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“Don’t be.”
Chest pounding, I turn to slide the stall door shut, only to cry out in pain when the meaty part of my palm gets slammed between it and the latch.
Penelope drops the saddle before rushing to grab my wrist and assessing the damage. A steady flow of blood drips to the floor from a flap of skin that’s been torn from my palm.
Without hesitation, she removes the rag from her pocket and winds it around my hand.
“It doesn’t look like it needs stitches, but we can clean and wrap it properly with the first aid kit that’s inside the house.” She tugs me to follow, but I pull out of her grasp.
Adrenaline zips through my bloodstream in the form of tiny spikes, sendingah-hasignals to my brain.
“I know where it’s at,” I say sharply, letting her speculate what I’m implying.
I’ve just been given a free pass to snoop through their home, and I don’t have a second to spare for morality.
Without argument, her hand falls limply to her side, and I finally find the courage to turn my back on her.
Hurt becomes my driving force. The thing that gives me the strength to push open the front door once I’ve made it up the drive to do what I have to do next.
The living space is enormous, with two separate halls flanking it, but from memory, I follow the one that leads me to the master bedroom where Marcus cleaned me up the first time.
I tamp down the sensations of his essence flooding the room and threading its way through my body as I enter the bathroom. I crouch in front of the sink, opening the cabinet to search for the first aid kit.
Blood slowly tinges the white gauze once my palm has been thoroughly cleaned and rewrapped, but the pain barely registers over my desire to uncover the truth.
Left to my own devices, I pad across the room to the window and look to see if Penelope has wandered up to check on me. When I make out her silhouette still inside the stables, I peek down the hall and listen for any movement inside the house.
Then I get to work.
I open Marcus’s closet and carefully snoop through boxes and pants pockets for notes or any sort of clue. When I come up empty-handed, I move on to a six-drawer dresser, but the more I search, the more clarity I find in the suspicions I’ve been distracted from.
I pace, recalling each one, starting with Marcus never recognizing me, followed by his confusion when I mentioned his breakup with Bianca—both of which I initially dismissed given his arrogance and celebrity entitlement. Which brings me to number three on the list, reminding me that neither of those things fit the man I’ve come to know.
Fourth is that Marcus was admitted to rehab for alcohol and drug abuse, but not once have I witnessed him reaching for a drink or seen a tell-tale shudder of withdrawal.
All of my questions come into focus now.
The way he takes his coffee, how he respects the women in his life, including the mare that grates his every nerve. Those rough, calloused hands that are so different from the smooth, soft one I shook the first time we met. The messy way he styles his hair, and Penelope refusing to elaborate on Ernesto’s warning.
Lastly, and most importantly, is Alice’s photo. The one with Marcus’s face turned toward the camera as he enters a limousine and another person hidden by shadows, wearing Leah’s bracelet.
Suddenly, finding the why behind it all becomes less about my job, and more about who the hell I’ve been spending the last month with.
On the left side of the bed, I find some of his uncle’s belongings inside a side table, but when I move to search the one on the right, I pause.
“Give me something here,” I mutter.
The top and bottom drawers are empty, except for a pearlescent Bible with his aunt’s name stamped on the bottom.
“Dammit.” After closing them, I slump back on the bed in defeat.
I rub my throbbing temples, but something about the way I had to force the top drawer closed brings my gaze back to it.
Sitting up, I hover my knuckles over the top of the table and give it two hard knocks. There’s a reverberating echo that has my fingers wandering along the edge of the drawer.
I pull it open, slower this time, eyes widening when I find the lip of a secret compartment beneath the tabletop.
Slipping one finger on the underside, I give it a quick tug.
