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“They also don’t have kids, so it’s not like they’re saving up for a pair of Ivy League educations or anything. What else were they gonna do with the money?” German said. “They’re the kind of rich people who like to live below their means. Still, they have a custom-built house with a small staff. Rayne is the only maid employed. They also have a gardener, but he’s in his late sixties. Their personal chef works off-site. Most days, Rayne is the only one there. Otherwise, there isn’t much to know about them.”
“I didn’t ask for information on her bosses. I asked for information on her.”
He held his hands up. “Relax. This is what I could find out in the five hours since you texted me. I was working with the internet and public social media pages, okay? Not exactly a CIA database.”
“You came in here bragging about all the information you had.”
“I’m good at my job, not a god,” he argued. “I know where she works and where she lives. Beyond that…”
I snatched the address away from him and left without another word. Knowing where she is will allow me to figure everything else out on my own.
It’s the little things I’m learning that land the hardest, strangely enough. Rayne still sings to herself while she works. Occasionally, when she comes out of the pantry, she slides across the tile on her socks for a few feet. It makes her smile every time.
More than anything, I’m learning that she looks as good as she ever did, and if I was in that house right now, I’d bend her over the kitchen island until those pretty lips screamed my name.
I’m still staring at the pane of glass where Rayne disappeared a few minutes earlier when movement on the other side of the house catches my eye.
From where I’m parked, I have a straight shot of the kitchen into the dining room and then of the front door beyond that. I see it open and a man in a suit walk inside.
Steven Linley, I presume.
He drops his keys and wallet into a bowl and moves through the house with an ease that says he’s done it a million times before. He peeks through doorways and around corners. When he makes it into the kitchen, he frowns for just a second. Then he whips his attention to the corner of the house where Rayne has been working.
And then he smiles.
Instantly, my hackles rise. My fingers tighten on my knee, my nails practically tearing through my pants.
With slow, ambling steps, Steven makes his way towards the pantry. I don’t see Rayne, but I know when she realizes he is there because Steven holds his hands out like he’s apologizing.
He probably startled her. I know all about that. Rayne is the jumpiest person I’ve ever met.
Oh, you scared me,she probably said with a laugh.
Sorry, I should have announced myself.
She shook her head.No, you’re fine. It’s your house, after all.
He’s smiling at her, all the while moving closer and closer to the pantry.
When he disappears through the doorway, out of sight, I instinctively lean forward. Everything in my gut is telling me something is wrong.
There’s a lot I don’t know right now, but one thing is certain.
Steven Linley is not an upstanding citizen.
And I’ll be damned if he lays a hand on Rayne.
14
RAYNE
“It may be my house,” Steven says, moving even further into the small pantry, “but you are here almost as much as I am. Maybe more, some weeks.”
“Then you’d think I’d be used to your schedules by now and not embarrass myself by screaming every time you show up,” I reply with a forced smile.
My heart is still pounding. When Steven said “hello” from three feet behind me, I think my soul might have left my body.
I bend down and pick up the can I dropped. It’s dented on the side, but it’ll eat the same. I slide it back on the shelf, and look back just as Steven lifts his eyes up to meet mine.
