Once more, Allie pictured her cell phone lying on the night table beside the queen-sized bed.
Shaking, she scrambled back into her dirty work clothes from the day. Unfortunately, the clothes wardrobe was in the bedroom and not the bathroom, but stinky clothes were the least of her worries. How did this man get into the house? He had to have broken in? Had he been stalking her since yesterday?
“I have to call the police,” Allie moaned. He hadn’t attacked her yet, even when he’d had the opportunity, but right now that was small comfort.
Rifling through the bathroom drawers, the linen armoire, and then the cupboard under the vanity, Allie finally came up with a wrench. Probably for fixing a leaky faucet.
Armed, Allie felt much better. Except was he armed, too?
Allie yelled through the door, “When I open this door I expect you to be gone. Gone, you understand? I never want to see you again. Ever! And I’m calling the police. And I’m bringing charges for breaking and entering.”
She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, trying not to start crying. Body odor rose up from her clothes, but she tried to ignore it, rolling her eyes. She could be such a girl sometimes.
Slowly, she cracked open the door, the wrench raised in one hand. Ready to slam the door closed again if he lunged at her.
The lamp besides her bed was still lit. The window was still open, too. Night air drifted along the floorboards.
Actually, there wasn’t a hint of sound coming from the bedroom at all. Allie waited another few moments, holding her breath, not making a sound herself. Wishing she knew where the noisy floorboards were so she could move forward undetected.
After several long moments, it appeared he really had gone. Maybe he was a wacko and had just been released from a mental hospital.
Although yesterday he’d seemed perfectly normal. Salting his fries, a dollop of ketchup on the side of his white fry box. Calmly eating while he sauntered toward the bridge with his expensive professional camera hanging from his shoulder.
Didn’t psychiatrists say that sociopaths often appeared perfectly normal and charming? Right before they scammed you or raped you? There were entire books written about sociopaths and how to spot them. Allie wished she’d bothered to read one. Or maybe it was psychopaths that became murders. She couldn’t remember.
Allie gripped the wrench tighter before swinging the bathroom door wide and peering around the corner.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. The guy—man—intruder—psychopath—was sitting in the rocking chair near the picture window overlooking the rear gardens.
“What the hell—?” Allie started. “You were supposed to be gone!”
He jumped up, holding up his hands as if to ward her off. “I’m not an intruder or a robber or a psychopath,” he began.
How did he know what Allie had just been thinking? She raised the wrench above her head while scrambling over to her phone.
“I’m calling the police right now, and if you aren’t out of this house in the next three seconds I’m hitting you over the head with my weapon.”
He surveyed the rusted old wrench while he slowly rose from the rocking chair. “My grandmother used to hold me on her lap in this chair when I was a little boy. Maybe six or seven. She’d tell me stories about the early days of Heartland Cove—”
“Are you certifiably insane now? This isn’t your house.”
He spread his hands, a hang dog look of innocence on his features, but he wasn’t fooling her.
“Stay where you are!” Allie fumbled with the phone to dial emergency services. “You’re trying to trick me or confuse me.”
He shook his head, a shock of dark hair falling over his eyes. “Please. I’m just as shocked to see you here as you are to see me.”
“I don’t have a clue who you are. And shocked is an understatement. You just tried to attack me in the bathtub!”
“Now, you know that’s not true,” he said, making his voice calm and reasonable.
“No, you don’t get to do that,” Allie ordered, waving her weapon again. “You don’t get to act calm and reasonable after barging in on me in the bathtub.”
A dimple in his left cheek appeared when he gave a faint smile. “Are you squatting in my house? Pretending to secretly live here?”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“I see very few of your personal belongings and I know the furniture isn’t yours. Or the dishes in the cupboard.”
“The house came furnished and I just arrived this evening.”
“Ah, a brand new house squatter.”
“I am not living here rent free. I have no idea why you would think that of me.”
He scanned her grease and food-stained clothes. “Ah, yes. The Strickland Family Fry Shack.”
“Didn’t you notice my car in the driveway?”
“I thought someone was just taking advantage of an empty house—and empty driveway.”
“You need to leave, or haven’t I made myself clear enough? I’m renting this house. Legally. I paid first and last month’s rent and a deposit.”
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his chin, looking suddenly very adorable. Allie shook her head to clear her brain.
“You paid rent?” he echoed. “Now that’s very interesting. May I borrow your phone?”
He began to walk forward and Allie raised her weapon once more. “Stay where you are. I know that trick.”
“I assure you I am not playing tricks on you. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just as surprised as you are. But it’s all beginning to make sense now. Did you sign a lease with Heartland Realty?”
“I most certainly did. The house is mine.”
He shook his head, smiling broadly now. “No, actually, the house is mine.”
“Dear Lord in heaven, you are annoying. And you may not use my phone.”
“Okay, fine, I understand. I was just trying to avoid walking back down to my car. My car that’s parked right behind yours in the driveway.”
Cautiously, Allie peered out through the lace curtains, feeling like she was in a spy movie. Sure enough, there was a brand new BMW parked right behind her five-year-old Pontiac with the slight dent from the parking garage in Toronto. A hit and run.
She fought down a surge of panic. Her escape vehicle was blocked. Wiping perspiration from her eyes, Allie punched the buttons on her mobile again to bring up the screen.
The man came two steps closer, making Allie dizzy. “I’m going downstairs now,” he said. “Will you also please call the emergency number at Heartland Realty? Talk to Viola Stark and tell her I’m here.” He strode out the door, heading downstairs.
“Wait a minute!” Allie screeched. “How do you know Viola Stark is at the realtor office? Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I actually meant to, but our conversation turned a little confusing.”
“I don’t have conversations with strange men who barge into my bathroom unannounced and uninvited,” Allie said icily, shaking the wrench in a threatening manner so he would know that she was royally pissed and terrorized.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right, Miss Strickland, and I profusely apologize. It will never happen again. But we do have a problem here.”
He proceeded downstairs while Allie muttered, “A problem? You got that right, buddy.”
She slammed the bedroom door shut and locked it. Then she snatched up her lease papers and called the after-hours number for the realtor. After speaking with an emergency operator she left her number for Viola Stark, who returned the call within ten minutes.
Allie answered with a sigh of relief. If this guy wasn’t legit in some way; a maintenance guy, an old friend of Viola’s, a confused neighbor (although it would be unlikely that he had dementia at the ripe old age of approximately thirty), she planned to finish that 911 call to the local constable, Sergeant Bowman.
“Hello, Allie, what can I do for you?” came Viola’s voice.
“How the move-in going?”
“A man just walked in on me taking a bath.”
“Oh, my goodness! That’s terrible. Did you call the police? Did he hurt you?”
“Not yet. I grabbed a wrench under the sink and then I recognized him from the tour bus yesterday.”
“Now that’s peculiar . . .” Viola started.
“Then he started talking about the rocking chair and his grandmother and he left—after he told me to call you. He knew your name. That wouldn’t be difficult since he could have easily scoped out the house earlier and planned this entire thing.”
“Wait, Allie, I’m getting another call—” Viola put her on hold.
Allie stared at the phone. “You’re putting me on hold after what I just told you?”
There was silence.
“She did put me on hold,” Allie spit out. “I feel like I’ve walked into a Twilight Zone episode.”
A moment later, Viola was back, slightly out of breath. “Allie, can you describe this guy?”
“Well, he’s about six foot two or three, shaggy dark brown hair, brown eyes.”
“Does he have a dimple in his left cheek?”
“I—I—what sort of a question is that! I was too terrified to admire any dimples he may or may not possess on his face.”
Which was a lie, of course, but Viola Stark didn’t need to know that.
Viola gave a knowing laugh. “Did he mention that his grandmother used to live there?”
Allie sniffed. “He may have.”
“Oh, honey, that’s Benjamin Ethan Miles III. I just got off the phone with him while I put you on hold. He says he’s standing in the front yard right now. He’s driving a BMW with a sun roof. Blue. Yeah, he goes by Ethan Smith.”
“What did you say?” Allie asked, thoroughly confused now. “Benjamin Miles Ethan the third?” That explained everything. The intruder was a pretentious jerk, assuming he was so privileged to just walk into a house without checking to see if the place was occupied.
Surreptitiously, she walked back to the window and pushed aside the curtains. The man was still there, and yes, he was pacing the stone path between his BMW and the porch, his ear pressed to a phone. The one he’d gone to retrieve from his car.
“Ethan Smith, eh?” Allie said with sarcasm.
Viola took a breath. “He’s actually going by Ethan Smith at the moment. It’s a long story. I’m so sorry, Allie, I completely forgot he was coming into town this week. He’s—well, never mind why, it doesn’t matter, but yes, the house does belong to him. It slipped my mind that it wasn’t available until next week. I just got so excited to rent it after all this time. Silly me.”
“Silly you,” Allie repeated in a low voice. Louder, she said, “Well, this Miles dude the third probably took ten years off my life.”
Viola took the opportunity to apologize some more. “We’ll take off the rent charges for your first month. How does that sound?” When Allie didn’t respond, Viola added, papers rustling in the background. “That particular house is actually rent-free for the rest of the summer! How about that?”
Allie smiled to herself. Rent free would certainly help her bank account considering she wasn’t pulling a paycheck for a few weeks. The leave of absence was without pay, but her boss assured Allie she had a job when she returned to Toronto.
“Allie, I know Ben—I mean, Ethan. He would insist on these terms. He’s actually very kind. A very good man. So generous.”
“Honestly, I couldn’t care less what kind of a man he is,” Allie interrupted. “He should have seen the lights on and known someone was here.”
Viola gave an indulgent sigh. “I’m sure he’s distracted. You see, his grandmother is ill, and, well, the house was hers. The Miles family built it over a hundred years ago. Lots of family history there—Heartland Cove history.”
“Honestly, I couldn’t care less,” Allie repeated. “I just need some sleep. And I want him to go away. I suppose he has keys. That’s how he got inside the house without me being aware of it.”
“Exactly,” Viola said in her annoyingly calm voice. “I’ll call him back and talk to him. Don’t you worry, the entire Miles family is wonderful and they have been extremely generous with the county. I assure you.”
As if Allie cared about their generosity or legacy at the moment. It had never affected the Strickland family, and probably never would.
Downstairs, the door bell rang.
Even Viola heard the sound of the Westminster Chime through the receiver. “Is that Ethan?” she asked.
“If it is, I don’t know why he bothers ringing the bell,” Allie said, her sarcasm a mile thick. “After all, he barged in earlier without a knock or a hello.”
She glanced down into the front yard again. A set of headlights were parked along the edge of the road, the engine obviously running. A shadow of a figure sat in the driver’s seat.
“Now who’s arrived?” Allie fumed. “This house is turning into Grand Central Station.”
“Call me if you need anything else,” Viola said gaily. “Enjoy the house!” The woman had to be at least thirty-five but she acted no more than twenty.
“You can be sure I will do exactly that. It might even be five minutes from now,” Allie said, and clicked off the call with a good hard punch of her thumb.
Chapter 7
Cautiously descending the mahogany staircase to the front hall, Allie prepared her phone once again to make a quick 911 call.
Ethan—or Miles—was nowhere to be seen. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation, or fear, she couldn’t really define it. Was he still outside, or had he returned inside? Was he leaving or going?
She didn’t know whether to be discomfited by the fact that he owned the house and had opened the bathroom door on her thinking she was an intruder, or angry that he hadn’t called out his presence—or was too obtuse to realize a woman was in the house. Hadn’t her open suitcase lying on the bed and half full of feminine apparel screamed that fact?
Still, she wanted to know where he was. And it wasn’t just because she wanted to hit him over the head with a rusted wrench. The realization was disconcerting. A contradiction in what she should be doing, which was locking the bedroom door and calling the police to arrest him.
But had this Ethan guy broken the law? Not exactly. Only a terrifying misunderstanding that had aged her at least five years.
By the time she opened the front door the Westminster Chime had repeated fully twice over. Allie’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Mother! What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Strickland had the good sense to look abashed. “I just made this blueberry crumble cake with that cinnamon butter topping you love so much and I thought, what a perfect housewarming gesture.”
She beamed at her eldest daughter while Allie inwardly groaned. “I’ve been here for all of about four hours, Mom. I’ve been trying to get to bed for the past hour.”
Mrs. Strickland shook her graying blond hair out of her eyes and stepped inside without waiting to be invited. “I know it’s late, but when I get the urge to cook I just can’t help myself.”
Allie knew better to believe her mother’s fibs. She wanted to see the house and couldn’t wait for Allie to get settled and receive a personal invitation.
“Who’s in the car? Dad?”
Her mother’s shoulders lifted in a helpless gesture. “He wasn’t too happy about this actually. He’s even wearing his slippers, which is always difficult when trying to drive a stick shift.”
Allie tried not to snort. She could only shake her head at her silly parents.
“We had to come right away because blueberry crumble is best eaten warm. Too bad you don’t have any ice cream to make it a la mode.”
Allie forced herself not to do an eye roll. “Yes, the house is devoid of food because I don’t normally go grocery shopping at ten o’clock at night.”
“Of course, you don’t.” Gripping the ceramic dish with her hot pads, Mrs. Strickland took
the time to scan Allie up and down, her eyes zeroing in on the grease stains still adorning her work clothes. “I think you forgot to shower before getting ready for bed, dear.”
Allie gritted her teeth. “Don’t even start, Mom.”
“Do you have a clean uniform for tomorrow?”
“Yes, I have a clean uniform. Now don’t keep Dad waiting. If he honks the horn the neighbors will be upset and bang down my door.”
Her mother laughed, reminding Allie of Viola Stark on the phone just moments before. “People in Heartland Cove don’t bang down people’s doors.”
After her mother stepped inside, Allie gave a quick intake of air, blocking her mother’s view of the dining area beyond the foyer and front living room because Benjamin Ethan Miles had suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He’d probably come in through the back door. With a key. Quickly, he put a finger to his mouth, clearly asking Allie not to give him away.
Her lips pursed. “Clearly, you don’t know Heartland Cove as well as you think you do, Mother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Let me take this dessert off your hands.” Without waiting for an answer, Allie took the cake into the kitchen so her mother would remain in the front room, striding forward so fast Ethan had to scurry backward into the dark sitting room opposite so as not to be seen.
She glared at him with a dose of wrath and fury, but not before she’d seen the dimple deepening on his left cheek in a blatant show of amusement.
So Viola Stark was correct. This man was actually Benjamin Ethan Miles the III.
Allie set the cake on the counter and returned to the front hall to tell her mother goodbye, but not before shooting another deadly glare into the adjoining sitting room. Ethan held up his hands in mock innocence, a boyish grin on his lips.
Allie wanted to scream at his flippancy. Why hadn’t the man left already!
“Goodnight, Mom,” she said, taking her mother’s arm and pulling her out to the front porch. She gave a wave to her father, and the shadow inside her parent’s car returned the wave.
The Neighbor's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance #1) Page 5