Hansford said. He watched the drip start. Drip. Drip. Drip.
He sat there for ten minutes, reading a file, waiting for her eyes to droop.
Gina slowed her breathing. She relaxed her facial muscles. She let her eyelids flutter and close.
"Gina?" Hansford whispered.
She didn't answer. She let her jaw go slack.
"Out like a light," Hansford muttered. He stood up, stretched, and walked toward the bathroom. "I'm going to shower. Don't disturb me," he told the nurse. "You can go."
The nurse left. The bathroom door closed. The shower turned on.
Gina's eyes snapped open.
She reached under her sleeve, not to her arm, but to the IV line itself. With a surgeon's precision, she used a tiny connector she'd hidden under her pillow to attach a micro-catheter, a tube as fine as a fishing line. She fed the other end of the tube into a slit in the plush velvet headboard, where Vesper had earlier installed a concealed, high-capacity absorbent medical pouch. The fluid continued to drip, but now it was being silently siphoned away, not into her bloodstream.
She adjusted her sleeve to hide the connection.
Vesper slid into the room from the balcony door like a shadow.
"He's in the shower," Vesper whispered. "You have fifteen minutes."
Gina threw off the covers. She was dressed in black leggings and a tight shirt.
"Watch the door," Gina ordered. "If he comes out, kill the power."
"Understood."
Gina moved. She slipped out of the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She knew the hallway cameras had a blind spot every thirty seconds. She timed her run.
She reached the study door. Locked.
She pulled out the keycard she had "confiscated" from Zoe. She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner beside the keypad. It glowed green. Her access was still valid. Then she swiped the card.
Beep. A second green light.
She slipped inside. The room smelled of cigars and corruption.
She went straight to the large oil painting of Hansford's grandfather. She swung it aside.
There was the safe.
She pulled out a small electronic decoder Brandon had given her. She attached it to the keypad.
Red numbers raced across the screen.
Calculating...
