Evening
I am sliding sideways down the face of the mountain, skiing over the blanket of wet leaves, using the slender beech trees for balance. The big coat flaps around me, and I’ve wedged the iPad against my back in the waistband of my jeans. My glasses keep slipping down. They’re fogged too, but I don’t bother to stop and wipe them. I don’t have time. I need to find the road, wherever the hell that may be, before it gets dark.
I’m not a woods person, even during the day. Past sundown, they’ll feel like they’ve grown deeper, darker, more labyrinthine, the setting of a monstrous fairy tale. There are bears and coyotes and God knows what else out here prowling, stalking. But there is also a man. And I am more afraid of him than I am of any wild animal.
I’m soaked through now, from my own sweat and maybe even blood, but I keep going. All those dawns on the track come back to me. Funny how I was always trying to push myself harder for some reason. It must’ve been all for this moment.
Chapter Four
Sunday, October 14
Five Days Before
The stairs to the second floor led up to a long hallway filled with more sideboards, wardrobes, and chiffoniers—scrolled mahogany behemoths from a bygone era. Along the hall, I counted three doors and one at the very end. All closed.
Reggie executed a perfect flight-attendant gesture. “That first room is vacant and the door is locked. The McAdams and Siefferts are in the next two rooms. You”—he pointed at the far end of the hall—“will have that room, the largest suite, which overlooks the front of the house.”
“What’s back that way?” I pointed at a closed pocket door, only a few feet from the stairs, which blocked the other end of the hall.
“That’s Dr. Cerny’s suite. The entire wing is strictly off limits, but he has his own set of stairs that lead down to the kitchen and back door. Another set lead up to the attic. The attic is off limits as well, of course.”
“Say it one more time, and I guarantee you somebody sneaks in there.” I grinned, but he didn’t return it, just led the way to our room, swung the door open, and stepped back. He puffed his chest, and as I entered, I turned a slow, appreciative three-sixty and saw why.
Our bedroom was the one I’d seen when we’d first driven up. Nearly all glass, the walls retrofitted over the spindles of what had formerly been a porch. Heavy cream silk curtains lined the wall of windows, and every piece of furniture—bed, nightstands, dresser, and desk—was a meticulously restored Danish-modern original. At the far end of the sitting room, a leather-and-walnut recliner was artfully arranged beside a Delft-tiled fireplace. Which was, of course, invitingly laid with wood, ready to light. The room was bright and spotless and smelled of lemon verbena.
Heath shed the bags in a heap at the foot of the bed and moved toward a small oval mirror hanging over a blond-wood dresser. He glanced at his reflection, then moved to the wall of windows. The sun must’ve broken through the clouds and pierced the heavy canopy of trees, because all at once the room was filled with light.
I bent over to examine the fireplace and yelped in surprise.
“Oh, yes,” Reggie said. “I should’ve warned you.”
Heath turned.
“It’s a face, in the back,” I said.
“We call him the fiery fiend,” Reggie said. “He’s in every fireplace in the house. Part of the original design, I’m told.”
I glanced around the room. “And what about the cameras? Where are they? There’s not one in the bathroom, I hope.”
Teague tilted his head. “Camera, singular. It’s in the main room. And my advice is to forget all about it. Pretend it’s not there. The more naturally you behave, the more you are yourselves, the more Dr. Cerny will have to work with.”
Heath had unlocked several of the windows and thrown them open. Cool air blew in, the scent of river and rock and pine overpowering the lemon smell.
“The cameras are activated every morning at eight a.m. and shut down from ten p.m. until midnight, at which point they run again until five a.m. They’re also down briefly from one thirty to two thirty every afternoon. A free block.” He raised his eyebrows, giving us a moment, I supposed, to get his meaning. “I know it feels somewhat uncomfortable, but keep in mind, filming patients is a legitimate technique for research and diagnosis. There are several well-regarded labs all over the world that employ it to great success. Learman’s Intimacy Institute at BYU and James Deshpande’s facility that explores work-related violence.”
I snuck a look at Heath. He was leaning out one of the windows, gazing off into the distance. Unfazed by the fact that we were being watched like zoo animals. Or criminals.
Reggie clasped his hands. “Well, then. I’ll let you two get settled, freshen up, then in exactly fifty minutes, we’ll meet downstairs for the tour and your meeting with Dr. Cerny. We’ll have you around the place and back to your rooms by seven for dinner.”
He left, and as I unpacked, Heath disappeared into the bathroom.
“So the schedule around here seems really precise,” I called out. There was no answer. When he came back, he returned to the opened windows and leaned out into the darkening night air.
“You okay?” I said. “It seems a little chilly to have the windows open.”
“I like the way the mountains smell.” He turned to me, a playful look in his eye. “You know, Reggie said we have fifty minutes.”
“Well, more like forty-five now.” I pointed around the room. “But more importantly, it’s showtime, remember? We’re being watched. Even though, I should point out, we haven’t signed the releases yet.”
“I bet the Siefferts are in their suite, banging it out hard-core.” He kicked back on the bed and aimed his blindingly sexy grin at me.
I turned away. Mrs. Sieffert, or whoever it was who’d been lurking in the dining room watching us, was certainly, one hundred percent, not upstairs banging it out with her husband.
“Come on, Daph. Real quick.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me?”
“Come. Here.” He said it in that voice—the one with the deep, slow cadence that made the area below my stomach twinge. He crooked one finger, and I moved to the bed, only a hair out of his reach.
“You want me to come closer?” I asked. “Never say real quick.”
I bent to him, just so my hair fell over his face and my breasts brushed his chest. He moaned. He reached for me and I crawled up beside him. Cradling me with one arm, he pulled the white comforter over us, and I closed my eyes as he fitted the length of his body against my back and legs. He was already hard.
I spoke. “There was a woman when we came in. Kind of spying on us from downstairs. Did you see her?”
“No.” He nuzzled my neck.
“She was staring at us, like . . .”
He kissed my neck gently, reached around and removed my glasses.
“Like . . .”
He whispered in my ear. “Whatever happens—no matter what I do—don’t move.”
I didn’t, not when he unzipped my pants under the covers, then eased them down past my knees, ankles. Not when he did the same with my underwear. Not even when he ran his hand along the inside of my thigh.
I let him touch me for as long as I could stand it, then guided him into me, turning my face into the pillow. After it was over, he buried his head in the crook of my neck and whispered one last time, “Always us.”
Maybe it was the sex or just that I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, but right after, I fell fast and hard into a dreamless sleep.