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All this crap has me on edge and paranoid, like the lock on the loft front door playing up recently. I need to get my shit together and get my head on straight so I can be what Casper needs.
“Okay, I’ve pulled out all the art-related books and put them in that box. I assumed you’d want those. The first editions, I’ve started setting them out on the pool table. Figured you’d want to wrap them before you box them up,” Arabella informs me while pointing everything out.
A couple of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are already sorted through. It’s one of the reasons I love having her with me while I do this. Arabella is quick and organised even though she’s chatty. She keeps me company and makes the whole process faster.
I get to helping her, taking the upper half of the shelves so she’s not climbing on the ladder.
“So,” she starts. From the tone of her voice, I know this is going to be something juicy. “I heard that Laura Stanton got threatened by the new Mrs. Gladstone.”
“Did you?”
“It was possibly the best gossip I’ve heard in a very long time. I can’t stand her.”
“Didn’t you call her snail trail?”
Handing her a pile of books from halfway up the ladder, I start to grab another when the lights go out. We’re in the pitch-black with the curtains drawn, and I have to keep reminding myself that power cuts happen all the time. This doesn’t mean anything.
The footsteps coming closer are to make sure we’re okay… They are.
Arabella helps me down the ladder, and I don’t know why, but I peer through the curtain.
“The outside lights are on,” I whisper, pressing the sliding wall panel. “You need to get in here.”
“What?”
“It’s not a power cut. We have a backup generator in case of a surge. It would’ve kicked in by now.” I grab her and push her into the compartment in the side of the bookshelf. It’s too small for the both of us, and she is the priority.
Lunging for my handbag, I take the small tracker and shove it into the top of my Dr. Martens before I grab the baby Glock Casper has me carry in the zip pocket of my handbag.
I follow everything he instructed me to a T, like I did that day in the forest. Except I’m not pregnant now. Lifting the hem of my loose blouse, I tuck the gun into the top of my skirt just as the guard that came in earlier enters the library.
“What happened to the power?” I ask him, making sure I sound distressed enough that he doesn’t suspect anything.
I’ve never seen him before, and it should’ve made me more suspicious. We’ve been introduced to everyone on our detail. But not this guy.
“Where’s Mrs. Sinclair?”
“Arabella went to the toilet. The one back there.” I point to the loo that’s through the door on the other side of the room. If he turns his back on me, I can get a shot.
“I’m going to need you to come with me,” he tells me, grabbing the top of my arm and guiding me ahead of him roughly.
The pounding of my heart stutters as he pushes me into the toilet door and I fall straight inside, my shoulder cracking on the sink.
“Where is she?” he barks at me.
“She said she was going to the toilet. Maybe she went to another one. I don’t know.”
Dragging me by my throbbing shoulder, he doesn’t wait for me to get up. The tracker in my boot slips out, and I have no chance at grabbing it before he takes me out to the hallway. The lig
hts are off, but I know the blueprint like the back of my hand. I can sense others too.
As I’m dragged closer to the kitchen, the outdoor lights filter in, brightening my surroundings.
A large hulking figure fills the kitchen doorway. He’s not looking at me, but there’s something familiar about his stance.
At the sound of the footsteps behind him, he turns.
All the blood drains to my feet. My heart pounds harder against my ribs as I try to make sense of what’s happening.
