Page 58 of Tainted Truth

“We just want to talk,” Pierce calls out.

Shit. Shit. Shit. They’re both coming.

Pushing off the front door, I spring down the hallway. My heartbeat is in my ears as I pump my arms. I dart into the first room and go for the French door. Each guestroom has a four-poster queen bed with simple yet comfortable bedding, an exterior door, and an updated en suite. Anthony pushed me to update the guest rooms when I moved in. He wanted me to make the house my own.

Panting and trembling with adrenaline, I type in the code again.

1-7-2-1

Still locked.

What the hell?

In the next room, it’s the same.

Did he change the code? How? When?

Footsteps echo down the hall, and I force myself to think fast. I open the closet, the bathroom door, and curtains. Hopefully it’ll make them think I searched the room and moved on.

Praying I fit, I lie flat on my stomach and squeeze under the wooden bed frame. My ass barely makes the cut, but now I’m tucked away with my head at the foot of the bed. Laying my cheek to the carpet so I can see in the two inches of space between the bed skirt and the floor, I cover my mouth with my hand and attempt to slow my speedy breathing. It’s impossible, but I have to try, or they’ll hear me. Then who knows what will happen next.

I don’t want to find out.

A pair of brown leather Oxfords come into view as they stroll into the bedroom. “Spencer, dear. Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Pierce.

There’s no way in hell I’m coming out from under the bed.

He paces back and forth in front of the bed, less than a foot from where I hide. He throws things around in the closet and does a quick check of the bathroom. “She’s not in the second guest room but definitely came this way.”

How are they talking to each other? Shit. I need to get out of here.

I left my keys in my studio above the garage which is through the kitchen and off the laundry room—on the other side of the house. If I make it over there, I can get through a window in my studio and to my Jeep in the driveway.

Waiting until I can no longer hear Pierce’s footsteps, I inch out from under the bed. With my heart in my throat, I lean my head out the open doorway cautiously and look both ways down the hall. Thetap tap tapof footsteps comes from above me and I assume Pierce is on the second floor.

I ignore the quiver in my knees and take measured strides down the hallway.

“Flowerrrrrr.” Another round of chills zips up and down my back at Anthony’s call for me. “Floooooower.” His voice comes from upstairs, but I can’t tell from where exactly. I compel myself to move again even though my mind is screaming at me to go back to the safety under the bed.

Maybe I can hide there and eventually they’ll give up and leave.

Fat chance. Anthony and Pierce are like sharks. They will do anything to close a deal. I doubt that kind of focus just goes away.

At the end of the hallway, I pause and open my ears, scanning for noise.

Aclankrings out from the second floor.

Desperate to believe they’re both back in Anthony’s office, I creep through the living room and kitchen. Every step brings another wave terror. Terror at the thought of being spotted. Terror at the possibility of making an accidental noise.

I jump and a scream almost escapes me when a crash of thunder shakes the windows along the back of the house. Allowing my gaze to wander above me, I check for any signs that they heard my almost shriek.

A flash of lightning casts light on the second floor and I see a reflection in the window of a figure outlined on the balcony right above me.

My fiancé smiles wide as he says, “Gotcha.”

Breaking out into a sprint, I pass the scratchy, gray fabric couches and white coffee table in the living room, then the marble counters and the marinara and garlic aroma in the kitchen.

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