Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
E
The fact that the guards let me in comes as a surprise, even though our plan hinges on access. I don’t know what I thought would happen if we were turned away, but I do know the best way to sneak onto the property without permission. If my dad hasn’t had it fixed yet.
When I tried getting into our Manhattan brownstone where my stuff is, or the Hamptons house, I’d been told I was cut off completely, including access to my belongings.
I was mostly pissed about the cost of getting to these locations, but a guard in Manhattan took pity on me and gave me the backpack I had hidden in my closet with cash and important documents.
Dad didn’t like California, always complaining about the taxes, so I decided to go there for a clean break. My cell phone was the same, but my father had blocked my number, so I took it as a sign he took care of every way I might get into his properties.
The fact that the Cuban staff hasn’t been told yet, means my dad isn’t here. I let out a sigh of relief as Ignacio drops us off in front of my bedroom on the third floor and tells us that we shouldn’t hang around long.
Opening the door to my room, I watch Ignacio disappear down the hall to the grand staircase. He’ll probably wait inside the door so he knows when we go to leave.
When he’s out of sight, I turn to Mac, whispering, “Wait a beat. There’s a back stairwell for staff.”
“Cameras?” Mac asks over the sound of Ignacio’s retreating steps.
“Everywhere,” I confirm. “Assume he’s watching our every step.”
When the guards snitched to my dad that I was sneaking down to the kitchen using the employee access, he banned me from using them. That’s when he started locking me in my room, so I hadn’t gone against his wishes many times. This time, I don’t plan on coming back. Fuck his rules.
Leading Mac down the hall, our steps are cushioned by the Persian rug. The back stairs are more narrow than the main ones, but they don’t have pictures or decorations to bump into as we slink down them silently.
My dad’s office and bedroom suite take up a large portion of the second floor on this wing, and I had to be careful how I stepped since my bedroom was right above the office. Reaching the door, I find it closed and locked.
Well, shit.
“You don’t happen to have a hair pin or paperclip, do you?” I ask. I know how to pick a lock, but I don’t carry the necessary tools on me.
“No. Something better.” Mac shakes his head and steps closer, pulling a thin, black leather case. He opens it to reveal a lock-picking kit. “But glad to know I can’t lock you up with any possible tools nearby.”
“Aren’t you a boy scout,” I tease, watching him work. “And I could have broken out of the cuffs, if I really wanted to,” I admit and catch my breath. I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline running through my veins that has me telling him a truth I didn’t even admit to myself, but here we are.
Mac stands to his full height, staring me down. “Is that so?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, as one of my nannies used to say.
“You left me alone for hours, sometimes with a fork for food.” My point doesn’t change the lack of expression on his face, so I add, “And the TV is connected to the internet. I could have contacted people easily.”
“And tell them what? You’re locked in the guest host of a Hollywood talk show host. That I’m a serial killer? People would think you’re a troll looking for attention.”
My shoulders sag at the realization he’s right. Mac knew exactly what he left me with. “Was it a test?”
“To some extent,” Mac tells me before reaching out to the door handle. It clicks open and I realize we’ve been wasting time standing there.
Pushing past him, I walk into the dark room and freeze. Mac runs into my back and he must turn on the light. The person I thought was standing at the window is a coat rack.
“It’s okay,” Mac soothes me, squeezing my neck and reminding me that I’m wearing his collar. He’s there to protect me. “Now. Where do we start?”
“Here,” I point to the rug and Mac frowns.
If memory serves, the room underneath this one is for storage, and has a lower ceiling because of the safe hidden here. If you don’t know where to look, it’s impossible to find. But I know where to look. Lifting the corner of the rug, I reveal a shiny metal ring embedded in the dark wood floor.
With some effort, I haul the section of flooring up and kneel beside the circular lock. “Hopefully he hasn’t changed the combination.”
“You know it?” Mac asks, surprise in his voice for once. “Did he tell you?”
“Ha, no. I got bored one summer when he wasn’t around to micromanage me, and had been watching a lot of heist movies. I listened for the clicks until I got it right.”
Going quiet, I twist slowly to the left until I hear the tumblers move into place, letting out a relieved breath when I realize it is still the same.
I move faster after that, following the four turns left, three turns right, two turns left, one turn right pattern.
It’s harder than the small locks with three numbers you can buy at any store, but he hasn’t changed the combination in the decade since I figured it out.
“Yes,” I whispered my success when the final tumblers are in place. “We’re in.”
“Who’s the boy scout now?”
“Still you, Sir,” I quip, lugging the heavy door open with his help.
Papers, both of the monetary and legal variety, are stacked inside along with guns and boxes I know contain jewelry. I was never stupid enough to steal from my father, not after he made me watch the torture and murder of a man who worked for him and dared to take some cash lying around.
“Anything of value to our cause?” Mac asks, kneeling beside to look without touching.
Reaching in for the spiral notebook on top of a hand gun, I pull out the ledger. “This will be my dad’s records up to the last time he was here. I don’t know what he buys and sells, but he tracks it religiously. It’s the only time I see him work that isn’t barking orders.”
Mac takes it from me and flips the cover open. “You don’t know what your father does for his money?”
“No,” I reply, but I can see the disbelief on his face after I close the safe and right the carpet. “He decided when I was thirteen that I wasn’t good enough to learn his business. Right around the first time he caught me kissing a boy.”
“The first time?” Mac asked, offering me a hand up. “You make it a habit to kiss random guys?”
“Kissing guys is one of my favorite pastimes.” Shrugging, I move to the desk to see if anything was left in the drawers. “You should try it sometime.”
Mac’s silence draws my attention and I find him giving me an odd look. “Maybe I will.”
A twinge of jealousy hits me squarely in the gut. I’m about to tell him I’m right here if he wants to kiss someone, when we hear footsteps in the hall. “Shit.”