“Help me in, dammit!”
Between the two of them, they got him inside the compartment. “Now take me home.” Mitch explained what to do when they got there, and then Carlo shut him in. Once again, Mitch closed his eyes. Then snapped them open. He couldn’t fall asleep now. God, he hurt. And the jolting of the ride didn’t help.
When the car stopped at last, he waited for the snick of the latch to unlock. Two quick raps on the car told him Carlo was leaving. He counted to fifty, then slowly, carefully opened the lid.
Like all wealthy people at the turn of the last century, the owners of Hanover House needed a place to store their carriages and the horses that drew them. The house and stables were often situated in the back, somewhere downwind of the main dwelling.
When the carriages were sold and replaced with automobiles, the Hanovers of the time sold the carriage house and converted the stables into a garage. And, because he was a little automobile mad, he had a tunnel built so he could get to the garage whenever he had the urge to get behind the wheel and take his latest obsession for a spin.
The car collection was long gone, but the tunnel and the garage were still in use. And, as Mitch hoped, quiet and empty.
Carlo was gone, and Mitch was only a few yards away from Julia and safety.
It took more than he thought it would to climb out of the trunk. Actually, fall would be a better description. The best he could do was roll himself out. He landed with a wallop of pain.
The piercing agony reverberated through him, and he lay crumpled on the ground for precious minutes, sweating and nauseated. Then, using the back end of the car for leverage, inch by raw inch, he struggled to his feet.
The tunnel was only a short walk away, but it seemed like miles. To test himself, he let go of the car. Swayed. Caught himself. Blinked away the dizziness. Tried again.
One step. Then another.
He could make it. He had to.
Body burning, vision unsteady, he dragged himself forward in a ragged line, concentrating on one thing and one thing only: the door that led from the garage into the tunnel.
When he finally reached it, he was breathing as hard as a marathon runner at the end of a race. He grasped the knob, leaning against it with all his strength. He managed to turn it. Managed to swing open the door.
Bright, white light hit him smack in the face. Instinctively he shielded his eyes against it. But in doing so, he let go of the door. His legs wobbled, and the last thing he thought as he tumbled to the ground was what Dutch would do when he found him.
42
Neesy stared at the top of the canopy bed in the middle of Hanover House. She was trying to stay calm, to stay focused, and, most importantly, to stay awake. It was the middle of the night, she’d been at Hanover House for hours, and she still hadn’t seen Julia.
What she had seen was Dutch, and plenty of him.
And though he was steadfastly polite, unhumanly beautiful, and, yes, magnetic, she could not forget what Mitch had told her: he was dangerous.
In the face of his presence, though, it was often hard to remember. He’d greeted her like an old friend, like it was perfectly natural for her to show up in New York, expected even.
“I’m delighted to see you,” he’d said, beaming.
Meanwhile, she’d sat at the edge of a stiff armchair, her legs crossed at the ankles the way her mama told her was proper and which she almost never did except once in a while at church. Then again, it felt kind of churchy in the huge room—all dark wood and stuffed furniture from a previous century and a large, showy fireplace.
He offered her a slim glass of something or other, and when she accepted it, the stem was cool to the touch, delicate and spare. Neesy had the feeling if she wasn’t careful, she would snap the thing in two. She put it down, hoping the round table next to an armchair wasn’t just there for the fun of it. She’d looked, but there were no signs saying “do not touch.”
“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” Dutch asked. She was in her uniform, and it was streaked with ketchup and grease, and probably smelled that way, too. Yet he’d asked the question as though she were wrapped in mink. “It’s quite a showplace.”
“Right now, I’d like to see Julia.” No point wasting time; it’s why she was here, after all.
“Of course. But first, I have a proposition for you.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help catching her breath. Gorgeous wasn’t a strong enough word. Sexy didn’t say it at all. Lovely sounded too feminine, and stunning wasn’t descriptive enough. He was all those things. Tall and lean, and when he turned that smile on, with those ocean-blue eyes and that pitch-black hair, any woman worthy of the term would have stopped breathing.
Which is why Neesy had to force herself to look away. Remind herself that he’d turned on the charm in Crossroads and ended up walking out her door with a promise to return. A promise he didn’t keep.
“What kind of proposition?”
He had his own glass, and he rolled the stem between his thumb and forefinger. “I know you’ve come to New York to make sure Julia is all right. And I know your accommodations are less than desirable. And I know Julia would enjoy spending time with you while you’re here. So I’d like to solve all those issues in one stroke. Stay here as long as you like. You’ll have a comfortable room, all the resources of my home at your disposal. And, of course, Julia.”
Her heart began to hammer. Coming over for an hour or two was one thing. Agreeing to stay was something entirely different. “I don’t know…”
“Oh, come, Neesy—you don’t mind if I call you Neesy? Do you know how many people would kill to get inside this place? It’s never been photographed—did you know that? No reporter has ever set foot in here, and here I am, laying it at your feet.”
“Can I see Julia first? Maybe she doesn’t want any reminders of—”
“Oh, she will adore having you here. And so will I.” He swooped her out of the chair and onto her feet. “Let me show you the room I’ve picked out for you.”
Ignoring her protests to slow down, he pulled her through a dizzying maze of hallways that suddenly emptied into a jaw-dropping foyer. Wide-eyed, she took it all in—the marble floor, the chandeliers, the winding Rhett-and-Scarlett staircase.
Geez Louise.
As if she wasn’t giddy enough, he raced her up the grand staircase and down a stately hall. Thick carpet, inlaid wood, and sculpture dotted the way. Despite the fact that it was January, there seemed an endless array of porcelain vases with blood-red roses.
Finally, he swept her through a door and into a room that seemed designed especially for her.
A white ruffled canopy shaded the bed. Floral chintz covered the armchairs and the bedspread. A mirrored vanity sat in a corner with its own ruffled skirt. A white brick fireplace took up one wall, and there was even an adjoining bath with a deep spa tub. It was so pretty, she gasped.
“It’s… it’s lovely.” Was this how he got Julia to go with him? Did he promise her something amazing, something she’d never had or done—like a ride in his modern chariot? “Is Julia’s nearby?”
“She’s going to be so surprised to see you!” He took both her hands in his and gazed at her, his blue eyes warm and pleading. “Say yes. Please. Don’t disappoint me or Julia.”
She could see why Mitch thought no one would believe him. Dutch was so charming and eager to please she hardly believed it herself. But if she asked Dutch if she’d be free to leave anytime, would he swear on his honor that she could?
Then again, if she refused his offer, would she get to see Julia? She suspected not.
She was trapped. She couldn’t go, and Lord knows she didn’t want to stay.
He shook her hands. His fingers were warm and insistent. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, all right. But only for the night. Just until I see Julia.”
“Wonderful! Now, let me get you something to change into. I’m sure you’re eager to get out of th
at uniform.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t need—”
He waved objections away. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just go and take a nice long soak. Fresh clothes will be here when you get out.”
He was gone before she could say another word.
Without him in it, the room seemed smaller and darker. She could think again. What in the world had she just agreed to?
She sank onto the bed, trembling. Yes, she’d come for Julia, and, yes, she wanted to help, but she wasn’t crazy. Sticking her foot in the middle of a viper’s nest… Surely there was some other way to help.
She jumped off the bed, bolted out the door, ran down the hallway to that outrageous staircase, and flew down the steps to the foyer and the massive front door.
And came face-to-face with the other giant.
Like Gus, he was broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and well dressed. His suit coat bulged around his hip where a weapon would be. And he stood right in front of the door.
“Can I help you?” Like Gus, he was polite, but he was also unmoving.
“Uh… I thought I’d get some fresh air.”
“Perhaps Mr. Hanover will take you for a walk,” he said. “Would you like me to call him?”
God, no. “Thanks. Maybe later.”
“Would you like me to escort you back to your room?”
“I… I think I can manage.”
But he came with her to the foot of the staircase and stood there while she trudged back up, his gaze burning through her back all the way.
Like a prisoner returning to her cell, she returned to the room with the canopy bed, closed the door, and leaned against it. Now she was truly stuck.
Or was she?
When he’d brought her, Gus hadn’t taken her through the front door. That meant there was another way out. Maybe more than one. All she had to do was find them. One way or another, she could sneak out—take Julia with her if it came to that—even if it meant waiting until the middle of the night.
In the meantime, she’d play along.
Admittedly, she did enjoy the bath. There were candles and French soap, and she stayed in the warm water until her skin wrinkled. When she finished, she wrapped herself in a fluffy robe and stepped into the bedroom.
True to his word, Dutch or one of his minions had laid out clothes for her on the bed. A silk and cashmere skirt with an Italian name on the label and a sleeveless sweater, also cashmere. A pair of leather pumps that added four inches to her height. They were like the clothes she’d seen in the fancy boutiques on her way to work. Clothes she’d never dared to try on, let alone wear. Everything was tailored expertly and fit surprisingly well. How had Dutch managed that? It was almost as though… as though he’d been expecting her.
A sudden quiver made her hand shake as she drew up the zipper on her skirt. But she finished and smoothed down the material. She couldn’t think about that now. Worry would only fuzz up her mind, and she had to concentrate if she was going to get herself—and Julia—out of there.
She looked for a matching cardigan but didn’t find one. What she did find was a handwritten note on heavy cream paper with an embossed H on top. Dutch requesting her company at dinner.
She fluffed her hair and adjusted her makeup with the small collection laid out on the vanity. Good looks could work two ways, couldn’t it?
At last there were no more clothes to put on and nothing to prolong her stay in the room. Pulse pounding in her throat, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
She made her way down the staircase, this time at a slow, sedate walk. The man at the door nodded as she passed, but somewhere she made a wrong turn, because she found herself in a narrow back hallway with a jumble of empty rooms that Dutch later told her was for staff and servants to come and go without being seen. By sheer luck, she managed to unearth a way into the mansion’s main section and finally stumbled upon the dining room by accident.
Getting lost had made her anxious and breathless, but Dutch didn’t seem to notice. He gave her an admiring stare.
“You look quite beautiful. I knew that color would set off your eyes.”
She held out her bare arms. “I think you forgot the cardigan.”
“Not at all.” He ran a hand down her skin, stopping to caress the crease at the elbow. “Your arms are so beautiful. Why not show them off?”
He was giving her goose bumps, so she pulled away. That was when she noticed the table set for two. Alarmed, she said, “Isn’t Julia coming?”
Dutch was profusely apologetic. “She wanted to spend the night with a friend. You understand… She’s just starting to make connections, and I didn’t want to ruin her fun. She’ll be here in the morning. You’ll see her then.”
How Neesy managed to get anything down at dinner was a miracle. She nodded and smiled and pretended it was fine that Julia wasn’t there. But inside she was quaking.
Before she’d finished, she pushed back her chair and rose. “I think I should go. I can come back tomorrow.”
In an instant, Dutch was at her side. “Of course you’re not going.” He tucked her hand into a crook in his arm. “But if you’re done, I have something to show you.”
Her arm firmly locked in his, she was forced to follow him to the top of Hanover House, where he kept his studio. It seemed an odd space for a painter, as it was dim and eerie under the eaves. A small lamp emitted a pool of sickly yellow light. It cast sinister shadows on the unfinished walls with their dark, open beams. Cobwebs grew unfettered in the corners, and she shuddered. The place was as creepy as a pharaoh’s tomb.
He must have seen her discomfort. “Something wrong?”
“I don’t like spiders.”
“Really? But they’re such marvelous creatures. Patiently weaving and spinning. Waiting for their prey to come to them.”
“Marvelous or not, I’d take a dust mop to all these webs.”
“Oh, I find great beauty in them.” His voice was soft, admiring, and the tone made her shiver again. She changed the subject, asking about the orderly niches fashioned between the rafters lining the perimeter.
“Oh, those were for the beds,” Dutch explained. “For the maids and staff. At one time or other, the Hanovers employed dozens of people.”
She’d hardly seen anyone in the time she’d been there. Then again, there was only Dutch to look out for now, and how many were needed for that? But someone must have cooked the meal she’d just choked down. And someone must vacuum all those rugs. Dutch must not let them get near this place. She’d bet they wouldn’t like spiders, either.
“See that?” He pointed to the central peak above their heads, the place where the main beams crossed. “Family legend has it that one of the maids hung herself there. Although some say she was murdered for carrying the master’s child.”
Was he deliberately trying to scare her?
The hell with that. She pushed past him to a table with paint, brushes, and other gear. It stood against one wall not far from a draped easel.
She reached for a corner of the drape. “May I?”
“Don’t touch that!” He said it with such force and fury that she immediately dropped her hand and jumped back as if bit. He laughed at his own vehemence. “Sorry. I never let anyone see a painting until it’s finished.”
“Ah. And this one? How much more is left to do?”
“Oh, quite a bit, I think.” He sidled up close to her. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Perhaps you’ll let me paint you one day.” He slid a hand to her jaw, slowly moved her face in one direction, then another. “Very nice,” he said softly. He seemed reluctant to let her go, and she held her breath while his fingers skimmed down her neck to where her carotid pumped madly. “Very nice.” He seemed fixed on the spot, and before he went all Dracula on her, she stepped away with a small laugh.
“I don’t think I’m ready to be immortalized. Besides, I’m not staying that long.” She made her way to the door, and after a beat h
e followed.
And that night, she waited until the house was still—past midnight, even past one. But when the clock in the hallway struck two, she crept out of bed. Dutch had been as generous with the night things as he was with the day. She slid out of the silk gown he’d provided—she’d checked the label, so she knew it was real and not that fake stuff she got at Walmart—and slipped the cashmere clothes back on. She already knew her uniform and coat had disappeared; they were the first things she’d looked for after dinner when she got back to the room. But uniform or not, bare arms or not, she was dressed and ready to go. She grabbed her purse, peeked out the door, and tiptoed into the lit hallway.
She wasn’t sure what she’d find—a way out if nothing else. But the story Dutch had given her about Julia staying with a friend… It didn’t ring true. She couldn’t say why; she just had an awful gut feeling.
The house was a maze, but at least she knew where the bedrooms were. She crept down the hallway outside of hers. One by one, she quietly, carefully turned knobs and opened doors.
There were eight rooms on her floor. All were richly furnished like a museum display, but a quick scan of wardrobes and drawers revealed neither clothes nor books nor belongings of any kind.
She stole up to the next floor and its additional four bedrooms. All were as devoid of a human presence as the ones on her floor.
By now she was genuinely afraid. Even if Julia was over at a friend’s house, where did she sleep when she was here?
She remembered the servants’ hallway that had confused her earlier. Those rooms had been empty, but might there be others? At the far end of the hallway, she found a door leading to the back stairs. Stealthily she headed for it, reviewing routes and paths in her head.
A noise.
Were those footsteps on the stairs?
She looked wildly around. Lord, she didn’t want to get caught. Not by Gus or his light-skinned twin, and especially not by Dutch. She ducked into a room, all the saliva in her mouth suddenly turned to dust.
“Neesy? Is that you?”
Dutch.
She groaned silently. What in the blue moon was she going to do? Frantic, she saw one of those big wooden wardrobes in the corner. She knew from her own home that closets were a luxury most people didn’t have when the mansion had been built. Instead, they had these big, wooden pieces of furniture to hold their stuff. She ran to the one in the room, flung open the door. Empty like all the others. Quick as she could, she slipped out of her heels, crawled inside, and held the door closed behind her.
Two Lethal Lies Page 24