Chapter 1 - The Sound on the Hardwood
The floorboard creaked again—a dry, deliberate groan of old timber coming from the shadow of the curved hallway just past the library’s French doors.
My breath caught in my throat, freezing right where it sat.
In the dim amber glow of the library desk lamp, Lincoln didn’t yell, nor did he panic. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with a swift, instinctive reflex and yanking me hard against his chest. His other hand dropped to his waistline, his pale gray eyes locking onto the dark corridor with the lethal stillness of a coiled spring.
“Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my ear.
“Who’s there?” I whispered back, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“Someone who shouldn’t have the security codes,” Lincoln muttered.
Before I could process the terrifying implication of his words—*seven housekeepers stayed overnight, none of them agreed to stay a second night*—a shadow detached itself from the wall.
It wasn’t an intruder in a ski mask or a masked assassin. It was Garrett Mallory, impeccably dressed despite the late hour, holding a crystal tumbler half-filled with amber liquid. His rehearsed, polite smile stretched thin across his face as he stepped into the light of the library.
“Good lord, Lincoln,” Garrett drawled, his eyes flickering down to where Lincoln’s hand was still clamped around my wrist, then up to my face with an expression of mild, mocking amusement. “You’re making quite a mess of the penthouse tonight. I heard a noise and came down to check on you. I didn’t realize you had hired... companion care for your insomnia.”
Lincoln didn’t let go of me. If anything, his grip tightened, his shoulders squaring off as he stepped forward, placing his body completely between Garrett and me.
“You’re up late, Garrett,” Lincoln said, each word clipped and laced with frost.
“Insomnia is a family trait in this organization, boss,” Garrett replied smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. His eyes didn’t miss a thing; they traced the blood stain on Lincoln’s sleeve, then drifted back to me. “Though I must say, Ms. Hart looks remarkably alert for someone who was supposed to be fast asleep in the east guest suite. Are you sure dragging an innocent civilian into your paranoia is wise? The board won’t like it if the local papers start asking questions about who you’re entertaining at three in the morning.”
The implicit threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
“Leave,” Lincoln said softly.
Garrett raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Just checking on my favorite employer. Sleep well, Lincoln. Or, well... try to.”
With a final, lingering look in my direction that made my skin crawl worse than the rain outside, Garrett turned on his heel and strolled back down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the thick silence of the penthouse.
As soon as he was gone, I pulled my arm away from Lincoln, my chest heaving. “Who was that?”
“Garrett Mallory,” Lincoln answered, his jaw tight as he watched the empty hallway. “My chief of operations. The man who manages my calendar, my finances, and supposedly, my security.”
“And you trust him?”
Lincoln let out a harsh, humorless sound. “In my world, Delia, trust is a four-letter word for leverage. Garrett thinks I’m losing my mind. Every doctor he’s brought in has diagnosed me with severe post-traumatic stress, exhaustion, and acute paranoia following the assassination attempt eight months ago.”
“And are they right?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper as I looked up into his pale, exhausted eyes. “Are you losing your mind?”
Lincoln stared at me for a long, agonizing beat. “No,” he said quietly. “Someone in this building is trying to poison my water, sabotage my vehicles, and drive me to a total breakdown. And until tonight, every single person I hired to help me sleep either took a bribe to look the other way or ran screaming after a week.”
He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against my shoulder, turning me toward the guest wing.
“Go back to bed, Delia,” he said, his voice softer now. “Lock the door. And if you hear anything else tonight... don’t come looking for me.”
May you like
I didn’t go back to bed. Instead, I stood by the window of the guest suite, watching the rain lash against the glass three dozen stories above the streets of Hadley, wondering what kind of nightmare I had just walked into for twenty-eight dollars and a place to sleep.
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