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Unscathed
My right kneebuckles on our way toward the front of the house and I try to convince Jake I’m okay. He’ll likely get blood all over his white dress shirt if he touches me. But he knows better. Sweeps me into his arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I don’t have any fight in me to stop him.
We pass our bedroom door and pause at another, three doors down—the one next to the hall bathroom—and we wait for Ruby, who had to stop in the office on our way here.
While we hang out in front of the mystery door, I scowl at the blood I’ve already managed to smear across his shirt. “Sorry,” I say. And I am. Despite my lingering frustration from overhearing him earlier—from pretty much always.
His lips curl, his blue eyes soft. “I have more of them.”
Ruby is back to us in seconds, something jingling in her hands. She sticks a key into the lock and has to jiggle the knob to make it unstick. Flings the door wide open. Then mumbles something about how one of the butlers was supposed to get it repaired.
Before she starts down the stairs, she flicks on a light switch and says, “You might want to let her walk.”
My eyes shoot past her and I see what she means. It’s a steep, narrow stairwell. But I honestly don’t know if my legs are sturdy enough right now.
Jake doesn’t comply. Just hugs me tighter into him, and I don’t argue.
I fight the urge to rest my head on his shoulder.
He makes it down the stairs with me more gracefully than I thought possible, and when I get a good look at the room the stairwell empties into, I momentarily forget about my hand. About how gently and protectively Jake is holding me.
About how good his soap smells.
The room down here is cold, practically arctic, with white walls, no windows, and two hospital beds occupying the middle. No, operating tables.
Operating tables?
I bristle at the thought.
Why would someone need this in their house?
Oh, right. To alter the butler’s minds for their own selfish wants.
The lights in here are stark and fluorescent, like a hospital. And the air is clean and sterile-smelling. Operating trays and monitors line one wall, a sink and cabinets lining the other, but that’s not what grabs my attention. It’s another desk in the corner with a filing cabinet towering behind it. Locked, I’m sure.
More files.
If I wasn’t so uneasy, I’d be excited at the prospect. Surely, those files might have something interesting, and hopefully incriminating, inside them.
“Here,” Ruby says as she pats one of the tables, then unbuckles her heels before sliding out of them. Before she turns to face us again, I tear my eyes away from all the interesting things. I don’t want to be caught gawking.
Jake places me gingerly on the table closest to us, and when he steps away, I shiver at the sudden lack of warmth in a freezing room. I then get a better look at the mess I made on his shirt.
Somehow, he’s still blistering hot, but looks like he’s had a good rumbling with a serial killer.
He chuckles. “It’s fine, muffin.”
I fix my face, hug my towel-wrapped arm tighter into me. I didn’t realize I was scowling again.
Ruby snickers at something as she rummages around in the cabinets across the room. Probably his continued use of muffin. Not that I’m a huge fan, either. But I’m sure she prefers something cuter like idiot or dickwad for pet names.
She hurries back to us with a tray of instruments and sets them on the table beside me. Then rushes back to get something else.
Jake diverts his attention to Ruby. Goes to cross his arms over his shirt but thinks better of it because of the blood. Instead, he shoves his hands inside his front pockets. “What happened with Dad?”
“Nanna tried to make another getaway with him,” she says flatly.
