I say nothing. For there is nothing to say.
Elias sees something I couldn’t see myself, until now. That the actions I undertake concerning Lilith are self-serving. To what end? I don’t know.
But I’ll toil on and keep doing it, anyway.
I can’t stop myself, even if I wanted to.
Chapter Twenty
Lilith
Iwait until midnight, when the mansion is at its quietest, to move.
As I creep down the hallway from my room, I pass many lavish and extravagant rooms that may never see another occupant other than a few overnight guests, until I reach Colter’s room, in another wing of the mansion.
It’s an easy walk. Alistair keeps the lights on at night, barring a few on the ground floor. I haven’t been told why, but having seen their comings and goings at odd times, both day and night, it seems reason enough.
Colter’s bedroom is surprisingly empty, with dark wood and deep blue shadows defining the space. There’s a king-sized bed in the middle, centered against the wall, resting on a wooden frame with high, rounded corner posts that reach up to the ceiling. A single painting hangs above the bed, of a woman and a boy. They look to be mother and son, and they are going on an early morning walk through the countryside. There is a doorway in the corner that, like my room, no doubt leads to his closet. A combination desk and shelf faces the window and doesn’t look to get much use, as there is nothing on it.
The guest rooms I passed along the way were more cluttered, and I am disappointed by the lack of things to snoop through. As I make my way from one bare piece of furniture to the next, the feeling intensifies.
It’s not much of a mission if I can’t find anything. I’d even settle for a high school journal under his mattress at this point. The room is disappointing, so I set my sights on the door leading into his closet. On opening it, I find that, like the rest of his room, it is sparse to the point of emptiness.
There are a handful of suits that he’s worn around the house and a few shirts and sweatpants. But, beneath them on the floor, I find my prize, and drop to my knees to get a better look.
It’s an antique chest, age-worn and coated in a thick and glossy laminate. The metal handles are rusty and rough tothe touch, and it takes a great deal of effort to drag the chest out of the closet. I take that as a promising sign, imagining it must be filled to the brim with all the things Colter doesn’t want to have on display. Exactly the sort of things I’m trying to find.
But my hopes of seeing them are dashed by the thick padlock on the front.
“What are you doing here?” Colter’s voice comes from the doorway. It’s soft, almost distant, as if he doesn’t suspect my nighttime wandering has any ill intent.
Shit. How did I choose the one night he’d be home?
But that isn’t the question I should be asking. My source material for this heist isn’t exactly reliable. I haven’t ever had access to criminal masterminds, who might have taught me how to investigate a target, pick a lock, or even estimate the best time to strike. Everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve learned about how to enact a covert operation, comes from movies and books.
You never see them doing this sort of thing during the day. It’s always late at night, when the world’s asleep, and they have free rein of their surroundings. But unlike the mark in those tales, I’m the victim not the mastermind.
“Are you being naughty, Lilith?” He speaks again, when I don’t answer his first question. His voice is different now, and he doesn’t sound so distant. He is completely present and expects an answer.
“No, I—” A lump in my throat chokes my words, but perhaps being interrupted in this way is for the best. I can’t think of a way to answer his question without implicating myself.
It takes every ounce of my strength to turn to face him.
Colter’s leaning against the doorframe, freshly showered and shirtless.Provokinglyshirtless. A full-frontal assault on my senses.
Our hug told me he was well-built, but it couldn’t have prepared me forthis. His entire body is a rock-hard carving of lean muscle,the sharp V at his hips disappearing into his gray sweatpants, unapologetic and distracting. Just standing there in his laid-back stance makes it look like he’s flexing, like he wants me to notice.
The part of him that holds my attention far longer than it should, is the ink that stains every inch of his bulky frame, from torso to wrist.
A warm giddiness runs through me as I allow myself a look at his body, the way he’s done to mine so many times before. This isn’t the time, I know, and if I had the ability to pick my jaw up from the floor and make excuses to run, I would.
But I’m frozen in place, and no matter how I try to convince myself otherwise, it isn’t because of my nerves at his sudden appearance.
His usually neat, swept-back dark hair hangs wet and messy over his eyes. Even with it falling forward, I knowhe’s watching me. I can feel his gaze pinning me in place as I kneel in front of the locked chest, exposed and painfully aware of it.
He brushes the hair out of his face. The arm he uses flexes and bulges his enormous bicep. My teeth sink into my lip, captivated by his incredible physique.
“Would you like to know what’s inside?” he asks.
