Winter Peril

by Pinder, Victoria

  Barefoot, she followed him into the dusty place, her arms locked behind her. She held her breath in an effort to not sneeze. Her eyes watered from the dust.

  He opened the drawer with the gun, and she gasped for air.

  She clenched her eyes shut and refused to see.

  The blackness hadn’t answered anything. And silence wasn’t an answer.

  Her eyes opened, and she glanced over to see him shaking violently. “This must be where she hid.”

  Her heart beat so loudly in her ear that she almost didn’t hear him. “You mean Tiffany?”

  “It has to be here.”

  “What?”

  Another cough escaped her lips from the dust. His head shook, and she glanced up from his hand. His eyes stared straight into hers, and then he unlocked the handcuffs. “Erica, you shouldn’t be here. Go get dressed, Snowflake.”

  She stepped away from the desk and shook her head. Words didn’t form in her throat while he took the few steps toward her. She should have told him. She bit her bottom lip and didn’t know what to say. His fingers brushed her skin, and she averted her gaze.

  She flinched. To her horror, she’d reacted stupidly. Then he placed his hand on her hip. He calmly told her, “Relax. This could solve a huge mystery for me.”

  A lump formed in her throat. In a blink, she tried to figure something out, and all that would come out of her mouth was a question: “What is this place?”

  His words caught in his throat, “My wife . . . This was where . . . Never mind. Erica, go.”

  She took his wrist in her hand and turned him toward the door. “No, come with me.”

  As he took his arm back, he shook his head. “No, Snowflake. I need to find something.”

  The gun. She understood. She clutched her stomach. She had tingles in her chest.

  In a rush, she left the chamber and grabbed her shawl with her cuffed hands. Perhaps she should have shown him. Should she wait in the library? She froze for a split second. But then she pushed her shoulders back and marched back into the dusty hidden closet of a room. Her limbs shook, and she had a sour taste in her mouth. She had to ask, “What are you looking for?”

  He tapped his fingers to his chest and moved the dresser. “The woman—my wife—had a diary. I thought she destroyed it, but I need to find it.”

  Not the gun? Her stomach had rocks in it because she couldn’t digest anything, especially her own actions. She closed her eyes. “Why?”

  “The gun and the diary would prove she tried to frame me for her crimes.”

  She rocked on her feet. She had to tell him the truth. Yes, the diary made her question everything Tiffany ever said. Her mouth opened, and she whimpered. “She did it? I knew it. She killed those people, not you.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared hard at her. “What did you say?”

  Her mouth fell open. She had everything. Her eyes teared up in frustration. Why couldn’t she speak? “Your wife, she framed you for three murders.”

  There was a tilt to his head, and his lips pressed together. “How did you know it was for multiple murders?”

  She had chills that outweighed the coldness she’d endured. She lowered her gaze to finish this. “I have the diary in my room. I took it to read.”

  He shuffled backward a step. “You knew about this room?”

  How red were her cheeks? Her face was heated.

  She’d been stupid. He ran his hand through his hair, and their gazes locked. She couldn’t speak that way, though, and lowered her focus to his mouth. “I found it the day you caught me in the library.”

  His stance widened. “Get me the diary.”

  “There are two, actually.”

  “What?”

  “I found the first in my closet.”

  He shook his head, but said nothing.

  “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were wet.

  His cold, hard stare locked on her. He kept his mouth closed. Nothing had prepared her for that.

  “There is a false door to the second drawer. The gun is there.”

  A gasp came out of his lips. He must hate her. Her eyes watered even more.

  Her footsteps pounded on the wooden floor as she ran out of the room. She pressed her palm over her lips to hold back a cry.

  Chapter 22

  Erica closed her bedroom door without any energy in her movements. Behind the door, everything hit her hard. She covered her mouth and hyperventilated. How had she made such an epic fail? Why hadn’t she once thought to hand over the diary to Gabriel the very second he had opened up to her?

  Waiting had made her appear untrustworthy. She had known better.

  The word frame had come out of his mouth, and her heart had almost fallen out of her chest. She believed him. Her heart always had. Her rationality had left her body the day she’d met him. Her delay was bad. Really bad.

  She threw on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. He wanted the diary. She’d bring it to him. Sex had complicated everything. Near the mess of shoes, she cringed and somehow hoped to stay in her closet. Until Gabriel, she never been this sexually forward with anyone. Tiffany had framed him. And Erica was just as bad. She hadn’t told him what she had found. Sex had left her body tingling, and her dishonesty now ranked up there with her guilt. She let the overwhelming desire to disappear with the ghosts into the wall wash over her, and fought against her anxiety.

  She rubbed her neck, like she was looking to free herself from a proverbial rope. He deserved the whole truth now.

  Erica straightened her spine. She walked out of the closet and headed to her bed. The first diary waited there. She fell to her knees to find the book. As she inhaled, she searched for the book, but her fingers were like butter. She fished around but stilled. His footsteps echoed outside her room. Her heart thundered in her chest louder than gunfire.

  If she crawled under the bed, she’d disappear. That had boatloads of appeal.

  “Get up.”

  Instead she closed her eyes, and her hands trembled. She clutched the books to her body. With a stretch, she pulled back and handed him her items.

  “That one’s a book, not a diary.”

  With her head downcast, she refused to meet his gaze as she stood.

  “It’s a diary with a book cover. This is what I found in that room.” She brushed to straighten her pant leg. He deserved the full truth. “And this diary is what I found in my closet.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Impossible. I searched her closet.”

  She shrugged. “It was there. I checked out her designer shoe collection and found it. She had a thing for bright colors.”

  With outstretched hands, she offered the books. His head shook. “Tiffany never did anything without starring in her own show. It’s how my brother hatched a plan to flush her out.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Your brother, Raphael?”

  He rolled his eyes. Then he let out a derisive cough. “Yeah. My baby brother, her lover, as I’m sure you read.”

  Her face burned. “She killed him?”

  “No.”

  “Thank goodness. I felt so awful for him.”

  She pushed the books into his chest, and then stared at her shoes, not his face.

  Gabriel shook his head. “She thought she had. He’s living in New York now, I hear, about to marry someone named Eileen. I don’t know her last name.”

  A gasp escaped her lips, and she asked, “Why didn’t he tell you where the secret room was?”

  Gabriel crossed his arms and shook his head. “We don’t talk.”

  “Why not?”

  “He slept with my wife.”

  “She drugged him.”

  “What?” He shook his head. “A drugged man cannot have an erection.”

  “You’re wrong. There is medication that causes all sorts of reactions.” She took a step closer to him. He stepped back. She swallowed. “When you said you were framed, the diary made more sense. The book I found recently, I’ve only read page one.”

  His brea
th caught in his throat. She stared up, and he clutched the books. “Were you like everyone else, believing I did that?”

  She’d wondered, and though she risked everything, she couldn’t lie. “You wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

  “Did you think I was a murderer?”

  “No. Most of the time, no.” She kept her gaze on his mouth and wished she didn’t have to do this. “I didn’t want to. I sought out more clues to prove you weren’t. I found all these articles that said what happened, but you didn’t want to talk.”

  He stepped backward. “So you thought so too?”

  She couldn’t hug him. Instead, she threw her arms out to her side and tried to explain. “I was torn. How could the man who has made my body ache be a murderer? The news article I found in the lobby. The diary in my room led me to the secret room in the library. I didn’t know anything, and I set about to prove to myself you hadn’t.”

  “You didn’t tell me about anything.”

  “You never wanted to speak to me about anything.”

  “I changed, but now I see I was wrong.”

  “Please, don’t. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were wet. “I was falling for you hard.”

  He shook his head. “No. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore. You should have told me straight away.”

  After he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, her chin quivered.

  As the door slammed, her face tingled, and she fell onto the bed. Tears formed in her eyes, and she clutched her pillow to not let him hear. She’d done enough.

  She should have told him sooner.

  Tears rolled down her face.

  The distant thunder of a storm echoed in the room. She had tingles in her chest, and her fingers were ice cold. How was she going to avoid him now? She was stuck.

  There was no escape.

  Every limb in her body shook.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Erica woke, her body still numb. Her cheeks were caked with dried-up tears. Instead of spending the night next to her lover, she now stared at the white blanket of snow outside her window and curled into a ball on her bed. Love was complicated.

  Love? What was that?

  She threw the blanket above her head and hoped to make the dark cloud that hung over her head disappear. But every time she closed her eyes, she still faced the truth. Gabriel had been framed. And he believed she hadn’t trusted him. What could she say that would make this better?

  “I’m sorry” wasn’t nearly enough.

  Fresh tears formed, and she flashed to how he’d always taken care of her. He had been reclusive, but always good to her. She should have been grateful. It was why she’d been conflicted.

  Her tears stopped, and red-hot fury took over her body. She’d have never thought any of this if not for Tiffany. What kind of wife framed her husband? If he’d married her instead, they’d have been happy.

  In a flash, she covered her mouth and gasped. Daydreams only tortured her now. Gabriel had every right to not speak to her. She hadn’t spoken to her sister, Kimberly, or tried to reach out to her despite her mother’s illness. So in a way, she’d been judgmental. Besides, she’d have not noticed Gabriel in her busy but dull life. Well, she might have, but she stayed so focused on her mother and earning money that she’d have kept silent near her gorgeous angel.

  Besides multiple daily visits to the hospital, she ran her own business. She hadn’t time to form any romantic relationships or even made female friends. Not really. Gabriel had been a blessing that she hadn’t pushed away.

  She struggled with the stupid decision to find Kimberly, and that should have been done a long time ago. Now Mom had no one, and Erica had let everyone down.

  Pessimism never helped her.

  She glanced at her hands.

  She blinked and stared at the shadow on the wall. She realized that though she was stuck with Gabriel, she had fallen half in love with the man already. Doubts kept her clueless. And though she’s been open and honest in some ways, she’d kept her fears to herself.

  Now she covered her head with her pillow and curled into a ball. She’d never forgive herself. So there was no way he’d forgive her.

  Her breathing hitched. Then she rubbed her head, in hopes she’d drive away the migraine. She’d caused this.

  And for the next hour, she’d let herself stay numb.

  ***

  Eventually, she stood and dressed without any extra life in her steps. She had a plan for today. Mediation had calmed her, and she had to stay focused. Perhaps she’d figure out yoga or read a book.

  The windows rattled from another cold winter storm outside, but her head was so heavy that she had no reaction.

  Her skin stayed chilly, but her mind was calm. She remembered the order of her discoveries. First, she’d found two of the articles in different rooms of the chateau. She rubbed her temples. After she threw on her tennis shoes and fixed the laces, she had a part two that ran in her head. If there had been one secret room, there could be more. Her mouth fell open. Wow. Why hadn’t she thought that before? This time, she’d tell Gabriel the moment she found it.

  The truth. If she finished her intention to find something to show him, well then, she’d at least prove to herself that she was worthy.

  She shifted her weight. The place made more sense if she was right. She massaged her neck the best she could and then finished dressing. The idea of searching for more ways to help him prove that Tiffany had set him up appealed to her. She tapped her fingers on her chest. It was something she could do. Her heart lightened a bit. She’d stay busy. And if there was more evidence, she’d find it and give it to Gabriel.

  Love came with forgiveness—at least, that was what her mom would have said to her. And with time, Erica hoped he’d forgive her. She fixed her hair behind her ears. She had to live with herself too.

  As she bundled on a sweater, she told herself, “When I plan a surprise takeover and know someone could find one part, I have the real plans hidden somewhere else.”

  Yes. As she said it aloud, her pulse calmed into a routine beat. Instead of crumpling on the floor in tears, her gut hardened. Everything might be all right in the end if she found more rooms and showed Gabriel. He might even forgive her. She took a deep breath.

  Hidden rooms could be anywhere in the chateau, and this place was huge. Goose bumps rose for no reason on her skin. She shook it off and started in her room. How many times had she had that sensation of something behind the wall? In order, she pushed on every wall. Her knuckles became hard, and she lost a bit of feeling from the constant bangs she made. Yet she continued. Everything sounded solid, but then her mind flashed to that hotel room upstairs.

  She smoothed out the bottom of her sweater. There had to be one secret room up there. The doors all slammed shut, and she’d been the most afraid up there. She swallowed and rubbed her neck. How else would Alicia have died there? She’d have locked her hotel door. A secret passage made the most sense.

  Erica’s heart ached, and she hoped to see Gabriel soon. But he needed time. Whatever she found today, she’s show him immediately. She’d never hurt him again.

  Empowered, she left her room and checked the kitchen. Nothing stirred. She almost walked away but stopped. Gabriel deserved a good dinner, and her knuckles were bruised enough. So she opened the refrigerator and scanned for something fast. Then she would hunt down more secret rooms. Her body was calm. And besides, the small food offering would at least make her feel better. Food cured her sadness. And she’d ruined everything.

  In a hurry, she threw everything into a pot to let it stew, then took off to the lobby. The library wall had been hollow, so she banged on the walls outside the drafty entrance room and tried to find the soft spots.

  Her teeth chattered. The picture of Tiffany stared at her, and Erica froze. The howl of the wolves outside somehow emboldened her. She couldn’t go anywhere, and walls didn’t bite. Then, with a determined lift of her head, she refused to glance at th
at woman’s portrait again. Gabriel deserved better.

  She stopped and checked the back of the frame. The nail was too high, and she’d need something to stand on to get the portrait down. Perhaps she’d get Gabriel to help, or a sturdy ladder. She dropped the frame back on the wall. It made a loud thump. Then she set off up the stairs.

  The main lobby needed a good cleaning, but Erica’s heart raced now. She shook off the queasiness in her stomach and circled the room. Soon her knuckles ached, but she finished searching the room. No secret spaces in the main vast lobby, but the eyes of that creepy portrait seemed to follow her. Erica shook her head. Impossible thoughts were not needed right now.

  Erica ran her hand through her hair. Then she looked up at Tiffany again. How had such a dainty woman been overlooked as a suspect? Was it the blonde hair? Erica’s more mousy brown hair would never get her out of anything, including a speeding ticket, not that she’d tried. Erica hugged herself and then headed back into the apartment.

  She needed to check upstairs, but first, she’d stir the stew. Hopefully she’d find a pair of soft gloves back in his small apartment.

  Without hesitating, she opened the door and walked right into Gabriel. His ripped body sent a thrill down her. His large shoulders blocked her vision, and she almost lost her balance. His strong arms caught her as she swayed. Her hands and feet went still, and, slowly, she stepped back. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  His stare into her eyes made her cheeks burn, but she didn’t blink. She was determined to face him.

  He crossed his arms, like he needed to build a wall between them. “You should have told me, Erica.”

  She glanced to his chin and nodded. “Yeah, I should have. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  As she lifted her chin up, he dropped his hands, then brushed her face for a moment. “You’ve dark circles under your eyes, Snowflake. I won’t hurt you. I tend not to shoot at people who don’t take a shot at me first.”

  He stepped back like his hand and body were on fire.