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Darcy takes two deep breaths, before squealing and primping her appearance one last time. “How do I look?”
“Lovely,” I reply half-heartedly, rolling my eyes as I turn my back to tuck in her sheet.
She seems satisfied with my response and is out the door, primed on greeting the poor chap downstairs.
I quickly finish making her bed as I don’t want to be anywhere near here if she’s planning on giving her guest the grand tour of her bedroom.
Once everything is in order, I go about cleaning the rest of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Duffy are away for the weekend, which is why I jumped at the chance to do some extra chores around the house when Mrs. Duffy asked.
Without them here, I can put my plan of attack into motion.
Faint voices drift up the stairs, and when I hear the side door open, I sigh in relief. Darcy has taken her guest into the gardens, which gives me an opportunity to snoop around. Using the feather duster as a decoy, I pretend to be dusting the invisible cobwebs as I pass by Mr. Duffy’s office door.
Peering from left to right and seeing the coast is clear, I try the door handle. No surprise, it’s locked. But that’s not a dead end—it’s merely a speedhump.
Removing my hairpin, I carefully insert it into the lock and wiggle it. To the left. To the right. Up and down. I continue working it because I know with experience, eventually, you’ll find the sweet spot…like right now.
The lock clicks, permitting me entry. I don’t waste a minute and quickly enter, softly closing the door behind me.
Patrick Duffy’s office is meticulous, not that I expected anything less, so I have to ensure I leave everything as I found it. Opening the filing cabinet, I reach for my phone and flick through the alphabetically organized files.
There is no such thing as too much information, so I take an abundant number of photos of files which I think will be of use. I stop when I reach the letter N. I don’t want to push my luck as I assume Darcy will want to show her guest her bedroom soon.
Quietly closing the filing cabinet, I take a look around, backtracking to a painting which hangs over the fireplace. Tilting my neck to the side, I examine the way the watercolor painting of a horse is sitting a couple of inches away from the wall.
To the untrained eye, it would go undetected, but not to me. It’s my “job” to notice these things. It’s what helped me survive all these years. Lifting the corner with my pointer, I see the reason it’s not flush with the wall is because there is a safe mounted behind the painting.
Taking a quick photo of the safe, I ensure the painting is hanging the way I found it and decide to look for the code another time because I can hear Darcy’s laughter from downstairs.
Doing a quick sweep and ensuring everything is in order, I softly open the door and peek my head out into the long hallway. It’s clear.
Locking the door, I continue my ruse of dusting, a rush of adrenaline thrumming through me at not being caught. If only the Duffys knew the real reason I’m here. But they will. Soon enough.
Once I’m done dusting, I collect the supplies I need to clean the main bedroom. I’ll take a quick look around as I haven’t been able to do so with Mrs. Duffy around. I’m feeling good about this because it’s only a matter of time until I can leave this hellhole for good and go home.
I miss them. So much.
My mind is so lost to a place I yearn to return, that I’m not aware of my surroundings until it’s too late. I turn the corner and bump into a delectable smelling wall. However, that doesn’t make a lick of sense because I’m in the hallway.
I peer up and up and see the wall is actually the muscled chest of the last person I expected to see here.
“Punky?” I can’t hide my surprise because what in the ever-living hell is he doing here?
However, it doesn’t take me long to catch up to speed when I see he’s wearing a pressed white shirt and black ripped jeans. His long fringe is flicked to the left, styled this way to accent his bad-boy look.
He looks incredible.
But no matter how incredible he looks, him being here leaves the most bitter taste in my mouth becauseheis Darcy’s guest. I’m going to be sick.
“Babydoll?” he says, his surprise clear. “I didn’t think ya were workin’ today.”
Needing to get my head back in the game, a game where Punky does not exist, I pull back my shoulders and ensure my mask is firmly in place. “Well, I am. If you’ll excuse me.”
I attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t let me move an inch.
Gripping my wrist, he looks at me closely. He examines my face, down my chest, and then ends with my feet. I’m covered, so there is no way he can see the atrocities which remain hidden beneath my uniform. But I nervously lick my lips, nonetheless.
“What happened to yer face?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
