Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

There’s nothing left to say to the handler. He’s already written what he’s going to write. Placing another call will only reinforce that he needs to take me off this job.

I put the phone down and splash water on my face instead. This is not how the job was supposed to go. It was a simple, in-and-out mission. Evidence collection. Not a fucking hit. I should have known it was fucked from the second I saw her. From the second I wanted her.

I take another thirty seconds washing my hands. If Marjorie wakes up when I get back in bed, I don’t want her to suspect anything. I’ll figure this out. I’m not going to let somebody come in here and take over the job.

I’m not going to let anybody hurt her.

I turn off the light and step back into the bedroom.

Rumpled sheets. Jacked-up pillows. Empty bed.

Marjorie’s gone.

Chapter Thirteen

Marjorie

I don’t know what to bring.

That’s a problem.

I shove things into a small backpack in my bedroom, but they’re just random things. Toiletries. A photo of the beach from my bedside table. My wallet. There’s not enough room in the backpack for the life I’ve built.

That’s another problem. I’ve made a life here. I told myself that I would always be ready to run away. I’d always be able to pick up and leave if I needed to.

Now? Now I’m swallowing guilt for not being able to take my scrapbooking supplies. I could fit some of them in the bag, but not all of them. I have two orders in progress. Two families who trusted me with their keepsakes. It pinches at my heart. I hate picturing their disappointment when I stop answering their emails and the packages never appear. It won’t be the money that makes them feel the worst. It’ll be losing those precious photos and clippings.

Maybe if I packed a separate bag—

No. There’s no time. That would mean going down to the workroom and transferring all the items. I won’t be able to return the materials at all. I wipe away tears before they can fall. I can’t believe this, and at the same time, I can. I’ve always been afraid of this happening. I’ve always hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t. My body trembles like this is part of the nightmare.

It feels like it.

It feels like I never went to sleep that night. I never came out of the attic. I’m still watching my father die on the same dark night. Still staying quiet. It seemed like forever until my mom came back. She’d packed light, too. A small pack with my favorite doll. A few things from her jewelry box. A couple of sets of clothes. We left everything else behind.

For this. So I could get here and buy this inn and take reservations and have a peaceful life. How did it come to this? I was so careful.

I take a deep breath and let go of my regret about the scrapbooking things. Those families will have to be happy with what they have. They’ll have to be okay with having had a past at all. I don’t. I have nothing from before.

“What are you doing in here?” Sam asks from the door.

I whirl around to face him and leap toward him instead. My body seems to belong to someone else. I’ve never hit anyone in anger, but I hurl my fists at him now. Against his shoulders and his chest. It hurts to hit him. He’s strong, and all of his muscles are hard. “How dare you? How dare you? Who were you talking do? What are you going to do to me? You told me—you told me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I haven’t hurt you.” He puts his hands up to stop me. Sam’s not fighting back. He’s just blocking my punches so they don’t land directly in his face.

“You’re ruining everything.” My voice shakes. “You knew what you were doing when you came here, and you took my whole life away. This is my whole life. I don’t have anything else. Now I’m going to have to get a new one. Do you know how hard that is?”

“Yes.”

I don’t care. His words mean nothing to me now. He did this to me. Tears slide down my cheeks. I throw another punch, which doesn’t get anywhere near him. “How dare you?”

“Marjorie, it’s all right.”

“No,” I snap. “It’s not all right. I should have known when I found you in the workroom. What were you looking for? It doesn’t matter. You didn’t find it, and now you’re calling somebody to decide what to do about me.” I meet his eyes, terror overwhelming my anger. “What are you going to do, Sam? Kill me? If you’re going to do that, why don’t you just do it now?”

I’ve been waiting all my life for this to happen. All my life, I’ve dreaded men showing up in the dark to do violence. That’s what they always do. They come into a situation where they’re not wanted and they tear it apart. It was foolish of me to think it could be different after what happened to my dad. It was foolish of me to let myself believe that Sam was safe.