Chapter 63
Imogen
“Where are my best salt and pepper pots?” Pierre throws his hands in the air and then turns to face Lincoln and me with a
scowl.
I shrug. I have no idea.
Lincoln winces. “Shit! I took them on our picnic. Were they not in the basket?”
“If they were in the basket, then I would not be asking where they are, would I?”
“Can’t you just use a different set of pots?” Lincoln asks, shooting me a conspiratorial eye roll.
Pierre places his hands on his hips. “Non! I cannot just use a different set. They are my lucky salt and pepper.”
Lincoln shakes his head but Pierre is seething. He’s always been a little temperamental but cooking brings out the passion
in him. It’s one of the things I adore about him, and one of the things I will miss.
“Maybe we left them in the trunk or something?” I suggest.
Lincoln shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I checked the trunk.”
Pierre huffs. “Oh, really? Because you both seemed a little distracted to me.”
The memory of that day has heat searing between my thighs. It was a perfect day. The last one before I found out Lincoln was a lying, murdering piece of shit.
“So, go. Go check!”
Lincoln winks at me, and I remind my treacherous lady parts that we hate him. “You want to come help me, angel?”
“Sure.” I slide off my stool and let him take my hand, following him to the garage. He lets us inside, using the retina scan.
I didn’t pay much attention the last time I was in here, too excited for my surprise. But I do this time, taking in the time
delay on the door closing behind us. I count in my head and it takes a full thirty seconds to swing fully closed. That’s enough
for me to sneak in here behind him if he’s ever distracted enough.
I stand by the SUV and study how Lincoln opens the locked key cabinet on the wall, also controlled by a retina scan. He takes
a key and then presses the fob to pop the trunk as he walks over to me. I peer inside the open trunk and see the small salt
and pepper shakers nestled in the corner.
“There they are,” I exclaim, reaching in to grab them. “Pierre will be pleased.”
Lincoln murmurs his agreement and then glances inside the trunk. “I’d better check that there’s nothing else in here.” He
pokes his head inside and feels around. “No nothing else. Oh, shit!”
“What is it?”
He holds up his hand and his finger is bleeding. Not a lot, but enough for blood to be dripping down into his palm. He takes
the salt and pepper cellars from me with his good hand and then presses the car key into my palm. “Can you put this back for
me, angel. It goes on the top row. If I take these to Pierre, he might show me where the first aid kit is.”
Then with a kiss on my forehead, he leaves me alone in the garage. I glance around. What if I jumped in the car and made a
getaway attempt right now?
Shoot! The giant steel doors can only be opened by Lincoln and I’m not sure even his armored SUV could get through those things.
Is this a test? It feels like a test. What if he’s watching me on the cameras right now? Not wanting to give him any reason
to be suspicious of me, I head straight to the key cabinet. On the top row, there’s a sign, in both braille and handwritten
pen, saying SUV. There’s another key hanging below it, which looks exactly the same, with the BMW logo right there in enamel.
Is it a spare key? And if it went missing, would he notice? It’s not on the same hook and there are other keys in here, so
he might not. It’s worth a shot, and I have no other means of getting out of here. I don’t even know what I’d do with a spare
key, but I have time to think.
Unless it’s not a spare key at all, meant for something else. I press the small fob and the SUV clicks open.
Yes! It is a spare! Quickly I lock it again and then hang the key Lincoln gave me in its rightful place, while discreetly
palming the other one.
I leave the garage and close the door behind me. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I think I just found my way out.