He nodded, eyes glossy with emotion. "I believe you," he whispered.
Once we’d finished our ice cream, I took him to the store to pick up some Chef Boyardee, canned beef stew, and bananas, and then rented a motel room for the week at the Windmill Hotel. The place had obviously seen better days, but at least it wasn’t one of those pay-by-the-hour joints.
"It's not bad," I repeated for the third time, eyeing the dingy, lumpy floors, peeling wallpaper, and the faded comforter. The TV worked, all three channels. As shabby as it was, I knew I couldn't afford even that long term. "Don't tell anyone you're staying here," I reminded him.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid."
I ruffled his hair. "I know you're not, but we can't be too careful right now. Also, when you walk to and from school—and anywhere else, make sure you're not followed, okay? Do you remember what I taught you about that?"
He nodded. "Never take the same route at the same time. Check behind you frequently. Take paths that cars can't go down. Go into stores if you need to ditch someone."
"You're a smart kid," I said, then kissed him on the forehead. "I have to go. Get your homework done and stay inside tonight."
He looked so sad when I left that I felt my heart break.
The sun had just dipped below the horizon when I arrived back at the mansion. As I rushed to start my shift, I spied the Count roaming the second floor, looking lost and fragile and very unlike his normal self. Any cringeworthy thoughts I’d had fled out the window as again, my heart melted. First Jeremy, now the Count?
I actually took a step in the Count’s direction before I heard his deep baritone from yesterday, playing in my mind, “Tomorrow evening I wish not to be disturbed by anything.”
Well, ‘anything’ included me, didn’t it? Deciding to play it safe, I left him to wander in his forlorn fashion and threw myself into my work.
In my short time as a housekeeper, I’d found cleaning therapeutic, a good physical exercise that generally let me lose myself in the task at hand for a few hours.
But not today.
With Jeremy safe and sound, for now, my mind ricocheted back to Don and his escalation of the timeline. Seven days. Jerk. With only a week left to figure out the safe’s code, I’d have to move fast. I marched around the house, mopping floors, vacuuming curtains, and dusting bookshelves—man, I’d never seen so many books, and such old ones, crammed in every room—all the while, mulling over just how I might get Don’s blasted code to the safe. I didn’t let myself dwell on exactly what would happen after he got it. If I did, I just might not carry through, and I couldn’t risk that. Jeremy was counting on me.
Several hours into my shift, a loud banging on the front door shattered my thoughts. I hurried to a window and craned my neck for a view, but the angles were wrong, and shadows shrouded what little I could see.
Then, I heard my name, even through the glass. “Kassandra. Kassssandra!”
My stomach dropped.
Shit.
Double shit.
And tonight of all nights? The night the Count made it very clear he didn't want disturbances of any kind?
Steeling myself for an unpleasant confrontation, I stormed to the front door and pulled it open.
My drunk father lost his balance and fell back a few steps.
“There you are, you little slut.” He glared at me from bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Whoring yourself again, are you?"
He grabbed my arm, yanked me towards him, and then slammed me into one of the rose bushes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed as I righted myself and began pulling thorns out of my skin.
"Coming to collect what's mine. Where's that brat of a brother of yours?"
"Not here," I snapped. "And not where you can find him. Now get the hell out of here before I call the cops."
He laughed, a twisted humorless sound bathed in liquor and hatred. "Go ahead, call them. I think Jerry's on duty tonight. We had drinks just last week. I'll tell him all about how you kidnapped my son. A minor. How will that go, do you think, given your record? I have a right to my boy."
I shoved him away, but his height and bulk gave him an advantage and he raised his fist and slammed it into my face before I could dodge him.
I fell back into the bushes, crushing the flowers and feeling the bite of the thorns once again. Blood coated my mouth, and I flicked my tongue against the split in my lip.
I stood up, my head spinning, my anger boiling. "Leave us alone!"
He body-rushed me, pinning me against the wall, his meaty arm tucked under my chin and crushing my throat until I couldn't breathe.
"You'll bring my boy back or they won't find your body, not that anyone would bother looking!"
I could feel my consciousness fading, but before it did, I managed to lift my leg and ram my knee into his groin.
He released me and fell back, screaming in pain as I slumped to the ground choking and holding my throat.
That's when the Count walked through the front door.
"I asked for quiet!" he began imperiously. Then, catching sight of my father, he cocked a slow brow at him. "Who are you and why are you on my property?"
"That's my father," I whispered, my throat already swelling. "I told him to leave. I'm sorry."
Always. Freaking. Apologizing. For my shit of a family.
Then the Count marched to my father, leaned over and lifted him by the collar of his shirt, straight into the air. I gaped. While the Count stood taller than my father, he wasn’t bulkier. Yet, he lifted my father as if he weighed no more than a feather.
"Get off my property and keep your hands off my staff or it's your body that won't be found," the Count said, speaking every word with a slow deliberate calm that sent shivers up my spine.
My father quailed in his boots and then made a mad dash back to his car. The next minute, he peeled away, down the private road and probably to the nearest bar.
With him gone, I tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness struck, and I nearly toppled over.
Strong hands caught and steadied me. Then, the Count lifted me into his arms as if I weighed no more than a child and carried me into his house.
As he walked up the stairs toward his private suite, I let my head fall against his chest. I felt numb. Overwhelmed. I didn’t want to think anymore, so I didn’t. I just rested my head, wanting nothing more than to hear the solid beating of the chest beneath my ear.
Only…there was nothing. Not a single heartbeat, no matter how much I strained to hear. Maybe it was the pounding in my own head, drowning out everything else?
The Count placed me on his bed and stoked the fire, and then left, only to return a moment later with a glass of something dark and red. "This will help you heal," he said, handing me the cup. "It's an old family recipe."
He stood over me, so cold and distant, yet the arm he slid behind my back was the gentlest I’d ever felt as he helped me sit up to drink.
The metallic, bitter taste combined with the pain in my sore throat nearly made me gag, but I forced myself to drink the entire concoction, and then handed him back the cup.
"What was in that?" I asked as he carefully eased me back down on the pillows.
"A special brew," he answered. "Herbs from my homeland and a few other things you wouldn't be able to find here."
A warmth began spreading through me, making me feel almost drunk. The thought made me panic. Had I just accidentally blown my sobriety after working so damn hard for over a year? I shot up in the bed, my heart pounding, but the sudden movement made me clutch my head in instant regret.
"Rest," the Count’s deep baritone urged.
"Am I drunk?" I groaned. "Was there something in that?"
"No. You have a concussion and some bleeding. The drink will help, and you might feel different for a time, but I did not drug you. On that, I give you my word. Now, rest."
His words held such command that I couldn't resist them, and almost immediately, I fell back
into the bed and into a deep sleep.
When I woke next, it was to find the Count sitting in front of a crackling fire, nursing what looked like a tumbler of whiskey. He shifted at once, apparently sensing the instant I’d opened my eyes.
"Why was your father here?" he asked, staring at the flames dancing on the logs.
My father. I didn’t really want to talk about him. Swallowing a sigh, I climbed out of the bed, preparing to wince in pain, but instead, to my surprise, I felt only a small twinge. I flexed my jaw in wonder, marveling at my speedy recovery. I’d expected to feel that beating for weeks.
Then, I recalled the Count’s question and joined him at the fireplace. "He was looking for my brother," I said.
The Count waved me to the tufted leather chair opposite him, and after I’d taken my seat, looked over to me with dark penetrating eyes. "And where is your brother?"
"Safe," I said defensively. "Well, safe enough, I hope." And that was all he was going to learn about Jeremy. "I'm sorry for bothering you tonight,” I said, switching the subject, “But, thank you for your help."
He graced me with a curt nod and returned his gaze to the fire. "Don't let your personal life get in the way again," he said.
Stung by his sudden harshness, I rose to my feet. “I won't," I replied, turning to leave.
But he began speaking before I could get far. "Tonight is my wedding anniversary."
That paused me. "You're…married?" With that long parade of women?
"I was," he murmured, his gaze once again locked on the fire. "She died."
I hesitated. Was he opening up? When he didn’t continue, I inched back to the leather chair, sat, and waited.
"She was murdered," he said at last, his face a hardened mask. "She was pregnant at the time."
"Shit." I swallowed. That had to be rough. "I'm so sorry."
He took a drink. "The baby wasn't mine. Though, I did think he was until after her death. I’d always wanted a child of my own.” He drew a long breath, and then added, “I cannot imagine the depravity of someone who would abuse such a gift."
I looked away from him, his grief and my own pain mixing in my soul to create a cocktail of despair I couldn't stomach. I had no words of comfort to offer him. I had none for myself, either. We were both broken spirits trying to make the best of the hands we’d been dealt.
"My mother died in an 'accident'," I offered when the silence had dragged on too long. "But I know my father killed her in one of his rages."
The Count gave a solemn nod. "The authorities didn't investigate?"
I scoffed. "My dad was a cop. He was the 'authorities' in this town." Which is why, though I threatened to call the cops on him many times, he and I both knew it was an idle threat. He didn’t want his buddies seeing what he'd become, but he knew they wouldn't do anything to him.
The Count looked at me fully then, his face impassive. "Sometimes, we must make our own justice in this life."
I couldn't tell him then how right he was, but I wished I could have apologized. For what had happened to him because of his wife…and what was about to happen to him because of me.
7
At the Count’s insistence I rest, I returned to my room and plopped myself on my bed. Normally, I’d worry about my father returning, but after coming across someone capable of suspending him in the air like a ragdoll, I figured he wouldn’t be so keen on a repeat. He didn’t like looking like a fool, and dangling in the air had fool written all over it.
With my father out of the way—for now—I just had to worry about Don…but the instant I thought his name, I felt the weight of my own sins claw into my shoulders.
“For Jeremy,” I whispered, forcing my thoughts to my brother’s bright future. I’d make sure he succeeded. He’d enter that science fair and show them all what he was made of, just what he could become. I wouldn't let our family name, or my weaknesses, ruin his chances.
I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, struggling to fight off the darkness gathering in my soul like a foul storm.
Shit. At this rate, I’d never be able to sleep again.
But as with all things, time won out and my body gave into its own exhaustion.
I woke with the shrouds of a nightmare clinging to my mind like a spider's web. Only I wasn't the spider in this scenario, I was the bug trapped for dinner.
Panic seized me at the memory of my father showing up, and of the ticking bomb I was living under. Six days.
Six days or he would hurt—maybe kill—Jeremy.
Six days to save him.
I grit my teeth and swung my legs out of bed. The angle of the sun streaming through the curtains told me I’d slept the morning away. It had to be early afternoon.
After a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, I padded to the kitchen to make my breakfast. There wasn’t much in the way of food, but I wasn’t exactly hungry. I opted for a simple blended fruit shake of blueberries, milk, and ice. As I downed the drink, I couldn’t help but recall the Count didn’t seem to be a big eater. In fact, he seemed to drink a lot of liquid, especially his unusually thick, red wine.
“Focus, Kass,” I grumbled at myself.
I had only six days left to get the code. I’d wasted yesterday. I couldn’t afford to waste another day.
And now with the Count asleep, I had a good few hours to implement my plan…whatever that ended up being.
I sat down to drum my fingers on the kitchen table.
Right. Time to get cracking.
The code.
How was I supposed to get it?
Since I couldn’t really hover over the Count’s shoulder and take notes—without raising suspicion, anyway—the only option I had would be to record him when I wasn’t around.
I’d heard one of Jeremy’s teachers complaining about getting their ID stolen during a Mexican cruise. She’d bopped off the ship just long enough to buy some rum at the port, and when she hadn’t had enough money, she’d used a nearby ATM to grab the cash. She’d returned home to phone calls from her bank, asking if she was shopping in Brazil. She’d been the victim of a ‘key skimmer’, she’d called it.
Needing my phone and some fresh air, I retrieved it from the entry table where the Count had taken to leaving it and went outside to walk the gardens and research.
The late afternoon sun felt warm on my face as I typed in ‘key skimmer.’
After clicking the first few links, I knew already I was in over my head. I couldn’t even begin to fathom installing something like that on the Count’s safe. Yeah, I’d made a lot of bad decisions in life, but I wasn’t the full-fledged criminal required to pull off such a stunt. At least not yet, anyway.
No, I was more on the Teddy Bear cam level…
The thought of the enigmatic and imperious Count opening his door to see a Teddy Bear staring back at him made me grin.
Still, the more I thought about it, the more the idea stuck. Not the Teddy Bear part, of course, but the camera.
Leaning against a tall stately oak at the back of the garden I keyed a quick search of “mini spy cameras”, and seconds later, I was in business. They even had them at Best Buy. It was still early in the day. I could pick one up, return, and then creep into the room to install it before the Count even budged from bed. Then, when he opened the safe within the next six days, voila, I’d have the code. Yes…he would open the safe in the next six days. He had to.
I winced. It was a fragile plan, at best… Yeah, I definitely wasn’t criminally inclined… Oh, shit. Shit.
Don had the key.
I dropped my head back to bang it rhythmically against the tree trunk.
I had no choice. I’d have to ask for it back.
Much rather wanting to yank my own teeth out, I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and texted Don.
Need the key. Meet me at Best Buy.
The little dots popped up at once, the ones showing he was texting a reply. I waited.
And waited.
Shit. He was typing a novel. This had to be bad. Why had I ever gotten involved with such a jerk to begin with?
Finally, his reply popped onto my screen.
6
I glared. He could go jump off a cliff. And into a pool of piranhas. Ignoring my phone, I headed to my car and left the property.
I didn't let myself think as I drove to town. Actually, I was getting pretty good at the not thinking bit. I just focused on the road, the blue sky, the trees waving in the light breeze.
As I navigated the parking lot and backed into my spot, I did let my thoughts wander back to the Count. In a secret, decadent way. Like when you indulge yourself with a real treat, creeping down to the fridge at night to pinch off a piece of that chocolate cake. You close your eyes, eat it, and moan as you lick the frosting on your fingers. I could think of a lot of scenarios with the Count that involved moaning and licking…
Catching the nature of my thoughts, I slammed on the brakes and switched off the engine.
“Get a grip, Kass,” I muttered under my breath.
The Count was going to hate me soon enough. There’d be no licking and moaning in our future.
I hurried into the store. They had a few different mini models, one in a pen, one in a tiny cube, and one that looked like it was just stuck on a piece of Velcro. I bought all three. One of them would have to work.
I’d just closed my car door and reached for my phone to see where Don was when a hand pounded the window and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Six,” Don mouthed as he leered at me through the glass.
How I wished I didn’t have to roll the window down and talk to him. If only I could just floor the gas pedal and tear out of there, preferably running over his feet along the way.
But I couldn’t. Clenching my jaw, I rolled the window down a few inches. “The key?” I demanded.
“Six,” he said as he dropped the key in my lap.
“Yeah, got the message. Loud and clear. Six. Now, I’ve got to get back.”
“You’re not hearing me, Kass.” He gripped the edge of the window with his fingers and leaned down to grin at me through the crack. It wasn’t a nice grin. “I think you need a reminder.”
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