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“Shit.” I could try and do it the old-fashioned way or get the bag. I reach out and pull the handle and almost fall over.
It swings open.
My heart hammers hard. I listen. There’s nothing but the sound of my heart and the muted storm.
I step up to the safe and look inside. It’s almost empty. There’s a small jeweler’s box and what looks like an envelope. Fingertips tingling, I pick up the box and open it.
A single solitaire. A pink diamond that’s so gorgeous it hurts my heart. It’s clearly an engagement ring.
I want it.
With a desperation I haven’t felt in a long time, I want this ring.
Not to sell, just to have. To look at.
But it’s not mine.
And taking it would be… Wrong.
I don’t question that as I close the box and put it back. Next, I take the envelope.
All my blood turns to ice.
The cream envelope is sealed and there’s a letter or note inside. But that’s not what horrifies me.
On the front. In strong, male writing.
Angela Magdalena Jones.
My real name. Myreal,real name. The one I was given at birth and never use.
With trembling fingers, I turn it, going to open it. I stop.
Take this to Jac.
I almost drop it and then see it was on top of a card. All it has is a number andcall me.
I’m in this too deep. Fucking Hendrick knew I’d come up here looking and now he’s making me even more of a pawn. I suck in a breath and turn, running down the stairs.
The light’s on in the bedroom. Bed made.
Sitting on it are Hendrick’s tie, my tools, phone, stockings, and shoes.
Panic bubbles up and breathing is almost impossible. I run into the bathroom. Towels are in a basket, but no dirty clothes. I rush out and go to his closets.
Empty. Not a stitch of clothing.
I race through the house, but every room is devoid of clothing, devoid of real paperwork. The fridge has staples that take ages to go bad, jars, hard cheeses, vacuum packed items and bottles of water and soda. There’s a small organic milk, still very within its use by date, proof this place is used and that’s it. The pantry is full.
Oh God. He doesn’t live here. He uses it, but it’s not his home. He played me. He—
I go back to the bedroom and snatch up my phone, punching in the number.
But he doesn’t pick up. It goes straight to a full voice mailbox.
Then a text comes through.
Cat, the alarm system will be armed in three minutes. You have that long to pick the lock and disarm it before the police arrest you. I suggest you dress, get moving and deliver the message to Jac.
