Page 10 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

The door opens behind me, and I cringe at the sight of my employer’s oldest son entering the foyer. I duck into the nearest room, blending into the darkness. His presence makes me uncomfortable. I’ve caught him leering on the small handful of occasions we’ve been in the same room. He’s never said anything to me, but I refuse to give him a chance. I avoid him at all costs.

My brow furrows in confusion. Milly told me the family went out for the evening. The house is empty except for the nanny and baby in the nursery on the fourth floor. What is he doing here? I can only pray he hasn’t come to harass the staff.

He climbs the stairs, taking two at a time, glancing around the open space. Then he enters the old man’s study. Is he looking for something?

Curiosity gets the best of me. I take the servant stairs to the second floor and creep down the hall. The door is cracked open. The thud of books hitting the floor echoes through the narrow space. I spy his agitated flurry of movement as he tosses books from the massive bookcase behind the mahogany desk.

A flicker of light from the desk lamp casts deep shadows across his face when he turns to raid the contents of the desk. I hold my breath and slowly back away from the door as he crosses the room. He bursts into the hallway, intent and focused as he makes his way up to the third floor. I cling to the shadows, watching his progress. Where is he going now?

It’s obvious he’s on the hunt for something in particular. Something he thinks must be hidden.

Shit. I can’t be involved in this.

Without hesitation, I make my way downstairs to the parlor to finish cleaning. Milly is in the living room. If he comes downstairs to cause trouble, I can call for help.

Busying myself, I ignore the burning curiosity and fear nestled at the base of my neck, making the fine hairs stand on end. This is none of my business. If he came to start shit, then the old man can deal with it. I’ll steer clear of that family drama. There’s no reason for me to stick my nose into it, not with my record.

Ten minutes later, the front door slams, the sound echoing off the marble floors in the foyer. Relief fills me. I don’t have to deal with whatever that was. I manage to finish the parlor and gather my cleaning supplies.

If I hurry, I can finish the hallway on the third floor before calling it quits for the night. Milly waves as she heads to the kitchen. I slip into the servant stairwell. The house feels like a museum in the still quiet of the night. Without the old man and his trophy wife home, sound resonates like a tomb.

Outside the master bedroom, I set down the cleaning kit and take out a rag to dust the hallway surfaces. The decorative lighting casts a dull sheen on the walls and floor. I can’t really tell if I’m getting the surfaces clean, but it doesn’t matter. No one checks anyway.

The soft murmur of voices fills the air. I glance down the hallway. Perhaps the old man and his wife have returned home. I move to gather my things when I realize the sound is coming from behind the master bedroom door.

I lean closer, and the voices elevate. From here, I can’t tell who it is. It sounds like two men arguing, but I can’t be sure. I jump back when the handle of the door shifts. I press myself into the shadows against the wall, wishing I had stayed home tonight.

“Go to hell.” The old man’s voice echoes through the open door. I didn’t even hear him come home. If he steps through and glances to the right, he’ll see me. Maybe I should leave.

“Get out of my house!”

My heart stops. I press my hand to my chest. The flutter beneath my palm reminds me this is real. I look toward the servant stairs at the end of the hallway and contemplate how fast I can get there without being seen or heard.

Then comes the sickening crunch of flesh striking flesh, the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor. I pinch my eyes closed, willing myself a thousand miles away as a scuffle ensues. The flurry of activity in the master bedroom escalates. A gurgling groan drifts through the open door, and I hear the slide of heavy fabric on the hardwood floors.

I should run. Turn and leave.

But I can’t just leave the old man to his fate. Can I?

With as much care as I can muster, I slide closer to the doorway and peer around the decorative molding framing the doorway. A dark figure dominates the open space of the master bedroom, face hidden from view. In a motionless heap at his feet, lies the old man. Dark liquid spills across the hardwood floor, pooling around his body, glinting in the lamplight. The broad masked figure stares down at the old man for a long moment, then he shifts his position. I catch the flash of a knife in his hand as he wipes blood from the blade.

A gasp rips from my throat as a wave of nausea overtakes me.

The intruder jerks around, and even though I can’t make out details in the dim light, I know he sees me.

Shit.

I turn and run like the cops are chasing me. I stumble over the cleaning kit but manage to right myself before the intruder clears the doorway.

His stride matches mine.

I need to put something between us. As I round the corner, I overturn a table, forcing him to slow. He swipes the blade at me, catching the back of my right arm.

The stinging bite of the cut pulses through me, and warmth runs down my arm dripping onto the floor.

I grasp the wound with my other hand and race down the stairs. My breath comes in heavy pants as panic consumes me.

How the hell do I get away from him? Where do I go?

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