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Before we could respond, he was herding us down a hallway and toward the stairs. Jimmy went up first, and Orin maneuvered me to go next while he brought up the rear. At the top of the stairs, there were four doors. Two on the left. Two on the right. Jimmy shuffled his slippered feet over to the second door on the left and opened it.
“Bathroom. Shared with the other guest.”
He pointed at the first door on this side of the hall. “Mine and Betty’s room.” Next, he pointed to the second door on the right. “That’s your room.”
Jimmy opened the door wide and stood aside. Orin went in first, nodding to me when he’d checked it all out. Jimmy only watched with barely disguised interest.
The room was nice. The bed was pushed kitty-corner up against the wall. A small chest of drawers was on the other side, while a sofa bed was opposite the bed.
From the doorway, Jimmy pointed out, “There’s a WC in there, but if you want to shower, you have to use the main bathroom.” And with that declaration, he left, shutting the door behind him.
I let out a breath and sat down on the sofa bed. “Well, he seems nice.”
“He seems like a busybody,” Orin mumbled, flipping the lock on the door, then going to the window to make sure that was locked too. Next, he was in the WC, checking things out. From my vantage point, I saw that it was just a toilet and small sink—barely room to turn around without bumping into anything. It must’ve originally been a closet.
Orin stepped from the WC, his eyes scanning me. “I’m going to go out and get some more supplies. Lock the door behind me.” He stared at me for a beat longer, then retreated from the room, pulling the door shut firmly behind him. After a minute, he called out in a seductively low voice, “Lock the door, Filly.”
Sliding from the sofa, I twisted the lock and rested my hand against the wood. I could feel him on the other side, waiting there like a specter. My awareness of him had only grown, and I suspected I would always know where he was.
Flopping backward on the bed, I stared up at the wallpapered ceiling and then turned my head in the direction of the window. The sun was beginning to set, casting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Rolling onto my side fully, I watched as the room went from orange to gold, pink, then, finally—against my will—my eyes slid shut.
* * *
Terror gripsme as I run up the stairs and into Grayson’s bedroom. Someone is trying to break into the house, and I have to find the gun.
I have to find …
With clumsy hands, I pull open the closet door and step inside. Shoving aside some suit bags, I expose the false wall in the back of the closet and then press against the top right corner. The door opens on soundless hinges, revealing the matte black face of the gun safe.
Punching in the code, it opens not with a beep but with flashing green lights.
My head jerks around when there’s a loudbang!and my heart slams against my ribs in a violent attempt to leave my body. I fumble the gun, forcing myself to tighten my grip and pull myself together. Orin needs me. He’s still downstairs.
For a moment, I hear nothing until there’s a loudcrashand then someone walking through the debris of splintered wood and broken glass. I’m clutching the gun so hard my knuckles turn white.
There’s a murmured voice, but I can’t make out the words. Then my world tips on its axis when I hear a creak. The same step at the bottom of the stairs that I avoid stepping on when I’m trying to slip out without Grayson knowing where I’m going.
A sudden scuffle.
Pounding footsteps.
And I know I can’t stand here any longer. I leave the safety of Grayson’s bedroom and start down the stairs. I can still hear scuffling feet. Grunts and groans of pain. I’m halfway down when I hear their voices …
“Where’s the bitch who lives here?”
“I don’t know anything about any woman,” Orin replies steadily.
“Bullshit. We know she lives here … Did you put a bullet in her head? Get her out of the way? I heard you were ruthless like that.”
“There is no woman. She left a couple of hours ago.”
The first man growls in frustration. “Will, go and check upstairs.”
The other man appears, his head down as he gingerly touches the side of his head. There’s blood on his fingers, a red smear left behind when he grips the banister railing at the bottom of the stairs.
The step creaks.
I bring up the gun …
