Last Christmas (Private 0.60)

a freaking fugitive and on the verge of getting expelled.

She hated herself. Hated herself with a passion so hot it burned her skin. She wished she could strip her coat

off, but Holmes was only a few feet away. And besides, she was pinned under Thomas.

The faint taste of her own blood surfaced in Ariana's mouth as she watched Mr. Holmes walk slowly to the

far end of the basement, toward the windows, shining the flashlight behind boxes, underneath chairs, and over

tables. He turned toward the stairwell, sweeping the light across the dirty floor. The piercing beam neared

Ariana, and she ducked back under the stairs, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Had he seen her? Heard her? If he had, it was over. Mr. Holmes would have to turn them in. Her body shook

with nerves as the seconds passed, feeling like hours. Any relationship she thought she'd had with Mr.

Holmes would be shattered when he found out she wasn't who he thought she was. When he found out that

she had lied and broken the rules.

And it wouldn't matter that she hadn't wanted to. That she wished, more than anything, that she could be the

same sweet, good Ariana

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she'd been just a few days before. That she'd only broken the rules because it was absolutely necessary. And

it was too late to turn back the clock. She screwed her eyes shut. "You down here?" Mr. Holmes called.

Ariana's heart all but stopped. Then a delicate whisper sounded at the top of the stairs, and Mr. Holmes

swung the flashlight up the stairwell.

"I'm here."

Tension flooded out of Ariana's body. Safe, at least for the moment.

"Good." His voice sounded strange in the dark. Thick.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Holmes?" Ariana recognized the voice immediately and her pulse raced with

intrigue. She heard that sweet, lilting tone laced with condescension in the halls of Billings almost every day.

Isobel Bautista.

Ariana shifted onto her knees and leaned forward, peering out from her hiding place. Risky, she knew, but she

had to find out what was going on.

"I did." Mr. Holmes smirked, leaning against the gardening table and loosening his tie. "Seems I don't have a

paper from you on Madame Bovary in my mailbox. Care to explain yourself, Miss Bautista?"

"Must have slipped my mind," she said mischievously, moving into full view. Her silky black hair tumbled

down her back. She ran her fingers up his arms and across his chest, lifting her mouth to his ear. "Any way I