Page 14

Tick… tick… freaking, tick. When is he going to sleep? How long do I wait?

To be safe, she let the hour hand crawl to midnight.

By then, not even the creak of settling floorboards emanated from above.

Where exactly was his bedroom located up there? It would be just her luck to stumble on him, wide awake and cranky.

Opening her door, she tiptoed to the staircase.

The first step creaked. Darn it.

She set her sock-clad toe on the next tread. Silence. Whew.

The tread after that one screeched, but she made her way all the way to the top, praying that Oliver had terrible hearing. Except… wouldn’t a man who’d once been blind have the hearing of a bat? Or was that a myth? She had no idea.

The upstairs floor creaked too. The thick-piled rug didn’t help in the slightest. Six doors lined the long hallway, but which one was his? It had to be the one at the end. The extra wall space around it suggested a master suite.

Nothing but trial and error now. She reached for the first door. A bathroom.

The second led to a bedroom. Might as well start here. The stale air punched her in the nose as she slipped inside and closed the door. The man must never have visitors. Turning on the overhead light, she searched the armoire and the desk for evidence. Nothing.

The third room served as a gym, another bathroom across from it.

Darn. That left the remaining two doors—his bedroom, and the door next to it. She’d try the smaller room first.

Was he a light sleeper? He seemed the type. And this close to his room, he’d hear her. Did she dare?

Finding the knob in the smothering dark, she turned it. Unlocked.

Her pulse thumped in her ears as she stepped inside.

“Why’re you in my office?” His silky voice reached her through the shadows.

Crap. It took everything in her not to yelp.

Why the hell was Oliver sitting here in the pitch black? A click echoed in the darkness, and dim light illuminated him in the leather chair by the window. Releasing the lamp switch, he rose to his feet.

Shadows shifted across his bare, sculpted chest as he moved closer. His gray pajama pants hung low on his hips, a dark trail of hair disappearing just beneath the waistband.

Focus on his face. Focus on his face. “I… got lost?”

“I told you to stay off this floor.”

“I was looking for towels.” She didn’t even believe that herself. “Guess this isn’t the linen closet. I’ll go now.”

He stopped in front of her, the mobile corner of his mouth quirking up. “Is that what brought you to my office?”

“What do you know about Sylvia?”

“Why do you assume I know anything about her?”

“Cut the bullshit. I have a private investigator who’s come up empty. Any direction might help. Are you going to cooperate?”

The annoying lift of that brow answered for him.

Laying a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up until her gaze met his. The measured control was deliberate. He was giving her the opportunity to escape.

She didn’t know why she stayed.