Who was she kidding? It was a stupid plan, but it couldn’t be worse than staying here. She didn’t belong in this world. The complete absurdity of being in Killian St. John’s house was messing with her head. Not to mention the luxury that surrounded her.
Her hands smoothed over her new leather pants. Butter-soft, they fit like a second skin. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she’d seen them laying on the bed. The high-end brand promised protection and freedom of movement as long as you were willing to pay for it. That promise would forever be out of her reach.
Although it wasn’t a fair trade, she had no problem keeping the outfit, since Killian had ordered her clothes destroyed.
Dizzie looked at the closet, filled with brand-new clothes all in her size. Grab the matching leather jacket and go. That’s what she should do.
She looked at the closet again. Each piece of clothing was pretty and functional, simple but not plain. Things she might have chosen with an unlimited budget. It would be a shame to leave them here. Wouldn’t it?
Refusing to second-guess her decision—she’d need new clothes on the road, maybe even sell them if she needed to—Dizzie grabbed the stylish messenger bag that had accompanied the clothes. It was probably as crazy expensive as everything else in the closet.
She stuffed underwear, a few tops, and a couple pairs of pants into the bag and started to slip the strap over her head before remembering the gorgeous leather jacket. If she survived this, maybe she’d be able to repay Killian someday.
Stop procrastinating, dammit.
The longer she mooned over Killian St. John’s amazing taste and unexpected generosity, the less time she had to escape.
Escape was what she needed—wanted—to do.
Donning the jacket and slipping the bag strap over her head, Dizzie took a deep breath and opened the door. Anticipation swirled in her gut as she waited for…what? An alarm? A guard?
Nothing happened, so she stepped into the hall. The door closed behind her with a near silent click. Moving slowly and keeping her steps light, Dizzie paused every few feet to listen for people coming her way.
She didn’t encounter anyone. Not Elsa. Not any other servants. Not even Killian himself.
That was good. Right?
Finally, she stood in front of the elevator. The arrows emitted a subtle glow and she stabbed the down button. Dizzie leaned against the wall, trying to blend in with the shadows.
She’d made it this far, no need to get sloppy.
The doors opened silently. No one entered or left. She waited a few heartbeats, just in case, before slipping into the car.
“Now or never,” she whispered and pressed the button for the garage.
The doors closed around her and the hum of the elevator told her it was moving, but she didn’t relax until the doors opened again.
When she stepped out of the elevator, the door closed behind her, cutting off her main source of light. Like upstairs, the call button glowed faintly, not nearly enough to navigate by.
Dammit. The garage was dark and kinda scary.
Would the lights kick on for her or were they keyed to Killian?
Did it really matter? She had two choices—forward or back.
With a deep breath, she stepped away from the closed elevator and into the dark.
Lights sprang to life above her. Although she’d been expecting it, she still jumped.
Dizzie waited for her breathing to settle. Waiting until she was sure that her presence hadn’t been detected. Then she took another step. And another.
The light above her flicked on. Step by slow step, she tested the timing of the lights. Three lights were lit at a time—one above, one in front, and one behind.
Now that she understood the pattern, the garage didn’t feel quite so spooky.
As Dizzie crossed the garage to where she thought the Excel was stored, lights popped on and off with each step. The uneven lighting both illuminated and hid Killian’s car collection. Some vehicles she recognized from the gossip sites, though the articles had usually focused more on the beautiful women at his side than the horsepower he arrived in.
That was why the bike had been such a surprise.
