“Although the Breck estate didn’t nearly rival the size of George Vanderbilt’s home, the pale stone mansion was a massive asymmetrical homage, complete with pointy spires, chimneys, and high windows dotting the steeply pitched roof. Ethan pulled the Mercedes down the lengthy drive that ran through the park-sized front lawn to the front door, where a white-gloved valet signaled him to stop. When an attendant opened my door, I carefully stepped out, the blade and holster an unfamiliar weight on my... thigh. As the Mercedes—my getaway vehicle—zipped away, I craned my neck to look upward at the house. It had been six or seven years since I’d been here. My stomach knotted, a combination of nerves from the thought of reentering a life I’d escaped at the first opportunity and the possibility of a confrontation with my father. Gravel scratched as Ethan stepped beside me. We headed for the front door, Mrs. Breckenridge visible in the foyer through the open door in front of us, but before we stepped inside, Ethan stopped and put a hand at my elbow.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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