Deacon moved through the darkened hallway, past the dust-covered statues and the cobwebs lurking in the corners. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the house but him. Not even Mrs. Kupps was allowed in this part of the house. She kept to the kitchen and the office suite.
&nbs
p; He descended the stairs in rushed steps. When he reached the locked door that led to the office area, he paused. There was no light visible from under the door and no sounds coming from within. He hated sneaking around his own home, but he didn’t have any other choice. He didn’t want to startle her with his appearance.
He recalled what had happened when his friends, or rather the people he’d considered friends, had visited him in the hospital right after his accident. They were unable to hide their repulsion at seeing the scars on his face, neck and arms. And then he’d held up a mirror to see for himself. The damage was horrific. After numerous rounds of plastic surgery, his plastic surgeon insisted the swelling and red angry scars would fade. Deacon didn’t believe him. He’d already witnessed the devastating damage that had been done. It was so bad that he’d removed all the mirrors in the house as well as any reminders of how he used to look.
Deacon banished the troublesome thoughts. What was done, was done. He moved into the office and placed the stack of papers on Gabrielle’s desk. That would definitely keep her busy today and probably some of tomorrow.
He noticed that her desk was tidy. However, there were no pictures or anything to tell him a little about her. It was though she wasn’t planning to be here one minute longer than necessary to repay her father’s debt. Not that Deacon could blame her—no one wanted to be here, including him. But he couldn’t go out in the world—not until the accident was resolved and answers were provided.
Without tarrying too long, he turned to leave. He was almost to the door when he heard a key scrape in the lock. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to linger in the office and have a face-to-face conversation with Gabrielle. In that moment, he realized how much he missed human contact. Maybe if he were to stay—maybe it would be different this time. Maybe she wouldn’t look at him like he was a monster—a monster that killed her aunt.
He gave himself a mental shake. It was just a bunch of wishful thinking. He moved with lightning speed to the other door. He grasped the doorknob and, without slowing down, he gave it a yank, slipped into the outer hallway and kept moving. He needed distance from the woman who made him think about how one night—one moment—had ruined things for so many people.
CHAPTER FOUR
DIDN’T THIS MAN SLEEP?
It was almost lunchtime and Gaby hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the tasks her boss had left for her. It didn’t help that the phone rang constantly. Most calls were from reporters wanting to speak with Deacon. She had been left strict instructions to tell them “no comment” and hang up. With business associates, she was left with explaining that Deacon didn’t take phone calls. When she explained that they would have to deal with her, it didn’t go over well. Still, Gaby persisted. She had a job to do.
With a sigh, Gaby pressed Send on an email requesting the script for a film that Deacon was considering backing. But from what she could gather from prior correspondence and the files in the office, he had requested a lot of screenplays, but had yet to back one. She wanted to ask him how he decided which would be worth his money and which wouldn’t.
Gaby got up to place the mail in the allotted slot for Mr. Santoro. When she approached the mail slot, she noticed the connecting door was slightly ajar. She slipped the papers into the slot and then turned back to the door. It beckoned to her.
What would it hurt to go see what was on the other side?
She knew if Mr. Santoro caught her, he would not be happy. In fact, it could very well blow up their whole deal. But if she didn’t take a chance now, would she ever find out what he was hiding?
And to be fair, she was never told that she couldn’t enter the house—only that mail was to go in the slot and communication would be phone or email. She had a hard time believing that he was as bad off as Mrs. Kupps had let on. This place wasn’t exactly a dungeon by any means. He probably was just avoiding all the unanswered questions about the accident. And it was high time he stopped hiding from the truth and faced up to what had happened.
With a renewed determination, Gaby placed her hand on the doorknob and pulled the door open. It moved easily and soundlessly. There were no lights on in the hallway, but a window toward the back of the house let in some sunshine, lighting her way.
She didn’t know what she expected when she crossed the threshold—an enraged Deacon Santoro, or a dark, dank house?—but she found neither. The house was done up in mainly white walls and marble floors. What she did notice was all of the empty spaces on the walls. There were mounted lights as though to illuminate a work of art or a framed photo, but there was nothing below any of the lights, as though even the hangings had been removed. How odd. The oddity was beginning to become a theme where Mr. Santoro was concerned.
The first set of doors she came to had frosted-glass inserts. One door stood ajar. She peered inside, wondering if at last she’d come face-to-face with Deacon Santoro, the larger-than-life legend. But the room appeared to be empty—except for all of the books lining the bookshelves.
Her eyes widened as she took in what must be thousands of titles. She stepped farther into the room, finding the bookcases rose up at least two stories. Like a bee to honey, she was drawn to the remarkable library. There was a ladder that glided along a set of rails to reach the top shelves. And a spiral staircase for the second floor of shelves with yet another ladder. It was truly remarkable.
She didn’t know whether she had walked onto the set of My Fair Lady or the library of Beauty and the Beast. She’d never seen anything so magnificent. She moved to the closest bookshelf and found an entire row of leather-bound classics. It was then that she noticed the thick layer of dust and the sunshine illuminating a spiderweb in the corner. Who would neglect such a marvelous place?
Gaby ignored the dust and lifted a volume from the shelf. She opened the cover to find that it was a first edition—a signed first edition. It was probably priceless or at least worth more than she could ever pay.
And then she realized that if it was so valuable, she shouldn’t be holding it in her bare hands. When she reached out to return it to the shelf, she heard footsteps behind her. She paused, not sure what to do. She moved the book behind her back. The time had come to face Mr. Santoro and suddenly she was assailed with nerves. It probably wouldn’t help her case to be found hiding a collector’s item. Her hand trembled and she almost dropped the book, but with determination, she gently placed it back on the shelf.
She leveled her shoulders, preparing for a hostile confrontation, and turned. The man had just entered the library and caught sight of her at the same time she had spotted him. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which struck her as odd considering it was warm outside. And then she realized he was the man she spotted the first day that she’d arrived. He was the mysterious man from the rose garden.
“Who—who are you?” She didn’t take her eyes off him.
His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who should be asking questions here.”
The voice, it was familiar. Was it possible that this was Deacon Santoro? She peered closely at him, trying to make up her mind. She supposed that it could be him. But it was his hair that surprised her. It was a longer style, if you could call it a style. The dark strands brushed down over his collar and hung down in his face.
She’d never seen him wear his hair that long in any of the movies he’d played in and yes, she’d seen them all. At one point, she’d have been proud of that fact, but after the accident, she’d wondered what she’d ever seen in the man.
When her gaze returned to his face, she had to tilt her chin upward. He was tall, well north of six feet.
And by the downturn of his mouth, he was not happy to find her in here. Her heart picked up its pace. She should turn away, but she couldn’t. She needed to size up the man—all of him. She swallowed hard and jerked her gaze from his mouth. She really had to get a grip on herself. After all, he was the enemy, not some sexy movie star... Okay maybe he was that, too.