“That day, with Bernard, I had this book in my hands.”
My instincts started roaring at me, loud as a jet engine. I had no idea what this really meant, only that I was sure the guard was going to turn around any fucking second.
“Maybe it means something,” Henry was saying. “Maybe we need to—”
Without a second thought, I hooked my finger in the top of the book. Pulled it toward me.
The wall of books immediately next to Henry popped open—a secret fucking door—revealing a dark hallway.
And another guard.
38
Delilah
The guard was as startled as we were.
His eyes widened, radio heading toward his mouth—but I pushed past Henry and kneed the guard in the groin. He bent over in surprise and pain, and I hit both of his ears, hard.
“What the fuck?” he sputtered.
I punched him in the nose.
Henry pulled the secret door shut behind him, plunging us into darkness. Low lights glowed at the corners—giving me just enough vision to use the guard’s bodyweight to shove him to the ground.
“Sit,” I hissed at Henry, using my stiletto between the guard’s shoulder blades like a knife. Henry dropped his knees on top of the guard, effectively immobilizing him. I hoisted the guard’s beefy arms behind him, slapping his wrists together. My muscles burned at the memory of doing this on countless suspects over the years—but I hadn’t done it in a long time, and the awkward angle had me wincing.
“Wait…wait a fucking minute,” the guard tried to yell.
“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you again,” I said. I reached beneath my dress and yanked the zip-tie from my belt. Henry watched me, awed. Once the guard’s wrists were bound, I grabbed the duct tape, pressing the heel of my stiletto into the back of his head. “But you do need to shut the fuck up.”
“Who the hell—”
I slapped the silver tape over his mouth. He wiggled like a fish beneath Henry’s weight.
“Come on,” I said, pulling a stunned Henry to his feet. I unclipped the guy’s pistol from his holster with nimble fingers. I dropped the magazine, checked the rounds, disarmed the safety.
Cocked it.
And turned to find Henry Finch staring at me with blazing lust. We were both breathing heavily.
“I don’t need saving,” I said, chin lifted.
“I know you don’t,” he said hoarsely. “And saving isn’t what I want to do to you right now.”
The guard’s radio crackled sharply: “What the hell just happened?”
I swore beneath my breath at my own idiocy. Grabbed the radio and went to smash it between my heels.
“Wait.”
Henry stilled my movements. The guard was still wiggling and grunting as Henry dropped down and held down the talk button on the radio.
“Caught ’em,” Henry said, affecting a rougher tone. “It’s fine.”
I grinned at his genius. The radio crackled something nondescript back—a sigh and then “whatever.” They’d still get suspicious, but it could buy us an extra, precious ten minutes we could use.
“Let’s go,” I said, taking Henry’s hand.
We turned the corner and fully took in this strange, secret hallway.
“You were right,” I said, allowing one second for me to beam at my partner with pride. He returned my smile.
“I was. But also…where the fuck are we?”
Ahead of us stretched emerald green carpet. The walls were an intricately patterned red wallpaper, Tudor-period. Yellow doors appeared sporadically as we walked carefully through the confined space.
“What should we do?” he asked.
“Start pulling on doors, see what’s inside.” I reached for one, which opened up into a narrow, winding staircase. Henry and I exchanged a glance. Keeping the gun close, I kept Henry behind me as we crept up the creaking steps, backs to the wall. I half expected another guard to pop out. On the walls hung more portraits of European royalty. The stairs stopped, suddenly, leading to a tiny alcove with giant windows.
“It’s like a…a widow’s walk,” I breathed, taking in the impressive landscape that stretched beyond the bare windows. We could see a few other mansions, dotted in the woods, the floodlights of Victoria’s party, the cars that stretched for a decent mile down the street. Valet drivers were racing up and down between the vehicles. Henry searched the room, which was almost bare, and I tapped on walls and pulled on pieces of furniture, wondering if there’d be more secret latches.
“Anything?” I asked.
Henry shook his head. Down the winding staircase we went, back into the creepy hallway. I could hear sounds of the party through the walls as we tugged on more yellow doors—all locked.
“Goddammit,” I muttered.
“Wait,” he whispered, “this one opens.” He slipped inside before I could caution him.
Another staircase. This one so intensely vertical we couldn’t see past the first curve in the wall.
“Should we take them?”
Henry let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, let’s go.”
We were winded by the tenth step.
“What is this, fucking Everest?” I huffed.
Henry’s lips twitched. The walls were wooden, ancient-looking, with porthole-style windows. We kept ascending, the stairs winding as though we were inside a lighthouse. A creepy claustrophobia started to invade my senses, a disorientation that made my skin clammy.
The top of the stairs appeared out of nowhere—so quickly I bumped into it.
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
It was another fucking door.
With a shrug, I opened it.
And fell right into the open night sky.
39
Delilah
I was free-falling.
But only for a second.
Henry had my hand in a vise-like grip, tethering me with an impressive strength.
“Oh my God,” I cried. My left hand and left leg were dangling over manicured grass and landscaped flowers, four stories down.
“Delilah.” Henry’s voice was calm. Steady. “I’ve got you.”
I closed my eyes. My throat closed, my muscles shook. I was going to be sick all over my dress.
“Delilah, I need you to trust me, beautiful.” Ever-so-gently, Henry was tugging me in. My right leg was slipping from its hold on the narrow strip of landing. “Keep your eyes closed.”
I complied, not needing to see that view again. I could feel the breeze, the night air—and absolutely nothing else. No wall, no rope, no roof, just a tumble right to the ground below.
Another hand closed around my waist, arm banding tightly. There was a sharp yank.
Both of my feet landed on solid ground.
My body slammed into Henry’s solid, broad chest immediately. I was dimly aware of the door being clicked shut. Then Henry’s big hand, smoothing down my hair. I was shivering, freezing—but slowly, so slowly, melting against my partner. My fingers clutched at his shirt, gripped his ribcage, caressed up his spine. I laid my cheek right above his heart, which was beating faster than my own.