Page 37 of His Dark Purpose

Wanna let me in?

x

Hitting send, he flicked on the device’s flashlight and directed it around the side of the property line. The building was bloody huge, but if he kept following it, he’d have to come to a back door at some point, wouldn’t he? Rear entries generally had weaker security, so if his mum didn’t reply, he’d find a route in that way.

He didn’t stop to worry about what Kyle would think or how he’d explain his abrupt arrival to her. Even the prospect of the police being called and him ending up right back in jail didn’t perturb him the way it should. Trailing his palm along the brick, all he could think about was seeing his mum and getting a hot drink. After trailing around on his feet all day, he merited that much.

Staring at the screen, his heart fell.

No answer.

When his mum didn’t reply after a few more moments, he accepted she was probably asleep. Boy, was she going to have the shock of her life when she woke up the next day to find her eldest son already there to see her. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face.

His search of the building revealed an elaborate-looking spa at the back, vast glass doors overlooking what he assumed was a picturesque view of the countryside when it wasn’t wrapped in the veil of night. Trying the door handle, he sighed. The residence was thoroughly secured, and clearly, it wasn’t going to be as easy to break into the place as he’d hoped, but if prison life had taught him anything, it was that where there was a will, there was a way.

Brock Hall was where his mother was staying with the generous benefactor who’d helped his brother evade the same sticky custodial fate he’d just crawled away from. He recalled how his mother’s letters had illustrated Jonah’s lucky escape, grateful that she continued to write even when he’d told her not to come to the new facility in person.

That was the kind of woman Amy Kendal was—kind and always thinking of others. He wanted to hug her, but he also wanted to look into the eyes of the patron who’d supported her and know what sort of man he was. Jonah’s appraisal of Kyle had been short and frustratingly nebulous, but the fact his brother hadn’t been entirely sure if the man had been lying earlier was telling. Jonah was usually a decent reader of people, and he should have been able to trust the man who’d bailed him out of jail, but he hadn’t—not entirely.

Seth’s fingers grazed along the exterior door. If Jonah’s gut feeling was accurate and Kyle had been lying, then something might be wrong. Perhaps their mum was ill, and Kyle hadn’t wanted her sons interfering, or maybe there was a more malevolent motivation for his cloak-and-dagger response.

If, however, Kyle was the nice guy their mum had written to Seth about, then he’d understand her eldest son’s concerns. Sure, he’d be angry about Seth’s bullish methodology, but after Seth had apologized and the dust had settled, the guy would understand.

Either way, Sethwasgoing to get inside and find out for himself.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his release documents. The paper exercise was a pointless waste of time, but it had gifted him one useful tool—the paperclip that attached the futile forms together. He grabbed the small piece of metal, stretching it out and creating a small hook at one end. Kneeling by the door, he shone his flashlight toward the door handle and pushed the misshapen metal into the lock before moving it around.

Time protracted as Seth attempted to fool the lock into submission. He’d tried this trick once or twice as a teenager, but his skills weren’t what they’d once been, and Kyle appeared to have the best locks on the market. He didn’t give up, though, pulling the makeshift key out and reshaping it twice before the telltale sounds of the lock disengaging raised his hopes.

“Got ya!” he whispered, conscious that a place as swanky as Brock Hall would probably have closed-circuit television surrounding it. If that was the case, though, it would already have picked him up casing the joint, as well as fashioning his improvised key, so it was better if he just got inside and talked the no-doubt irate homeowner out of prosecuting him.

As though the door had heard his logic, the lock finally yielded, allowing him to push down on the handle and step inside. Closing it behind him and resecuring the lock, Seth scanned the space with his flashlight and let out a small whistle.

The area was indeed a private spa, decked out in fancy tiles and what looked like a large jacuzzi and inbuilt sauna.

“How the other half live, eh?” He hadn’t imagined places like that even existed, let alone that his own dear mum would be living in one. “Maybe if this Kyle becomes my stepdad, it won’t be all bad.”

Steering his flashlight around the immense space, he walked toward the door and slowly pulled it open. Stepping beyond the threshold of the spa, two things immediately captured Seth’s attention.

First was the extent of the place. That much should have been obvious, he supposed, especially given how huge the building had been from the outside, but being in the belly of the beast hammered the point home more thoroughly. The doors were thick and heavy, while the dark, empty hallways seemed immense and important, as though they were the arteries providing oxygen to wherever the heart of the building resided. Compared to the oppressive, confined spaces of his nineteenth-century jail cell, the place was extraordinary.

The other thing that struck him was the clarity of the silence. Rich, unhindered quiet filled his senses, its swathing blanket broken only by the call of the rhythmic tick-tock of what sounded like an old-fashioned grandfather clock. Moving quietly toward the noise, Seth had the sense he’d found the building’s beating heart.

It was only when he’d found the source, an impressive timepiece standing proud in what Seth could only assume was an incredibly large entrance hall, that another sound—a muffled cry from what could have been a woman—reverberated from upstairs.

Mum!

Seth’s head spun to face the direction of the sound, his heart galloping even harder as the minutes ticked by. He wanted to call out, or better, to go to where he thought he’d heard the noise, but he willed himself to be calm.

Maybe I imagined the cry?

The thought ricocheted as tension tightened in his stomach. He’dthoughthe’d heard a cry, but there had been nothing from upstairs since.

Seth tried to convince himself that the call had only echoed in his head as he gripped the edge of the furniture, but the adrenaline coursing through his system said otherwise. He must have heardsomething for his body to have reacted that way. Months of incarceration had taught him to trust his senses. He’d definitely heard someone.

Flicking into his messages, he typed his mother another quick missive. If she was awake and in trouble, perhaps she’d be able to clarify or reassure.

Mum, is everything okay?

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