Idiot. Don’t risk blowing this opportunity. Get your brain out of your vagina and focus.
On the first floor, I head into the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. A few chips and a banana later, along with a chewy chocolate chip cookie I found in a package in the pantry, and I’m pleasantly full. It will definitely tide me over until dinner. And it’s such a huge relief not to worry how I’m going to eat or where I’m going to sleep for the next two days.
I’d love to call Renee and tell her what’s going on, but without any credits on my phone, I can’t. And I don’t see anything that resembles a landline around Mr. Force’s big-ass mansion.
Once I right the kitchen after my meal, I prowl through the refrigerator to get a sense of what he has on hand so I can cook dinner. He likes fresh ingredients and he’s a minimalist, but there’s enough here for me to work with.
With recipes flitting through my head, I flip on the light in the pantry to see what else I can whip up to complete dinner when I hear a buzz and a click, followed by a swish, then a footfall before the door softly closes.
Who’s here? Hopefully, it’s the person delivering my necessities.
I mind my own business and continue scanning the pantry shelves when I hear the stranger’s low voice. He sounds as if he’s trying not to be overheard.
“I’m in. Give me five, then start calling and texting him. Keep him distracted. Thirty or forty minutes ought to do the trick. That will give me long enough to administer the pain meds he asked me to pick up from the pharmacy and let them take effect. Then I’ll get him to sign.” A long pause. “He won’t realize what he’s signing. He trusts me. Then we’ll have our insurance policy. After today, we’ll be rich—at that fucking bastard’s expense. I can’t wait to see his pampered ass in prison.”
Prison? The person Mr. Force just let into his house works for him, and he wants to see his boss go down for whatever nefarious crap he’s up to?
Yes.
The stranger’s footsteps click across the tile before being muffled by the luxurious carpeting on the stairs. I stand rooted in place with shock, my hand over my mouth covering my seemingly too-loud breathing.
I have to stop this plot before this stranger succeeds.
A glance at the clock tells me that Mr. Force isn’t expecting me for another twenty minutes. But I don’t dare wait that long to go to his rescue.
On the other hand, what happens if I charge upstairs, full of accusations? Mr. Force apparently trusts this stranger. He met me less than two hours ago. Why should he trust me over this other guy?
It’s a valid question…and I don’t have a valid answer. But I can’t stand injustice, so I don’t want Mr. Force going down for someone else’s crimes. There’s no question I have to do something…
But maybe that something is merely keeping Mr. Force from signing whatever documents the stranger brought. At least for now. If I can win my prospective boss’s trust over the next two days, I’ll tell him what I overheard. Maybe then he’ll believe me and refuse to sign.
But what if he doesn’t?
I ignore the doubt, along with the fear that he’ll fire me for even suggesting his trusted employee is crooked. Keeping quiet isn’t an option.
After using the powder room I find on the first floor, I give myself a silent pep talk in the mirror. I wish I felt better afterward. Sure, I’m smart. But I’m hardly used to swimming with sharks. So far, Mr. Force has only circled me to determine if I can keep up enough to be helpful. He didn’t move in for any sort of kill. His treasonous employee? He’s a guy willing to commit a crime and throw his boss under the bus for his own gain. So he’s definitely the killer kind of shark. If I’m the thing that stands between him and a long stint in the slammer, he’ll definitely try to take a bite out of me.
Are you really prepared for that?
Probably not, but I have to try.
After flipping off the bathroom light, I make my way back up the stairs. As I reach the top floor, huffing and puffing again, which only reminds me that I need to get more exercise, I hear a low, mumbled exchange of voices at the end of the hall, then make my way to Mr. Force’s bedroom.
Nothing prepares me for the sight of him standing beside his bed, naked except for a pair of white boxer briefs. He leans on a claw-foot cane while a man in an impeccable pale gray suit helps him into a clean pair of black pajama pants. Since his hair is wet, it’s obvious Mr. Force has showered while I ate. He shaved, too, freshly exposing all the sharp angles of his jaw.