I walked around the entryway slowly, listening to crappy elevator music and on the alert for clicking sounds.
“Bug free,” I muttered when I’d completed the circle.
One room down.
At least fifty more to go.
I winced, grabbed my supplies, and kicked the rolling cannister vacuum into the next room.
I’d prioritized searching the rooms encompassing all routes from the front door to the kitchen where I’d found Don that night. By the time I’d retraced that path, my back ached, and I had every cheesy piano rendition on the bank’s waiting loop memorized.
The delicious scent of rosemary greeted my nostrils when I stepped into the kitchen, but at the sight of Jeremy standing at the stove, a chef’s hat perched sideways on his head and a wooden spoon in his hand, my heart jumped into my throat.
God. He’d made a mess. There had to be at least a dozen eggshells on the island mixed with broccoli stalks and the roots of green onions. It. Was. A. Fricking. Mess.
And he was grinning?
Yeah, the grin melted my anger, a little. I mean, I was glad to see Jeremy so blasted happy, but not at the risk of angering the Count. Rules were rules. And while the Count hadn't explicitly said ‘No Jeremy cooking in the kitchen’ I was pretty sure at least one of his rules covered Jeremy raiding the fridge and making a mess. Somehow.
“What is it?” Jeremy asked, reading my face and turning tense.
I glanced over my shoulder, nervously. “Maybe it’s best not to use the stove, huh?” No point in testing just how kid-friendly the Count was. “If you’re hungry, I’ll make you something.”
I eyed the remains of the Rosemary stalks mixed in all the eggshells. Then the alarm bells went off.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Jeremy hadn’t just raided the fridge. He’d used the Count’s fancy ingredients. He’d even opened the package of Brie and left it in a pile of trash on the corner of the island. The store would be closed before I could get there to buy more.
“Jeremy, what have you done?” I choked. I hurried to the cheese, praying I could salvage some of it, despite the egg whites dripping into the package. Shit. Could you wash cheese?
Jeremy giggled.
I glanced back at him, astonished to see him grinning from ear-to-ear. “That smelled so bad, Kass. Goat cheese is soooo much better.”
“You…can’t do this, Jeremy,” I hissed. “Take off the hat and hand me that spoon.”
“Why?” Jeremy frowned.
Because I’ve already annoyed the hell out of my boss enough this week? Make that, month? And when he finds out—
“Yes, pray tell, why?”
It took a second to register that the deep voice coming from behind me belonged to the Count himself.
Shit. What could I possibly say? My brain went numb. I just stood there, trying my best to concoct an excuse when the Count walked into my field of vision.
What the—
He stood on the other side of the island with a bag of flour in his hand and a white apron tied low over his lean hips. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt, and the way the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders made me want to unbutton the rest.
God, he really rocked that apron. Somehow, it just drew my gaze to his thighs, so defined, sculpted. I could imagine those muscles rippling beneath me so sensuously as I straddled him. I caught my breath and with difficulty, dragged my eyes back to his face.
He stood there, watching me with an arched, wicked brow, a brow that told me he’d followed the essence of my thoughts, at the very least, if not the details, as well.
“Would you care to join us?” he asked, peering down at me from under half-hooded eyes.
My insides melted. “I…uh…” Yeah, brilliant response there, Kass.
“The Count is teaching me how to ‘whip up a souffle’,” Jeremy said from the stove.
Right. The stove. I turned toward my brother, mostly to escape the Count’s carnal gaze. After all, I couldn’t risk just what I might do if I held still under that spell for too long.
Then, the sight of Jeremy’s happy face cleared all other thoughts out of my mind. Wow. I hadn’t seen my brother so happy since…well, I can’t recall when.
“A souffle?” I repeated belatedly.
“The Brie cheese was… well, it smelled rotten,” Jeremy continued, waving his wooden spoon at the pot bubbling on the stove. “So, we’re changing the recipe.”
“Indeed,” the Count agreed.
He brushed his hand low over the base of my spine as he passed. I shivered. And I know he saw, because I could see his cheek move into a smile, even at the angle from which I stood.
I didn’t move. How could I? The sight of Jeremy and the Count discussing the recipe tugged at my heart and made me feel all warm inside.
“Cream of Tartar,” Jeremy tapped the wooden spoon on a “Food and Wine” Magazine propped up against an empty eggshell carton.
“Must be in the pantry.” The Count nodded, and then he was heading back my way.
I dropped my gaze.
He slowed behind me, long enough to trail his fingers down my spine before he paused to breathe in my ear, “Like an instrument.”
God, I wanted him.
Then, he moved away.
It was just as well. With Jeremy in the room, there’d be no strapping the Count down to the island and having my way. I blew a heated breath. Time to behave, Kass.
“You can help, too,” Jeremy offered.
“I can’t,” I told my brother. “I’ve got to work.” I had bugs to find. Then, I eyed the messy kitchen and added, “And don’t forget to clean up your mess.”
He laughed.
I skipped out before the Count could emerge from the pantry once again to play me like whatever instrument he was imagining.
“We’ll call you when they’re done,” Jeremy called after me.
I smiled and dove back into my work.
Several times, I passed outside the kitchen door to hear Jeremy and the Count talking about various things as they puttered about, clanging pots and pans. The topics ranged from the Lunar effect, to aerodynamics, and on to Falconry. Falconry? I eavesdropped a bit on that one and learned that once, long ago, the Count liked to ride horses and hunt with his favorite Peregrine, Ecaterina.
When the souffles were ready, I was summoned back to the kitchen by a phone call. I was happy for the break. My knees ached from crawling around the floor, looking under all the furniture.
“Perfection,” the Count was saying as I entered.
They’d cleaned the kitchen, lit a few candles, and placed the souffles on a plate in the center of the island. They looked like something out of a magazine.
“Do they taste as good as they look?” I asked Jeremy.
He shrugged an 'I dunno' and said, “Dive in.”
There were only two plates. “I’m working—” I began.
“Nonsense,” the Count interrupted, sending me a look. “I’m not a slave owner. And I did invite you to enjoy a meal with your brother.”
The souffles smelled tempting and they looked so fancy. “But yourself?” I asked, puzzled.
“He says he’ll eat later,” Jeremy chimed in as he cozied up to the island. “Don’t know about you two, but I’m sure eating now.”
I watched the Count cross to the fridge and take out one of his dark wine bottles. Strange. I’d yet to see him eat, but then, maybe he had a health condition. Maybe.
I eyed his muscular form as he poured the last of the red wine into his goblet. Nah, he was the picture of health. And he was strong. He’d dangled my dad as if he’d weighed a feather, and he’d carried me around without even needing an extra breath. No doubt, he had one of those pure, strict diets, the kind that didn’t allow things like eggs, butter, and cheese. But somehow allowed wine?
The candlelight played over his handsome face as he just leaned against the counter, taking the occasional sip of his drink as Jerem
y and I downed several souffles each.
The conversation was a wild one with Jeremy involved, and we spent the better part of an hour laughing—the Count included until finally, he took his leave.
“Shit,” I glanced at my watch. I had so much work to do.
I left Jeremy to put the food away and zipped back up the stairs to doggedly search for Don’s bugs.
If only I had a way out.
If only I didn’t have to help Don and betray the Count. I’d never met anyone like him. Abrupt and commanding, yet kind and surprisingly tender. Sexy. God, yes, sexy. And mysteriously dark…
Shit.
I was falling, totally falling for my boss/target.
That wouldn't end well at all.
11
The next few days flew past. I inspected every inch of the house, and I’d listened to the bank’s music so much I caught myself singing the sappy songs in the shower. Still, after all that effort, I hadn’t found a thing, I didn't have time to order any of those fancy devices.
It was late when I made it back to my room. Jeremy had fallen asleep on the couch while reading a book. I had just enough energy to toss a blanket over him before collapsing into bed, exhausted.
My cellphone vibrated just as sleep was settling over me. I moaned and glanced at the screen.
“1”
One? Then, realization flooded. Shit. One day left. Twenty-four hours.
I’d run out of time.
I sat up, suddenly wide-awake.
No way was sleep coming for me now. Instead, I was visited by the ghosts of bad life choices. The first ghost berated me for betraying the Count. The second one showed me what would happen should I fail, and Don dug his claws of revenge into his pound of flesh owed, only it wasn’t my flesh he would collect on.
No matter what happened, I was going to be miserable, but wasn’t that just par for the course of my life?
Thanks, universe. Thanks for all the help.
Sick of tossing and turning, I slipped out of bed and padded quietly into the kitchen. After retrieving a tub of raw cookie dough from the fridge, I sat at the island and ate my feelings.
Part of me wondered what would happen should I approach the Count and tell him everything. I nearly did, yet deep inside, I just couldn’t take the chance. Yeah, he’d been spending a lot of time with Jeremy, and I’d let myself fall deeper into the spell of attraction, but that didn’t mean I could trust him. The closer I got to him, the more my instincts screamed that he was a man of many secrets. Many. And in my experience, those kinds of secrets weren’t the good kind. Long story short, I finally came to the conclusion I just couldn’t risk Jeremy’s life and future on such an unknown.
And that meant I had to go through with Don’s plan.
My heart tore, but I had to choose. It was Jeremy or the Count. It wasn’t much of a battle. Jeremy would always win.
And with that, I had only one path before me. I had to help Don. I had to freaking force the Count into his office.
I tapped my fingers on the cookie dough container like a drum. How could I get the Count to open his safe?
I tried to come up with a plan, but my mind either wanted to wallow in self-pity over betraying the Count or it wanted me to forget everything and go hunt down some Tums.
Finally, a good six Tums later, I had my plan.
It wasn’t the best, but it was the best I could do.
“I need money.”
The Count arched an elegant brow and waited where he stood in his private library, book in hand.
Hell, he wasn’t making this easy. Did he enjoy watching people squirm? As dark and brooding as he was, he didn’t seem like the type to lord it over others. In fact, he’d seemed quite opposite.
I swallowed. I couldn’t fail. This had to work. I didn’t have a backup plan. “It’s Jeremy.”
“Jeremy?”
“He’s talented. Brilliant, actually. You've seen that. He needs supplies for the science fair. I didn’t save back any money this time.”
He just waited, damn him. And why did he have to look so smoking hot, his muscles outlined so temptingly in the dim lighting?
I took a fortifying breath. So, he wanted the truth, did he? Well, in this, I could give him the truth. Lots of it. “Truth is, I got myself into a mountain of trouble and debt. Pure stupidity on my part. But I’m paying it back, and the guy’s an asshole. I used pretty much my last entire paycheck on the first payment and the rest on Jeremy. I’ve got nothing left, and I wouldn’t ask, only Jeremy’s science fair hit me out of the blue. I don’t need much, just a little.”
I guess he heard the authenticity in my voice, because he strode out of his library and in the hallway, lifted his hand. “Follow,” he said.
I did, heart pounding.
He led me to his office, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside.
I almost called him back. Almost. I’m ashamed to say how close it was. I felt like the worst kind of jerk. Jeremy should always be first. How could it even be a contest?
“Come in, Kassandra,” the Count called me from inside.
Showtime.
I entered his office to find he’d lit a candle on the edge of his desk. He stood before the large oil painting of the dragon and the beautiful sword-wielding woman.
Please, please let the cameras be angled right. Please.
The painting slid aside, revealing the safe.
I could scarcely watch. This was my one and only shot. I’d run out of luck and out of time.
Then, his fingers danced over the keypad as he plugged in the security code and all I could do was pray. Does that sound bad? I’d been a good person…well, lately. And did the fact I prayed for success so I could steal cancel the whole praying thing out? Making it all null and void?
I wasn't raised religious, so I wasn’t sure how all that worked.
I heard the safe swing open.
I didn’t look. I couldn’t. Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed it down with a grimace. Only when I heard the Count move to his desk did I finally raise my eyes.
He stood there, counting his hundred-dollar bills. “Here. Five hundred should be enough?” He raised a quizzical brow.
What the hell kind of science fair had he ever participated in that needed five hundred dollars?
“Plenty,” I whispered hoarsely. “Thanks.”
God, I felt like the worst kind of human.
“My pleasure, Kassandra.”
Now, I felt even worse.
I left, clutching the money tightly in my fingers and feeling them burn in my own version of Hell.
The next day, I forced myself to wait until noon to collect the cameras. I’d never seen the Count out of his bedroom at that time, and as this was my last day, I couldn’t afford to take any kind of chance.
It was Saturday, and since Jeremy wasn’t in school, he sat in the kitchen, writing the pros and cons of each Science Fair project idea. He’d narrowed his choices down to three.
“Be right back,” I murmured as I slipped his laptop out of his backpack and ran to the nearest guest room.
My fingers trembled as I downloaded the file from first camera onto the USB drive. “Please,” I whispered a prayer. “Pleeeease let me see the code.”
Carefully, I inserted the USB drive into the computer and began playing the file. Since I’d been in the room, I knew the time already, so I skipped through the hours of dark, empty office until a ray of light fell across the screen.
I tensed.
That must have been when the Count had opened the door.
A flame danced against the wall when the candle was lit.
I held my breath. I saw myself standing at the edge of the screen. Yes. This was it. And there was the Count, moving toward the—
What the hell?
I hit the pause button and stared at the computer screen. What the hell was I looking at? Clothes? Just…clothes? I could see the Count’s shirt and pants…but no head…or hands.
Was
the camera defective?
I hit the play button. The clothes walked to the painting and the painting slid aside. I fast-forwarded through the footage. No head. No hands. Just his clothes, moving around the room, along with the floating stack of money.
“Has to be the camera,” I muttered under my breath as I reached for the next camera, the Velcro one, and downloaded the file. Nervously, I clicked the play button.
“Nothing. Nothing. Nothing,” I mumbled as I sped through the file showing the empty office. “There, the light.”
The candle was lit and the Count approached the safe, this time from a different angle.
And…this time…shit. It was the same. I saw myself enter. I had a head. And hands. As expected. But…the Count? Where the hell were his body parts?
I rewound and played the file again, probably a dozen times or more, trying to understand.
It wasn’t until the last time I ran through the footage that I saw the safe keypad and the little lights flickering around each number as the Count’s invisible fingers depressed the keys.
The code. I’d captured the code.
In a daze, I returned Jeremy’s laptop. I think he asked me something, but I really don’t recall. I just stood there, leaning against the kitchen island as I massaged the back of my neck.
“Good afternoon,” a voice spoke behind me.
I screeched and whirled, only to see Leonard entering the kitchen, suitcase in hand.
“Forgive me, Miss Kassandra,” he said with a warm smile on his gaunt face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I swallowed. “You’re back.”
“I am,” Leonard acknowledged.
He vanished through the door and returned with a large antique chest, banded with iron and securely fastened with a padlock. After setting it down next to his suitcase, he straightened and dusted his hands.
“Did you enjoy your vacation?” I asked. He looked even thinner than when he’d left—and he’d been rail thin to begin with. Didn’t people usually gain weight on holidays?
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