Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
And I’m doing this.
Eyes on the half-open door, I tiptoe out of his bedroom.
I descend the stairs on silent feet. The light on the outside porch is casting a small glow in the large hallway.
Feeling a chill, I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. I only have on one of Kas’s T-shirts and my undies. I feel like I should be wearing a black cat suit or something equally badass. Not an old band T-shirt of Kas’s that carries his scent. And it’s really distracting because I love the way he smells. It brings warmth and hot memories to mind, and that makes me feel like a total bitch for sneaking around his house like this.
Then, I remind myself that I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for him and his lying ways. I would have been lying upstairs in his arms, probably having sex right now, if he’d chosen honesty.
But he didn’t, and here we are.
Well, here I am.
I tiptoe across the floor and into his office.
I quietly close the door behind me, and then I make my way across the room and turn on his desk lamp.
I don’t waste any time. I start searching through his desk drawers, looking for a key.
I find one key, but it’s small and looks like it’s for a padlock or something. But, aside from that, there’s no key that would fit that door.
Hands on hips, I survey the room.
If I were Kas, where would I keep a key for a secret door?
I’d keep it with me.
I do a quick mental run-through of what he was wearing when we went upstairs. Jeans and a shirt, and he put those in the laundry basket, so there definitely isn’t a key there.
My eyes snag on his jacket, which is hanging on the back of the door. He wore that earlier when we went to the vet’s to get the medication for the horse.
I walk over to the jacket. I slip my hands in both pockets. My hand curls around a set of keys in the right pocket.
I pull them out. His car keys. I stare down at them in my hand. There’s his car key, a fob—which is for the garage, I think—a Range Rover key ring…and another key.
A Yale key.
Holy shit.
Blood starts to pump through my veins.
Oh my God. This is the key. I bet this is the key!
I rush over to the bookcase, keys in hand.
I open up the stack, revealing the door. I single out the Yale key, and with my hand shaking, I slot the key in the door. I turn and…
Click.
Shit. I’m in.
I’m actually in.
Leaving the key in the door, I grab the handle and turn it.
But I pause before opening.
Am I sure I want to do this? Am I sure I want to know what’s behind this door?
I’m not sure of anything anymore. But I do know that I need to know what he’s hiding.
On a deep breath, I push open the door.
A light flickers on, making me jump. It must be one of those sensor lights. My eyes adjust to the light, and I see I’m standing in the doorway of a closet-sized room.
And in this closet-sized room are…photographs.
Of me.
“What…the hell?” I whisper.
My heart starts to beat faster as I step further into the room.
There’s a photo of me. From the day I left prison. I’m standing outside the prison, a bag in hand.
Why does Kas have a photograph of me?
My eyes start moving over the other photos pinned to the wall.
Me and Cece hugging from the same day.
Me out running.
Me and Cece out together, the night of the club.
Me at the Matis Estate, talking to Cooper.
Me on the train.
One of me with Jesse when we went to the beach.
And…
Jesus Christ.
My hand reaches up to the photo.
It’s of me with Jason. But this isn’t from the other day. This is an old photograph—from when we were together, not long before I was arrested.
The picture was definitely taken from afar and without our knowledge.
Jason and I are in an embrace. I’m smiling up into his face, and he’s grinning down at me.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
I turn in the room, eyes scanning. Every wall is covered with something—photographs, news cuttings about my arrest, trial, and imprisonment.
Jesus, he even has my prison mug shot.
Stepping up close, I run my fingers over the picture.
I move over, and there’s a map with marked locations.
One is of my apartment.
What the hell?
I don’t understand. Why does Kas have these?
I move along, and my hip bumps into a table.
No, it’s a desk and—
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest, as my heart climbs out of my throat, leaving me gasping.
On the desk is a gun. And lined up beside the gun are four knives in various sizes. Each one looks as deadly as the other.