Chapter Seven
Her heart rate suddenly fell flat.
She took a step back and then another. Clammy and confused, she nearly forgot her surroundings and the seconds ticking by.
“What were you into, Father?” She shook her head and dislodged the fog of questions that clouded her thoughts.
She’d asked for proof and found it. Hadn’t she? Then again, she knew her father. Kind, loving, a bit of a gambler and he laughed way too loud at parties, but that never made a man guilty. Nor did having a picture on a table in the bowels of a sex club, for that matter. All the support and love he offered her when he could have turned her away deserved the benefit of the doubt in her book. Her brothers would probably agree. No, they’d jump first and then ask. She didn’t think that way.
Still, a rarely felt inkling of suspicion clung to her like a pesky weed.
Determination pushed her thoughts toward a dangerous cliff. She either jumped or backed away to safer ground. But no one ever learned anything hanging back in the safe zone. She had proof tucked away in her clothes and her phone, of what exactly she didn’t know, but that was a problem for after. But it was a start in the right direction.
She pulled her phone and snapped a quick shot of the picture, her hands shaky.
Damn it.
Adrenaline mixed with panic. The concoction wrapped around her heart.
Scared soulless, she took one last look over her shoulder before she retraced her steps back up the spiraling staircase and into the darkness.
Her thigh muscles burned from the extra effort of backtracking.
Something snapped, causing her to fall forward, hitting the side of her face. She looked back to find her heel broken, sticking out of stone.
Great.
She forced a shaky breath into her lungs to help calm herself.
All hope of getting out of there undetected dissolved instantly as the heavy wooden door gave and she rolled forward onto her stomach.
Rhia scrambled to her knees and hands, lunging from her broken-off heel before the door snicked closed.
Eyes wide, she jerked her fingers back before the massive swinging bookcase could pull them between the steel frame. Eyes wide, mouth hinged open, she froze.
This was her worst nightmare. Scratch that. Her worst nightmare was her being caught or locked behind the huge secret door with no known way out. She shivered just thinking about it.
This she could do. Breathe, Rhia.
On her knees, she patted her breasts and silently thanked God for the small token of luck she still had her phone neatly tucked between her skin and the leather of her bodice with the stolen papers.
A panic-induced meltdown threatened to overthrow any rational thought she could conjure.
How the hell had she opened the door in the first place? She rushed to her feet and wobbled from the lack of half of a shoe.
With little choice, Rhia dove for the bookcase and moved every single item within reach until she found the bookend needed to reopen the door.
The latch sprung and seconds later she had the offending missing heel spike in hand.
So she didn’t look like a complete drunk trying to wobble on a broken shoe, she slipped the heels off.
Muffled sounds caught her attention.
Shaking, she crossed the office and pressed her ear to the door, but the sound of blood pounding against her temples blocked everything out.
“Even breaths, Rhia.” She knew the routine. Performed it since childhood when panic attacks took over. Fourth grade had been particularly hard. The year her mother left her. “One.” Inhale, hold. “Two.” Let out, pause. Repeat.
She continued until the count of five and slowly relaxed, nerves dropping from extreme panic mode to a more moderate level. Truth be told, it was always there, though. Right below the surface. Her brothers were right even if they didn’t know it yet. She’d been dumb to walk into the lion’s den and prance around like a damn lamb.