He dropped his flask by the typewriter and turned on a flashlight as he tore through Olivia’s drawers, spilling papers, slamming doors, searching for money, probably, or something to sell like the manuscript she’d hidden behind the panel. The publisher would probably pay a hefty ransom for Olivia’s work.
Was he planning to offer Greta for a ransom? Or did he think, if the professor had no other heirs, he’d still get money from his father’s will? Which might mean, in his crazed mind, Simon would have to kill both his father and his child. Or children, if he learned about the youngest heir to the Farrow estate.
Please,she begged of God.Don’t let Jimmy wake.
She had to get Simon away from her baby.
The flashlight beam swung across the office, sweeping past the window jars. She eyed the flask on the desk. The moonflower seeds.
In Olivia’s manuscript, the moonflower water, mixed with wine, had killed the black dragon.
Izzy didn’t much care what Simon did to her, but if he stayed in thehouse much longer, he’d hear Jimmy’s cry and then he would steal away both her babies.
She had only seconds to deter him. Maybe a minute. No time to soak these seeds in water. She backed toward the window ledge as he dug, wholly out of control, through papers and books. So different than the well-ordered man she’d once known.
She had to find Greta.
And she had to stop Simon before he hurt someone else.
Her hands, remarkably calm, slipped behind her back to twist the lid off a jar. She held the container for a moment as a new scene played in her head. The glass lifted high in the darkness, crashing over Simon’s head. But it would never work. She might stun him with the jar, injure him even. Then she’d have hell to pay.
She had to get him out of the house before the devil could have his way.
“Help me!” Simon growled as she scooped the cool seeds in her hand.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she replied, trying to sound exasperated instead of afraid.
“Cash.” He shone his light into the bottom drawer. “She’s hiding bundles of it.”
Izzy heaped the seeds on the desktop, shifting paper over the mound as she searched with him. Her hand scraped across a typewriter lever when she reached for Olivia’s glass globe, tearing her skin, but she had no time to tend to a wound. Instead, she pressed against the screen of paper, crushing the seeds.
When Simon bent under the desk, she reached for his flask, a quick sweep brushing the powder inside before she recapped it.
He sprung up beside her, yanking the flask from her hands. “What are you doing?”
“Searching for your money.”
“Don’t touch my drink.” He took a long sip before spitting somethingon the floor, a hull probably, and wiped his mouth. “You know where the money is, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
Simon shoved her into the desk. “Tell me.”
“Downstairs,” she lied. “Near the front door.”
He took another sip of whiskey. “Tastes weird.”
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“None of your business.”
“The more you drink,” she said, “the stranger it will taste.”
“It’s not going to stop me.”
When they reached the first floor, Simon seemed to have forgotten why he was there. His flask almost empty, he fumbled around in the front closet.
It wasn’t too late, she prayed. If the seeds worked like in Olivia’s book, she could overpower him still and find Greta.
