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“It’s not you who will be sorry for this one.” He checks his watch. “Go to your room and do not come out until I tell you that you can come out.”
“Okay.” I get to my feet, relieved. “Can I have the letters? Please?”
He nods once and I reach out to take them but as I’m setting the paperweight aside, he puts his hand over mine to stop me from pulling away.
I look up at him.
He gestures to my robe. “You’re not to swim alone.”
“Why not? The doctor said—”
“You’re not to swim alone. Only when Mercedes or I can be with you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you having one of your episodes in the pool.”
I bite the inside of my lip as I study him. Days ago, I would have made the comment that it wouldn’t serve him to find me drowned. It would take his fun away. But somehow it doesn’t fit anymore.
“And no guards either. I don’t want them looking at you. Just me or Mercedes. Do you understand?”
"Yes,” I say as I think back to my dress at the gala. To Mercedes.
He releases me and I take the stack of letters. “Santiago—”
“Go to your room, Ivy.” He is dialing a number on his cell phone.
“What are you going to do to Abel?”
He glances at me, cocks his head to the side and stands.
I step backward because even with the desk between us, right now, he looks terrifying.
He grins. “You have other things to worry about, don’t you? Like saving your neck. You’re not off the hook with me or with The Tribunal. You still owe us a name. For starters.”
“I just—”
“Go to your room.” He sounds almost calm but I know that tone. There’s a current underneath it. A rage. “Now.”
I drop my gaze, nod and hurry away.
18
Santiago
"Open the fucking door, Chambers!" My fist rattles against the heavy wood, shaking the frame with the force of my rage. "You can't hide all night."
It's well after four o’clock in the morning, but I know that fucker is lurking in there somewhere.
"Would you like me to open it, sir?" Marco asks, shrugging to indicate he's ready to use his body as a battering ram the moment I give him approval.
I prefer to do things less messily. Already, dogs are barking. A light in the neighboring house has flipped on. Curtains have moved. There is at least one possibility of spying eyes aware of our presence, and considering that I don't intend to leave here tonight without Chambers’ blood on my hands, that could be a problem.
I give it another moment, waiting for some indication of life inside, but when that doesn't happen, I gesture for Marco. We walk around to the side of the house and locate a window that will be large enough to accommodate each of us.
I'm ready to throw my elbow through the glass when Marco shrugs out of his jacket and ushers me back.
"I've got this, boss."
He wraps his arm in the jacket and thrusts it through the window, shattering the glass like a missile just blew through it. Then he heaves his giant body inside and clears the way for me to follow.
The room we happen to invade is the home office. I’ve never been in here before, but I notice something is off about the space almost immediately. It's too clean. Too... empty. Sure enough, when I bend to open his filing cabinet, it's vacant. A quick investigation reveals the same to be true about his desk. There isn't a single trace of paperwork. Not even so much as a bill in his name.
"Fuck.” I slam the drawers shut and glance around.
This situation isn't inspiring a quick resolution like I was hoping for. Marco opens the door and clears the hallway, veering toward the foyer while I head for the sitting area. The house is freezing, the air conditioner seemingly maxed out, and there's no way anyone could be dwelling in these temperatures comfortably.
"Call if you need me, boss," Marco whisper-shouts as he disappears upstairs.
My polished leather shoe crunches over broken glass as I turn the corner, and I pause, eyes scanning the fragments of a vase. It's the first sign of Chambers’ haste to leave. Someone must have tipped him off that I'd be coming for him soon. He knows there would be no forgiveness for his interference into my duties to produce heirs. That's the only logical explanation I have. At least until I catch a glimpse of a shadow beneath the settee.
I move quietly, the weight of my pistol heavy in my shoulder holster as I flip on the lamp and wait for movement. But after a few breaths, it becomes apparent the body hiding beneath isn’t going anywhere. A scan of the uniform and the rigidity of her muscles provides an explanation for the chilly temperatures. Whoever stuffed Chambers’ maid beneath that sofa was trying to eliminate the smell of decomposition.
