In the summer, the smell of the blossoms was almost suffocating, but now the air smelled only of damp earth and mulch.

Lorenzo kept his hand on his holster, his head moving as he scanned the darkness.

“How does he plan to get over the fence?” Lorenzo asked, his voice barely a whisper against the wind.

“The old oak tree near the pump house,” I said. “Its branches hang over the security wire. If you know how to climb it, you can drop down on the other side.”

“And the cameras?”

“The camera on that corner has a blind spot,” I explained. “The groundskeepers complained about it last spring, but the work order was never approved.”

Lorenzo let out a quiet, harsh breath.

“Halloran knew,” he muttered. “He approved the budget for the estate maintenance.”

The realization made my chest tight.

Every detail of this escape had been planned long before tonight.

We rounded a corner of the stone path, the thorns of a dead climbing rose catching on the sleeve of my uniform.

I pulled myself free, the fabric tearing with a soft rip.