Page 45 of On Thin Ice

But I wasn’t ready to go upstairs yet.

Technically, I thought, the antechamber wasn’t the east or the west wing. Instead, it was the center of the house—and although the stairs and balconies of both wings surrounded it, I thought of it as neutral territory.

At least, that would be the argument I would make if I was caught again.

But I only intended to be in the antechamber itself. And, as I pretended to look at the artwork I’d already examined extensively in the past, innocently eating the apple while I did, my eyes actually focused on the walls up high. It took some time, but I ascertained that, if there were cameras here, they were tiny and well hidden, not like the big one that pointed at the doorway. I couldn’t find any other cameras that looked like the ones on the doorways, or even like others I’d seen in banks or on neighbor’s garages.

I also knew that Sinclair could afford the best money could buy—so, if there were cameras here, I didn’t recognize them.

Still, I’d have to find a way to get up to the second floor again—not just to look but also to return the journal.

Or maybe I didn’t need to, I pondered, moving to the west wing stairs. I already had other journals belonging to his mother. When I would finally share the information I’d found, I didn’t have to tell him where it had come from.

When I got to my room, I set the journal on the bed. I wasn’t going to read it until I finished the last one, but I wasn’t sure I was in the mood. Instead, I was worried about how much I’d damaged my budding relationship with Sinclair.

Had I blown it for good?

I needed to get my head on straight and push those thoughts out of my mind before talking to my father. I couldn’t talk to him about any of that, because, as far as he was concerned, Sinclair was still our worst enemy.

And maybe he was right.

When I picked up my phone to call my father, though, I noticed a text message notification on the screen.

It was from creepy Mr. Sherwood—but at least he wasn’t so creepy when it was just a text. He asked, How are you holding up, Anna?

So annoying. How many times had I told him I preferred Lise? Maybe he would get it if I put it in writing.

Still…I had that habit of being too friendly, asking politely rather than demanding. Please call me Lise. And things are going fine.

Which was a total lie. They weren’t. I’d fallen in love with the man I was indebted to for a decade—and I was pretty sure he didn’t love me back. And, even if he did, I’d broken his trust and might not ever be able to get it back.

Everything was peachy.

There was a long gap while I finished eating my apple. As I tossed the core in the trash, my phone screen lit up again. Glad to hear that. I’d like to talk to you sometime.

That was the last thing I wanted. After mulling it over, I came up with what I hoped was a convincing lie. I’m not allowed a lot of time to talk, and I’m sure you can understand why I’d prioritize talking with my dad.

Again, there was a long pause. Finally, he texted back something that made me almost reconsider.

That’s too bad. There’s something you need to know about what happened to the Whittier lab at WCC.

Chapter 17

What did that mean? Was he talking about the destruction back in July or did he mean something that happened since I’d left?

For that, I considered reversing my earlier lie.

What? I asked, hoping he’d decide he could just let me know via text message.

But I wasn’t that fortunate.

I’m not putting it in writing. A few seconds later before I could even begin tapping a response, he added, I probably shouldn’t tell you over the phone either.

What is it? I asked, but he didn’t respond.

After ten minutes of staring at my phone, I grew frustrated, realizing he wasn’t going to say another word. But then I reminded myself this was Mr. Sherwood. He’d coaxed me into having a coffee date with him by hinting that I might learn something that would help me when studying for finals. When I pressed him about it after getting our coffee, he’d said, “I recommend lots of caffeine next week. It’ll help you study late into the night.”

So as I called my father, I decided Mr. Sherwood was full of it once again. He didn’t deserve my attention. If he really wanted to tell me something, he knew how, but I wasn’t going to let him manipulate me anymore.

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