“Something is wrong here. I can’t trust anyone. Don’t come looking for me. I love you and Elise.”
The message had been delivered two years prior, and Mom had never shown it to me. She knew I’d dig.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and ran my index finger along the small memory card I’d found under my father’s worn cap. Maybe it was nothing, but its placement on the top of the stack hinted at importance. Getting a look at it became imperative, but I’d have to wait until Garrett was out of the way.
“You get your fill of snooping?” His stark voice made me jump.
“I didn’t see you there.” I peered through the gloom to find him leaning in the doorway to the library. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard him. How long had he been there?
“That’s because you’re sitting in the dark.”
“Good point.” I tried to get to my feet, but my exploring and the shock of seeing my father’s hat seemed to have drained me. I faltered and gripped the banister.
“Let me guess.” He sighed. “You need help getting up the stairs.”
“No.” I refused to accept anything from him, especially not when he was sighing about it. “I just need a few more minutes.”
“Sure you do.” His face was in shadow, but I could feel the smirk turning up the left side of his mouth.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
He stood straight and walked across the foyer, a few rays of moonlight striping across him as he approached.
I glared up at him. “I said I got it.”
“I think we’ve already cleared up that I don’t have a hearing problem.” He leaned down and easily scooped me into his arms.
“You can’t just manhandle me.” My mind said to tell him to fuck off, but my body relaxed against his, welcoming the warm feel of his chest.
“You think this is manhandling?” He shook his head, his unruly hair escaping from behind his ears.
“Yes, and if you take the stairs two at a time, I’ll lose my shit like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind.”
He laughed, the sound throaty. “One at a time, then.”
We ascended slowly, his steps even and constant. He turned left at the top of the stairs.
“Is your room the other way?”
“Yes. Why, do you want to go to my room?” He arched a brow and stared down at me.
My heart did a weird stutter step. “I was just curious.”
“My door’s locked. So it should go without saying that my room is off limits.”
“Why? You got some hookers tied up in there?”
He grinned. “Not at the moment.”
I canted my head and studied his face. Joking. He was joking. Surely.
The overhead light in my room brightened his features as he carried me to my bed. The longer I stayed here, the more handsome he became. Was this how Stockholm syndrome started?
He set me on the bed and backed away.
I caught his eye. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Here we go.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. More ink peeked from his sleeves, and I wondered what he had tattooed on his upper arms. “I knew I should have left you sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring off all dreamy.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How long were you watching me?”
He shrugged. “Was that your question?”
“No.” I scooted back in the bed and rested against the headboard. He catalogued every movement, his gaze darting down my body. “Why do you stay here by yourself?”
“Because I like it.” He turned to the door. “Glad we had this chat.”
“Wait!”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Listen, I know a few things about you.” I needed to sprinkle the truth with some lies. “I looked you up on your laptop earlier. You were fired from your teaching posi
tion.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his back flexing. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t figure all that out, detective?” The bitterness in his voice cut, and his use of the word “detective” had me worried he knew more about me than he let on.
“No. That’s why I’m asking. So, why?”
He stayed silent for a while, then turned back to me. “Because I’m a bad man who does bad things.” His gaze flickered down my body again, lingering on my breasts and then lower. When he licked his lips, heat burst in my cheeks and a tingle rippled across my thighs.
“You don’t seem so bad to me.”
His eyes darkened, as if he didn’t appreciate what I’d said. “You don’t know me.”
“I think I know enough.”
He smiled, but it was cold. “Do you?”
I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps raced across my skin. “You’ve been taking care of me. You’ve been kind.”
He walked back to the bed and sat next to me, our hips touching. “I’ve been kind because I’ve had to be. Pete gave very clear instructions on how you were to be treated.”
I swallowed hard as his steely blue eyes bored into me. “Would you have treated me differently if it weren’t for Pete?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“How?” My blood raged through my veins.
He leaned closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I would have hurt you.”
Why did his words shoot through me like a hit of a euphoric drug? “Why?”
“I’ve seen you looking at me.” He brought a hand to my cheek, his touch soft. “I know what you think about. I’ve heard you in here at night when you think I’m asleep.”
My cheeks burned red. He heard that? I feigned nonchalance. “So?”
“So.” He slid his hand down to my neck. “You said you saw where I left my teaching job.”
“You were fired.” I tried to lean back—his eyes were too intense—but his grip tightened at my throat.
“But you don’t know why?” He stroked my neck with his thumb and rested his other hand on my knee.