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The irony doesn’t escape me. A cage can set a little bird free.
In that space, with her, the rest of The Firm doesn’t exist. Nothing exists except the two of us. She can pick up the pieces of her past and study them from a safe distance.
Maybe that’s what I’m doing too. Or what I should be doing.
I pull in at Ella’s driveway and steer the car around to the parking in the back. Nobody’s in the kitchen. One light is on in the sitting room, but she’s not there. Not in the rec room, the formal dining room, anywhere.
There’s an anxiousness I shouldn’t feel. One I aim to remedy when I find her. She’s to wait for me in our blue room when she knows I’m arriving. This tense unease that she’s not here, not where I left her, not … okay—that something is wrong—I don’t care for it and it’s so easily rectified.
“Ella,” I call, keeping my voice calm as it travels up the staircase, but is met with silence. Where the hell is Damon? Distress spurs my steps to pick up.
I climb the stairs. The door to her bedroom is open, but it’s empty.
Where are they?
Did she tell them? Was it too much and she’s backing away from me? It’s a bitter reality to imagine. Of all the things that kept me up, this wasn’t one of them.
Checking my phone, there are no messages from Damon and I’m nearly five minutes early. Still, where the hell are they?
There’s only one place I haven’t been in this massive house. One place that Kam fiercely guarded when we were doing the modifications. Swore up and down that he’d keep it under control, but we weren’t allowed to move anything, to replace anything. So we didn’t. Instead there’s a rope that’s anchored in the doorway of the west hall.
It could’ve been a mistake, listening to him. That empty file makes me uneasy all over again. I move through the halls to the west wing, ducking under the thin rope and ignoring it altogether.
It’s an eerie feeling that surrounds me when I flick on the light. I don’t get more than a few steps in before it dawns on me that if Ella were here, she would not be okay.
The clearest demarcation is the art on the walls.
Every piece is wrapped in paper and a thin layer of packing foam as if it’s been protected in order to move it, but nothing has been moved. It’s all still hanging in place with a thin layer of dust coating it. Like an abandoned house, still filled with its memories and bundled up safely but kept hidden.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I must have seen this before. I must have. I remember the conversation with Kam, his body blocking the entrance to this hall. I must have looked past him and noted the artwork, but I don’t remember it. That was the day of the court hearing, shortly after and before the informal introduction to her downstairs.
I had still been rattled from seeing her.
That’s why I didn’t notice the artwork. It would have already been done by then.
There’s too much packing tape for me to unwrap one and see what needs to be protected like this. Protected—or hidden.
Even the silence is different in this part of the house. As if it hasn’t been disturbed in some time, and doesn’t like to be disturbed. Not that houses have feelings. I’m not superstitious enough to believe in shit like that. All I know is that the quiet presses in harder the farther I go. Three more steps.
“Ella?”
I call her name, but I already know she’s not back here. The first door creaks as it opens. I know she’s not here. I can sense it. All the time I’ve spent working in security has fine-tuned my attention to spaces. They breathe more when someone is there. Small movements in the air give them away. There is no movement here, only a deep hush.
That’s when I hear a creak behind me.
The new current in the air reaches me a second before Damon’s hand does. A strong hand, just above my elbow. I have just enough warning to tamp down the instinct to subdue him. “We’re not supposed to be back here.”
I turn to face him, shutting the door as I do, and Damon’s expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. Worry flashes in his dark eyes, and a crease in his brow confirms the feeling. I know we’re not supposed to be here. He knows I know. So I don’t bother saying a damn thing about it.
“What do you know about this wing of the house?”
He releases me and takes a half step back, staying close enough that we can keep our voices low. “Damn it, Zander, why didn’t you read the file?”
