Page 121 of Hit Man
Another creak. Pause. Creak.
I could be overreacting. Yet the nanny’s warning causes a familiar fear to roll up inside me like a high tide. I can barely breathe. I’m almost drowning in it.
It’s little help that the room is packed full of boxes and there’s no room to move.
Footsteps sound. Light. Quiet. Passing by my hiding place. I hold my breath as whoever it is continues on down the hallway. My fingers folding tightly over the contents within an open box I’m leaning against.
I hold the thick stack up to the faint light. A thick stack of pesos. It’s like I’m standing in a bank vault. There’s boxes of them. Recently packed as some of the boxes are open, like the one nearest me.
Seriously? Talk about cash on hand.
Ironic that I’ve spent most of my time exploring ways to secure financing and here I am, in a closet, staring at what has to be millions of dollars’ worth of pesos.
Hidden in a secret room . . . which is a secret for a reason . . .
Instinct kicks in. Señora cannot find me here.
Carefully, quietly, I swing open the door. The hallway is empty.
Securing it back in place, I quicken my pace, round the stairwell, and practically sprint upstairs and into the safety of the Blue Room.
I inhale. Smelling a familiar fresh orange scent that reminds me of him.
Diego would be positively furious at me if he knew where I was right now.
I sit on my bed and decide what to do. No way am I staying overnight.
I’ll wait for Señora to escort her son by my room. I’ll say my good-byes upstairs. When she’s outside and securing Little Lord in the car, I’ll escape the hacienda, just as the nanny advised.
It seems like forever before a horn honks.
The car has arrived.
I step into the hallway. Watch Señora practically dragging Little Lord kicking and wiggling down the hallway. “I’ll say my farewell to Sylvester—”
“Come meet my other son.”
I blink.
The double doors in the foyer below swing open.
“Mama?” I hear a voice I immediately recognize. A knot forms in my throat the size of a cherry pit. Leaving me gasping for air and praying for mercy.
Her other son.
The man with a hit out on me.
A man who wants me dead.
“Juan Carlos,” Little Lord screeches, struggling against his mother as they descend the staircase.
“Cassie!” Señora screams. “Where is that woman? Juan Carlos, put him in the car. Go with your brother.”
“No.”
Smack.
“Now.”
