It sounds stupid, but it’s what I want.
As spacious as the living room is with its furnishings, it’s still cold. There’s no personality to it. No framed photos. Nothing.
Calder’s bedroom was the same way.
Moving from room to room, it’s all the same, cold and empty.
Except for the last room on the first floor.
It’s Calder’s office, and it’s not cold, but it’s also not personified either. There were papers on his desk, neatly stacked. The monitor was dark, and there was a laptop with a cable running to it. Interesting. He’s running a dual monitor setup like this rather than using a desktop system. I guess it could be handy when he needs to take his laptop with him.
But why didn’t he take it when he left this morning?
Twisting around, I walk along the dark oak shelves lining his walls. There were books among them, along with other things, including a few swords, an axe, and a collection of knives. It seems this room is filled with some personality of some sort. He likes things with blades, which gives me an idea to talk to a friend of mine who makes custom ones. It’s a hobby of hers and she’s great at it. Even has an online store for her to sell them on.
I’m wondering if she could have something ready by Christmas. Not that I’m making conclusions about him being okay to spend the day with me or anything. I’m simply being hopeful when there probably won’t be any.
Running my fingers along the edges of the shelves, I jerk back when one of the walls opens up, exposing a closet the size of a room. But this wasn’t just a closet. It’s an arsenal closet.
I can’t help staring into the room filled with weapons—all sorts of guns, knives, and so on. There was even a whiteboard with pictures clipped to it with writing underneath. One of the pictures had an X crossed out over the face.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, realizing what I’m seeing.
It’s a hitlist.
Slowly, I back out, unsure of what to make of what I’d just seen. I expect the door to close on its own, but it doesn’t. I don’t know how to close it either. For that matter, I don’t know how I opened it.
Glancing around the room, I don’t see anyone, like I was expecting to.
Shaking my head, I rush out of Calder’s office into the kitchen, where I set the mug of half-drunk hot chocolate and start pacing.
Calder was a hitman. There’s no question about it. I’m married to a man who kills people for a living. Worse, my father had to have known about it, and still all but sold me to him.
Oh God.
What am I going to do?
I can’t stay here, not after what I just found out.
Could I?
“No,” I whisper the words to my unspoken question.
Moving through the house, I rush upstairs and pack a bag, not that I had much unpacked. Most of it was still in boxes. I wasn’t going to be able to take it all with me. I grab what I can and run back down the stairs, grab the keys to the SUV I drove yesterday, and dart out to it.
I know I can’t really take this car anywhere, not with it having a tracker, but I can get it to a car rental place or even an airport.
Calder didn’t like that I used what he called ‘Daddy’s money’, but it wasn’t my father’s money I used last night. It was mine. I’ll use my money again today to get a ticket or rental to get out of town. Or at least to get somewhere where I can think about what all is going through my mind.
I mean, I don’t know what to think about all of this.
I knew my father had shady dealings. I’ve always known. I’m not a clueless bimbo who demands things be given to her like some spoiled princess. That’s not me. I’ve kept my eyes open.
Ugh.
Why does Calder have to be a part of such a horrible ordeal?
Why would he marry me?
