“What are you playing at?” Jill demands, her eyes glittering through the ski mask.
My lips are so stiff I have difficulty shaping the words. “I needed a bath.”
“And what, you decided to do some construction work beforehand?”
“There’s no bathroom door. I wanted some privacy.”
Jill’s hands fist at her sides. The look in her eyes is disbelieving. “Privacy! You think this is some kind of spa holiday?”
“I only—”
The slap is stinging. “Shut up!”
Pressing my palm to my throbbing cheek, I stare up at her in shock.
“I don’t care about your privacy! Don’t you ever do that again!”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
“You sure, princess?” Jill raises her hand and I cringe, hating myself for showing fear.
Kane catches Jill’s wrist. “That’s enough.”
She jerks her arm out of his grasp. “You deal with her. If I stay here another minute I’ll do something I’ll regret.” She stalks off, cursing colorfully under her breath.
After the door slams behind her, I say to Kane, “I wasn’t setting out to cause trouble. I just didn’t want you walking in on me while I was having a bath.”
I fully expect him to take a turn at castigating me. Instead, he sits opposite me, drawing his legs up and resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ll give you a piece of paper,” he tells me in a quiet voice. “If you’reundressing or in the bath, stick it under the door. I’ll know then not to disturb you.”
My heart races at this unexpected gift. “Thank you.”
His eyes narrow. “If you abuse this privilege even once, I won’t offer it again. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And no more stunts like the one you pulled now.”
“No more stunts,” I agree. “What about Jill? I don’t think she’ll be happy with this.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
I touch my cheek. “She hit me. There was no need for that.”
Kane offers no apology. “You scared her, and that made her angry. Her first thought was that you’d committed suicide.”
I still. From conversational bits and pieces, I know they’ve done their homework on me, but surely they have no idea what happened. Dad covered it up so well. I force myself to say carelessly, “I’m not the suicidal type.”
“I know. You’re more the escaping type.”
It’s said without rancor and I think how odd it is to be having this conversation with him, as if we’re two strangers parrying pleasantries, only he’s hiding his face and I can’t leave the room.
Kane pulls out a miniature recorder and piece of paper from his pocket. “I want you to read this aloud.”
So much for pleasantries. I take the paper from him and scan the contents. It’s a message to my father, reassuring him I’m all right and urging him to concede quickly to their demands.
“You contacted my father?”
“Yes.”
