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Everything had changed that day. If I wasn’t at work or watching Mia, then I was renovating my outdated home until I dropped from exhaustion. When I’d bought the ranch style house a few years ago I didn’t care about what it looked like. My only concern was that it was remote enough that I wouldn’t be bothered by neighbors, solicitors or even a fucking mailman. Most of my furniture had come with the house and between the brocade couches, blue shag carpet and wood paneling, it was a 1970s nightmare.
Thoughts of Mia consumed me as I wandered from room to room wondering what she would think of my home. The first time I’d broken into her duplex, I’d catalogued every item she’d chosen to surround herself with. Quietly I’d crept through her living space, learning who she was or wanted to be.
I’d learned that Mia loved to cook but rarely had the time. She’d check out cookbooks from the library that spanned every culture’s cuisine. Logically, my renovations started in the kitchen. The old avocado green stove had been replaced with a high-end range with six burners and two ovens. Granite countertops replaced the peeling laminate ones and I’d ensured there were enough cabinets to hold every pot, pan and small kitchen appliance she could desire.
Next, I tackled the wood paneling and wallpaper, painting the walls in cool tones of navy blue and grey. The shag carpet was replaced with natural wood flooring throughout. I tossed the dusty furniture, buying a large sectional where they could curl up just like they were in the photo.
The house that had been purchased for nothing more than solitude and a place to sleep had transitioned into something more. It was now somewhere that could be filled with memories and laughter, memories of a family.
Everything I’d done had been with hope of this exact scenario. Mia and Miles under the roof of the home I’d made for them. The three of us together. Except I wasn’t there, I was in a fucking mansion that could fit at least three of my houses inside of it, with a spoiled brat turned spoiled wife who’d chosen the wrong man to marry and now I was being punished for it.
This job was bullshit. Part of me begrudgingly admitted my pain was worth it because I hadn’t been able to think of a way prior to this to get Mia into my house. But the bigger, more irrational part of me was pissed that instead of helping Miles get settled into the room I’d set up for him, I was listening to complaints about this woman’s Versace blazer being ruined by the dry cleaners.
“I’m going to check the perimeter of the house,” I growled out, pushing off the wall. She waved a manicured hand my way as if she was giving me permission to be dismissed and I stomped toward the French doors that led to the patio, my mood deteriorating further.
“Lock this behind me.” My demand was directed at the man in a crisp butler’s uniform who’d arrived just in time to refill the queen’s beverage, again. Rich people, Jesus Christ, I shook my head and stepped outside.
Pulling the small flashlight from my cargo pants, I moved around the dark backyard looking for anything out of the ordinary. My fingers itched to pull out my phone and call Mia just to hear her sweet voice. It’d been two days since I’d touched her or seen her in person and my attitude reflected it.
The sound of leaves crunching to my left put me on alert. Crouching down, I pulled my gun from where it was tucked in the back of my waistband. Moving silently, my ears strained for any other sounds, I braced my shoulder against a large topiary shaped like a flamingo and swept the flashlight toward the darkened eaves of the house.
Sharp pain dug into the back of my neck and I twisted, throwing off my attacker. The beam off my flashlight caught a furry tail disappearing under a line of boxwoods framing the pool.
“What the fuck?” I ran my palm over the back of my neck and it came back smeared with blood. “Great, now I have to get a rabies shot. Fucking, squirrel.” It must have been on top of the stupid flamingo and got startled when I leaned against it. Engaging the safety, I slid my gun back into my waistband and pulled my phone out to let Gray know I might need some coverage while I went to the hospital to make sure that I didn’t turn into a were-squirrel.
A scream pierced the night and I dropped my phone, cursing when it bounced off the stone patio and splashed into the pool. There was no time to worry about it as my gun was back in my hand, cool and familiar while I ate up the distance between the gigantic backyard and the room where I’d left the client.
The doors were locked, as I’d requested and a quick glance through the glass proved the room was empty. Knowing that wasting time looking for an open door or window could mean my client lost her life, I lifted my foot and slammed the sole of my boot into the doors, sending splintered wood and shards of glass flying.
Male shouts and feminine shrieks echoed down from the second story. Sprinting to the entry hall, I passed the scared face of one of the maids. The butler, whose name I couldn’t remember, was braced at the bottom of the stairs as if he was about to go up.
“Stop,” I hissed. “Get all the staff outside. Call 911, tell them whatever you need to get the police here fast, send an ambulance, too.” His face was ashen but he acted as if this wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with this type of situation. He grabbed the maid’s wrist and dragged her with him, hopefully going to follow my orders.
The staircase was wide—a gaudy, ornate thing that curved upward. Bracing against the wall, I took the stairs quickly, gun raised and my eyes sweeping the upper level for any threats. All shouting had stopped, the quiet making me more nervous than the raised voices.
My first day here, I’d walked the perimeter of the house as well as the inside, noting exits, security lighting, cameras. That blueprint was laid out in my mind as I made my way to the bedroom that belonged to Mrs. Turner. Fun fact, the couple had completely different wings of the house. Hard to imagine why the relationship didn’t work out, huh?
Light spilled from the slightly ajar door and into the dim hallway. If it weren’t for the sound of shoes scuffing over carpet, I’d think the room was empty. I led gun first and peered into the room. Mrs. Turner was pressed backwards, her shoulders flat against the posh bedding while her soon to be ex-husband bent over her, red faced and sweating, his hands collared around her neck.
“Hands up, Turner,” my voice was loud in the quiet and I braced my feet as I pointed my gun at him. His head swung to the right, clearly surprised to see me standing there but his grip didn’t loosen. Not good.
“This bitch turned me into the IRS, I’m going to prison and you expect me to let her get away with it?” His eyes were wild, the eyes of a man who’d already lost everything and that made him and this situation extremely dangerous. “I tried to talk to her, to get her to call her father, he could make it all disappear! Then she fucking stabbed me!”
He lifted his hands off her throat to point at his left thigh. The light-colored dress pants that he was wearing were soaked through with blood. A paring knife lay on the floor, also covered in blood and staining the otherwise pristine white carpet.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Mrs. Turner rolled off the bed, collapsing to the ground as she wheezed and coughed. “I was aiming for your balls, you bastard,” she spit in a painful sounding whisper.
His eyes turned hard and he attempted to grab her again at the same time she lunged forward, wrapping her fist around the bloody knife. I threw my body into the fray to stop them from murdering each other, grunting in pain when the knife that was intended for him sliced into my side instead. Gripping her delicate wrist, I squeezed and twisted until she was forced to drop the blade.
The feeling of blood soaking my shirt and sliding down my side registered in the back of my mind but it was secondary to securing the two idiots in the room who were likely to kill me as well as each other. I pushed her away and wrestled the husband to the ground, pulling a pair of zip tie cuffs from my pocket. Once Mr. Turner was secured, I left him face down on the carpet as I did the same to Mrs. Turner.
“What are you doing? You can’t do this to me! I’m paying you!” She fought and hissed at me, the perfectly put together socialite long gone.
“Read your contract lady. I can do whatever the fuck I want, especially since you fucking stabbed me.” I pushed down on her shoulder until she sat in a chair that was in the opposite corner of the room from her husband.
“Bradford, help me!” Turning around, I saw the butler paused in the doorway. Bradford the butler, it would almost be funny if the ache in my head didn’t match the sting of the open wound on my side. Bradford’s lips thinned in disapproval as he stared at the blood staining the carpet, he wasn’t sparing a glance at either of his employers.
Five uniformed cops swept into the room behind him and I raised my hands in the air, knowing the drill. I’d already been attacked by a squirrel and stabbed by a crazy woman tonight, getting shot was not on my to do list.
