The elevator descended to the parking garage. Her heels clipped on the concrete as she moved to the waiting SUV. Finch opened the door and she climbed in, nodding at the driver in the front, then she slumped against the leather and exhaled.
The driver glanced at her. “Rough again?”
Every time is rough. “Nothing I can’t handle.” After all, she’d survived being a supermodel, hadn’t she? Sometimes, she wondered which life had been harder.
Brighton buckled her seatbelt, blocking out the client she’d just left. He paid a lot, and that’s what mattered to Ladomer. She watched the nightlife slide by as they made their way to the house. Let the motion of the vehicle lull her into a daze. Fingers curled around the charm on her bracelet, she closed her eyes. Tried to remember better times, a better man …
“Boss has a client for you tomorrow.”
Brighton lifted her head to look at him in the front passenger seat. “I’m off tomorrow. It’s my on?—”
“Car will pick you up at eight.”
“Finch, c’mon?—that’s my day. My only day.”
He held out the phone to her. “Want to call him and tell him that?”
She swallowed and dropped back. Looked back out the window. At least she wasn’t on the streets anymore with several clients an hour. She should be grateful. Again, her fingers curled around the blue charm.
They pulled to a stop at the office. She slid out and used the fob to unlock her Audi Q7. Behind the wheel, she started the car and let her phone sync. Eyed the SUV. They wouldn’t leave until she did. Just one more measure of Ladomer protecting his property. And that’s all she was.
The Lord of the Rings soundtrack emanating through the vehicle, Brighton put the car in gear, dreaming of an adventure with a good ending. She identified with the orcs and Steward of Gondor, controlled by the wizard. Driven by him. She just wished there really was some magical ring to throw in the fire and make all this go away.
Instead, she must settle for getting home and depositing her bone-weary self into a steaming lavender-scented bath with a glass of wine and some silence.
Mari would be there. Okay, forget silence. It was still weird sharing her home with someone, but she refused to let Ladomer put the girl anywhere else. It was stupid, really, thinking she could protect the fifteen year old from anything, but … she was trying.
Brighton pulled into the garage and hit the button to lower the door. She ended the soundtrack, unsynced her phone, tossed it in her purse, and killed the engine. Once street light vanished behind the closed door, she stepped out.
The paranoia was real?—and crazy, she knew. Nothing had ever happened. She’d expected him to go public with her name, destroy her. But he hadn’t.
Which made zero sense since she had destroyed him.
Yet … that was Stone, wasn’t it? Honorable, higher-road Stone Metcalfe.
Pausing with her key in the lock of the door, she shut out that memory. “Leave it at the door, Brigh,” she whispered and let herself into the house, keyed the security panel, then called, “It’s me! I’m home.” Setting her purse at the drop station, she kicked off her heels. “How was your day, Mari?” After retrieving the mail from the kitchen island, she riffled through it. Bills, junk, ads … She glanced to the side, down the hall toward the front door. “Mari?”
Silence dripped through the darkness. Why was the house so dark? Internal alarm triggered, her pulse spiraled. She slid back to the keypad, entered a code, then crept back to where the hall to the front door diverged back toward the den. There was no reason to panic. They were home. Safe. But Mari should be answering.
Maybe she was asleep.
With me yelling?
She could’ve walked to the store for something.
Brighton tripped over something?—Mari’s sneakers. The store two miles away … without shoes?
So Mari was here, but not answering. Brighton tried to conjure a reason for that. Cold travertine beneath her feet, she slipped toward the rear of the house. She swallowed, her mouth dry.
Scant light scampered out from the den.
Breath in her throat, she sneaked around the corner. Expelled a breath when she saw only a laptop. No Mari.
Glancing back toward the hall, she strained to hear anything coming from the front of the house. Brighton started in that direction. Nerves swarming, she wanted to call out, but that didn’t end well in movies. In fact, it was pretty foolish giving away your location when instinct screamed something was amiss. Her heart now pounded, making it hard to hear anything over the blood rushing through her ears.
She eased into the front room. Curtains were drawn but a gap allowed street light to invade. Empty sofa and ottoman—a shadow shifted.
Heart in her throat, she flicked her gaze to the corner.
