Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 49

Chapter 49

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Chapter 49

Harper’s POV

For the next three days, I played the perfect guest.

I showed up for breakfast at eight every morning, sat in the chair Adrian had designated for me, and ate whatever the staff put in front of me without complaint. I read the documents he left on the desk-Westbrook family histories, corporate timelines, biographies of board members and political allies.

I also talked to the staff.

Not about anything important. The weather. The roses in the south garden that were blooming early this year. The weather again. The way the light hit the fountain at noon. The texture of the linen napkins at dinner.

At first, they were polite but distant, answering my questions in clipped sentences, eyes flicking toward the door to make sure no one was watching them talk to me.

But by day three, the stiffness had softened into habit. The cook’s assistant, a young woman named Rosa who brought my tea each afternoon, started lingering for an extra minute to tell me about her dog. The gardener, an older man with calloused hands and a permanent stoop, pointed out which roses were his favourites and which ones he was thinking of replacing.

They weren’t my friends. They were still employees of the people holding me captive. But they were beginning to see me as a person instead of a problem.

And that was exactly what I needed.

Adrian appeared sometimes during the day. He’d walk into the garden unannounced, hands in his pockets, and stand at a distance, and watched me.

I never avoided his gaze. I just kept doing whatever I was doing-reading, walking, talking to anyone, and let him watch.

Let him think I was nothing to worry about.

Eventually, Adrian couldn’t hold back anymore.

During dinner one evening, he said, “You know, I have a feeling you’re going to win over my

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Chapter 49

entire staff at this rate. Miss Wilson, you’re quite something.”

“You give me too much credit. I’m just bored, so I chat with people to pass the time.

“And yet they seem remarkably relaxed around you.”

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“They’re just being friendly.” I buttered my toast without looking up. “Besides, I don’t know what else I could possibly do. Run? I can’t get out. Fight? You have twice as many people as I have fists.”

He studied me for a moment. Then he smiled.

“I beg to differ. You seem to be keeping yourself pretty busy.” I stopped spreading butter and looked up at him.

He’s right.

Every afternoon, I walked the garden.

The same route. The same pace. The same two shadows trailing thirty feet behind me.

And every afternoon, I mapped.

Guard shift change: 6:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. The morning shift arrived in a black van through the side gate at 5:45. The evening shift left the same way at 6:15. Fifteen-minute overlap where both

teams were on site.

Main gate protocol was electronic keypad + biometric scanner. The guard scanned his thumb, entered a four-digit code, and the gate rolled open. I watched it happen three times from the rose garden while counting the seconds it took. Twelve seconds from scan to full open.

Patrol routes: four guards on rotation. Two on the perimeter wall, two on the inner garden paths. They crossed at the fountain every twenty minutes.

And the east building.

Every evening at 5:30 p.m., a staff member pushed a covered meal cart from the main kitchen, through the garden, to the east building’s front door. The guard on duty checked each container- lifting lids, inspecting the food, sometimes using a small pen-like device I couldn’t identify from this distance. A food scanner, maybe. Or a drug detector.

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