There’s a room to my right. The doors are open and reveal a large sitting room with leather couches and a fireplace. To my left, there’s a billiard room. I move toward it and catch the scent of a cigar, one that must’ve been smoked relatively recently. A staircase rises in front of me, but I avoid it and take the hallway that leads deeper into the house.
I find a set of French doors ahead, but when I try them, they’re locked. Each time I try a door on this hallway, it’s locked, and when I get to the back of the house, I find a door that leads to a pool and sitting area, and beyond that is a garden—all of it framed in wide glass windows. The door is locked, though. So, I retrace my steps back to the foyer.
The house is still. No movement except my own. I’m alone in here. That makes me breathe a little easier, and it gives me an idea. Maybe … I swallow hard … Maybe I can find somewhere to hide? The idea is dumb and desperate, but it’s all I have. If I can find a weapon and a hiding place, perhaps I can wait out the worst part of the storm. I saw the look in Mateo’s eyes, felt the violence in his touch. He’s going to hurt me when he comes for me. I won’t be a sitting duck for him if I can help it.
With that in mind, I steal up the stairs, my feet quiet on the wood. When I reach the top, something in the air shifts. Then I hear the shick of a door shutting somewhere below.
“Princess.”
His voice makes me go cold.
“Where are you?” He laughs, the sound rough and vicious as it echoes up to me. “Run if you must, but I’ll catch you. I owe you for these scratches on my hand.”
My heart seems to stop, my chest constricting as I stand frozen at the top of the stairs.
Steady footsteps below, along with a whistled tune, finally shake me from my stupor. I take off, my dress still gathered in one arm, and run down the hallway to my left. There are plenty of doors up here, all of them shut. I keep going, rounding a corner and find another hall of doors, and at the end is a staircase beckoning me to it.
I move as fast as I can without making too much noise, then creep up the stairs to the third floor. The air up here is cooler, as if the vents are closed and the rooms neglected. Good. There will be more hiding spots.
The whistle comes again, setting my teeth on edge as I hurry down the hall and pause in front of a closed door. It looks like all the others, which is why I choose it. Maybe Mateo will tire of looking for me in all these rooms. Maybe I’ll get a reprieve.
I turn the handle and step inside, then quickly close the door behind me. It’s a bedroom. The drapes are open, the dwindling sunlight barely lighting the bed and furnishings. There’s an en suite bathroom. I glance inside, but there’s nowhere to hide. So I turn to the closet. Swinging the door open, I find it empty.
“Shit.” I swear under my breath. I’m about to return to the hallway and choose another room when I hear the whistle again, along with slow, steady footsteps on the stairs. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I hurry into the closet and slowly close the door, holding the handle and gently releasing it so as not to make a sound.
The closet is dark, but I won’t search for a light switch. Instead, I back away and am relieved to find it has a slight turn to the right at the back, sort of like an L shape. I stuff myself into the small space, grabbing my skirt and pulling it until its piled against my front, all of me hidden from anyone who simply glances into the closet.
When I hear the whistle grow closer, sweat breaks out all over me. It’s cold and clammy, fear in each droplet of salty water. The footsteps are quieter now. He’s walking along the runner in the center of the hallway. But his footsteps are still coming closer.
Then they stop.
Unbridled terror begins to pump through my veins, and I clench my eyes shut and will myself to breathe as silently as possible.
The footsteps begin again, and so does the whistle, but this time, they’re moving away. Had he stopped right outside the bedroom door? I open my eyes and lean just a hair to the side to make sure he hasn’t appeared in the closet somehow. No, the door is still closed, the darkness almost perfect in this small space.