Page 109 of Our Little Secret

“Al’s Bistro?” The little café was on the far side of the park.

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“No . . . I’m okay,” Brooke said, her stomach uneasy as she stepped back for a better view of the room.

And she saw it.

What appeared to be a small beetle or spider or some kind of insect at the baseboard near the foot of her bed.

Her insides froze.

“Suit yourself.” She heard Leah’s voice as if from a distance. “I’m going to window-shop, I think, and ask around about Shep.”

“Good. Good. Yeah.” Brooke was barely listening. “Let me know if you find him.”

“Will do.” Leah cut the connection and Brooke ran to the side of the bed to kneel down so quickly she felt a twinge of pain in her ankle, a sharp reminder of her fight with Gideon.

She leaned down, ignoring the dust bunnies, and fingered the spot in the baseboard. Definitely a small hole and coming from it, almost invisible to the eye, was a clear wire that ran between the baseboard and the carpet.

She felt a moment of triumph, quickly replaced by dread as she followed the wire along the floor to the doorframe, where it met the corner of the room. From there the wire disappeared into the wall.

On the other side was the unused staircase.

She practically flew down the stairs to the laundry room, where she pulled out the key ring and a flashlight, unlocked the door, and quietly started to climb. She switched on the dim overhead light, then clicked on the flashlight with its intense beam. Slowly, she ran the bright light around the edges of the staircase, across the low ceiling with its myriad of spiderwebs to the dusty steps, where dead bugs and traces of mice were visible. Shuddering inwardly, she moved up the stairs to the landing on the second floor.

Nothing had appeared on the lower steps, but as she shone the harsh light on the wall that backed the master bedroom, she saw it. A thin, nearly translucent wire was stretched across the top of the doorframe.

“Son of a bitch,” she hissed, keeping her voice low; Marilee’s room was just on the other side of the door and across the hall. She searched for a camera or listening device but found none. Could it be wireless? On battery? Still, it would have to be able to survey, to view, or to listen in.

The thought was nauseating.

She concentrated on the wire and noticed that it rounded a corner, then ran upward.

Leading to the attic.

Holy shit!

She’d known it, damn it, she’d known it!

Holding her flashlight in her teeth, she carefully climbed the unsteady rungs. All of her muscles were tense, her legs aching as she paused to open the trapdoor in the ceiling before poking her head into the empty space. Cool air, dust, and darkness greeted her.

She heard the sound of rain pinging against the roof and water running in the gutters.

Standing on one of the rungs, she swept the beam of the flashlight around the perimeter of the attic, where the roof joists met the crossbeams at the floor. Then she directed the light over the interior of the roof itself.

Nothing.

Wait . . .

Where would the camera be?

Over the bedroom?

Or . . . with a gut-wrenching realization, she understood that she might not be searching for only one camera and/or microphone. There could be more than one, perhaps dozens. “Oh, please,” she whispered to herself. For a few disgusting seconds scenarios of her private life spun through her mind. Not only the intimate, private scenes, but just the normal, day-to-day conversations and interplay of the family; the private jokes, the recriminations, the playful banter, the silly talk to the dog . . . all so personal.

Then she considered something more disturbing. Darker. She remembered the comments about her daughter.

I hope pretty little Marilee is enjoying the dance.

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