Chapter Twenty-Five
KINLEY
WITH ALL my painting supplies back at my cabin, I’m once again bored out of my mind at Rhys’s house.
This morning before he left, he told me he would take me to get my stuff again this evening after he leaves work, as he handed me a bra that I left in the dirty clothes hamper when I left with Mason last week.
Apparently, walking around Swan with no bra on is one step above a crime, even though he saw me in a bikini last week.
So for now, I’m in another one of his t-shirts and boxers. Swan looked at me funny when he got here, but he didn’t say anything.
While I was looking through the books in the built-in bookshelf on one wall of the living room, I found a recipe book. It looks old, and the recipes are handwritten in formal, slanted cursive on each page.
The first page behind the cover has the name Emilia Abbot with the date 1952 next to it. All the measurements are in metric units, and the recipes are for things like Shephards pie, kidney pie, scones, and bread pudding. I chuckle when I read bangers and mash. What in the world is a banger?
“What’s funny?” Swan gets my attention as he walks into the kitchen to the refrigerator.
With the book open in my hand, I don’t move away from the bookshelf. “What is a banger?”
He stops and sets the jug of orange juice I ordered, which Rhys says is just a container of sugar, on the counter. His neutral FBI face is set, but I can see the humor dancing in his light blue eyes. “In what context?”
Tilting my head in derision, like I wasn’t just laughing for having dirty thoughts, I cock a brow. “Ugh. Get your mind out of the gutter. As in bangers and mash.”
“Oh.” He turns to get a glass out of the cabinet. “Sausages. I think the story is they called them bangers because the casing would burst open when they cooked them. I think they were popular during the World War Two era.”
“Hmm.” I jerk my head back in surprise. “Learn something new every day, I guess.” When he turns back in my direction, I ask, “Who’s Emilia Abbot?”
He’s pouring the juice in a cup, his attention focused on it. “Not sure, probably Abbot’s grandmother.”
Confusion pulls my eyebrows together. “But all these recipes sound like English recipes, and the measurements are metric.”
“His father is from England, and his mother was from Spain.”
The day Rhys told me his mother was dead flashes across my mind, and guilt twists my stomach for the comment I made to him.
His black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin point to a South American heritage, but I didn’t consider either of his parents were from a different continent. Much less two different countries.
Intrigued, I snap the book closed and walk to the little bar between the living room and the kitchen. “How in the world did they meet? That has to be quite a story.”
“Abbot doesn’t talk much about his family, he’s kind of a closed book, but I know his mom was a famous cellist before she died and his dad teaches at The University of Tulsa. Literature, I think.”
He grew up around the fine arts. I try to hide my surprise. Nothing about Rhys Abbot reflects anything so colorful.
If anything, his hard, serious demeanor, the gun under his arm at all times, and the intimidating, sometimes scary stare, all shout law enforcement or military. I guess sometimes the apple falls, and rolls, pretty far.
“Do you know how his mom died?”
“Bad heart, I think, it wouldn’t surprise me if it was somehow the reason behind his super healthy lifestyle, unless that is just something that carried over from the Army Rangers.”
How do I not know this? We spent the entire day together yesterday, but we didn’t talk about his past at all. I need to ask more questions even though when I’m close to him, my thoughts seem to get blocked by every carnal need I’m feeling for him.
He gulps down the orange juice in one long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck before he sets the cup on the counter. “Yeah, he left the Rangers to be close to his mom before she died.”
So, it wasn’t unexpected. She was sick. The Army Rangers are not easy to get into, it took Mason years to work his way up to Delta Force, so for Rhys to just walk away for his mom says a lot about him and his love for his family.
My heart melts when I think about the pain he must have felt as an adult to lose her.
My only reference is the pain of missing the ghost of so many things that a girl is supposed to have with her mom. I didn’t get to experience the person those moments actually happened with.
A hard knock at the door has both of us swiveling our heads in that direction. I can see the top of Sanders’ head through the glass squares set high up in the door. The hair on my neck stands up. Rhys said he wouldn’t allow him near me.
What if he is the mole Rhys is worried about? Why is he here?
There’s no reason for him to be here.
I turn to Swan. “Are you expecting him?”
Swan’s eyes narrow a bit, and I see his shoulders square with tension, but his face stays neutral. “Uh-uh, Abbot didn’t say anything.”
“But he said Sanders wasn’t supposed to come here.” I’m not sure whether I should feel fear or anger. Or both.
The knock is harder this time. “I know you’re in there, Swan. Open up.”
Setting the book on the counter, I turn to leave. “I’m going to my room.”
Swan only nods, his eyes glued on the door. His dismissal and focus on the door makes the hair on my neck stand up.
As I turn to walk to the hall, Swan walks to the front door. It happens in a matter of seconds, but time slows to a crawl. The deadbolt on the door slides out of the way, and the door handle jiggles as Swan opens the door.
Swan sounds conversational but guarded. “Hey, what are you doing…”
Two gunshots sound like a crack in the veil of time and space across the living room, making me jump as I turn to see Swan falling to the floor. His arms fly out to his sides as he falls backward, and my hands go to my mouth to cover the scream that gets lodged in my throat.
Oh, fuck!
Swan!
I don’t wait for Sanders to appear around the door, I turn and run to Rhys’ room, pushing the door shut and turning the lock. I turn in a circle in the room, wondering what I should do.
My phone’s in the living room.
The window! Rhys said that if anyone lifted any windows, he would know.
Panic and fear are vibrating through my body with each fast beat of my heart, the thumping in my ears makes it hard to hear the jiggling of the doorknob.
Oh, God. Swan!
Swallowing the sob that’s trying to work its way from my throat, I tiptoe to the window and push the locks over to lift the frame. It goes up smooth and quiet, but when I look out, it’s at least a six-foot drop to the rock flowerbed, which is about three feet wide, next to the grass.
The hot July air rushes through the open window and blows my hair back from my face, and I wish I had my shoes here.
A bang on the bedroom door makes me jump and slam my head into the window. I don’t have time to worry about shoes. I swing my leg over the sill and push myself away as I jump so I’ll land on the grass instead of the rocks.
My left heel lands on the metal divider between the rock bed and the grass, sending pain up my leg, and I clamp my teeth together to stop the yelp on my tongue. Blood runs from the cut, and I curse under my breath for the trail I’m going to leave.
Secada’s are trilling loud in the trees around me as my mind races as fast as my heart trying to figure out what I need to do. Then I remember the cameras on the eaves of the house, and I see one mounted on the back corner, pointing down at the fence that blocks the backyard from the front.
Looking down at my heel, which is aching up to my calf, there is blood in the hot green grass, so I pull Rhys’ shirt over my head and loop it around my heel and tie it on my ankle. That will have to do for now.
The sound of another bang on the door through the window over my head sounds like the wood almost cracked that time.
Do I run to the front and hope there’s someone there to help before he catches me?
His car is there, he could easily push me in and drive away.
Or do I run to the camera to get Rhys’ attention?
I can’t do both, there’s no time. My gaze flicks around the empty, peaceful street beyond the front yard and then back to the camera.
Straightening up, I jog-hobble to the fence and wave my arms at the camera before I try to lift the latch for the gate. Locked from the inside! Fuck! I slam my palm on the rough wood and look back at the open window before I look around me.
In the corner of the rock garden, against the house, is a large hose caddy with a big crank-arm on it. Looking over my shoulder at the window again to make sure he’s not there, I step up on the caddy and pull myself to the top of the fence.
Trying to balance myself so I don’t impale my private parts on the point of one of the fence pickets, the scorching sun is heating my skin, making sweat run down my face and back. The fence frame is on the other side, and I hook my toes on that to step down into the backyard.
Putting weight on my toes feels like I’m prying the cut on my heel open, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from making any sounds.
Just as my feet step on the grass, I hear a crash, and I know the bedroom door finally gave way, and he’s in the bedroom. Turning from the fence, I hobble around the pool on the concrete that feels like it’s been baking on the surface of the sun, and the smell of chlorine floats into my nose.
Holding my breath, I pull on the handle of the sliding glass door of the pool house. It’s open! The breath rushes from my lips as I pull it closed behind me and slide the lock into place.
The silence in the little house is comforting, but the air conditioning is not on since it isn’t being used. The stale heat in the small area is heavy, and I feel beads of sweat rolling down my back and chest.
My heart is beating so hard that I wonder if it can be heard outside. There’s not much to the tiny house, the main room is like a living room that opens up to the poolside with a small bar on one side, obviously meant for entertaining with the sliding door open next to the pool.
Through a door on the other side of the living room, I can see a small bed in a bedroom that looks like it’s the size of a large closet, and another door looks like it might be to a bathroom. Peeking around the door frame, I look to see if Sanders is in the backyard, but there’s no sign of him.
Hobbling to the little bathroom, I shut the door and lock it. The pain in my foot is aching up to my thigh now, so I sit on the toilet and immediately pull the door open under the tiny sink in the corner to look for a first aid kit. There’s nothing but some plumber’s putty, a wrench and a hammer.
It’s a good thing I don’t have to pee, because there isn’t even any toilet paper in here.
How long will it take for Rhys to see the video and then get here? Setting my elbows on my knees, I lean forward and rest my head in my hands with my eyes closed, trying to battle the tears of panic that are fighting to be let loose.
It’s so fucking hot in here, it’s like being in an oven.
Opening my eyes, I see the blood from my heel is leaking through the shirt, so I sit on the floor and prop my foot up on the toilet. My hair is sticking to my entire upper torso since all I have on is my bra, so I twist it up on my head and knot it.
How long do I have to wait? I’m not leaving this room until I know Rhys is on the other side of that door.