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“Definitely me.”
They leaned forward to peek through the gaping hole. One of her sneakers sat on the first floor by the front door.
“We’ll pick that up on the way out.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Good idea.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let go of me.”
“Don’t worry.”
He stepped carefully away from the bookshelf and around the splintered opening in the floor. A creak followed by a snap had him leaping with her toward the door as another board opened up next to them.
He pressed them against the wall, his muscles tight. “This is so fucking stupid!” Then he shouted into the room at whatever unseen forces were listening, “What the fuck do you want from us?”
That might have been the first time she’d heard him raise his voice. No matter what was happening at work, no matter how much Clive paced or swore in the conference room, Marcus was the cool, calm, and collected one.
“Sorry.” His hand splayed on the small of her back, his touch gentle despite his body vibrating with adrenaline. “Don’t do that again, okay? I can’t lose you now, McIntire. We’re just getting started.”
She nodded, a shy smile on her lips.
He kissed her. “That took five years off my life.”
They carefully picked their way to the doorway, and then, in unison, they froze. There, in the middle of the hallway, were her keys. Bells attached. No way had those been there a minute ago. Even in the darkness, one of them would have kicked or stepped on the keychain.
“Marcus? Where did those come from?” Chills skated down her spine.
“Who cares? Let’s accept the gift and leave.” He bent and picked up the keys. “Want me to carry you? You’re bleeding.”
“I’m not sure how much combined weight this floor can take. I can walk.”
She could tell by his frown he wanted to argue, but also agreed with her point.
“I can walk,” she repeated, this time with a definitive nod.
“Hold onto me. And stay on the inside wall.”
They moved quickly while stepping as lightly as they could. At the landing, he signaled for her to start down the stairs. That’s when they heard it.
A tinny but clear female voice spoke a single word. “Out.”
Without discussing it first, Marcus slid one arm under Lily’s legs and one around her back, and scooped her up. He marched down the stairs, not being the least bit careful. When they reached the first floor, he bent and snatched up her shoe. She could have sworn she’d seen something at the top of the stairs. She squeezed her eyes shut just in case.
He raced to her car and unlocked it. Then he tenderly set her on her feet, his chest heaving from exertion. “Officially the worst idea we’ve had.”
“Agree.” He helped her into the passenger seat but before he shut the door she said, “Wait! My purse. Everything else can stay, but I need my ID and my credit cards.”
“And that cinnamon-flavored lip gloss you told me about. Always wanted to taste it on your lips.” He offered a crooked smile that vanished when he looked back at the house. Then he dipped his chin in confirmation. “Stay.”
She pressed a hand to the torn material of her joggers, feeling the sting of the scrape as she stared up at the windows. She prayed a ghostly figure wouldn’t appear there while she counted down the seconds ticking by. Thankfully, Marcus sprinted back to the car before she counted to ten.
He thrust the bag into her hands, gave her a quick kiss, and climbed behind the wheel.
Goodbye, Willow Mansion.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Willow Mansion faded into the mist as Marcus peeled out of the weed-infested driveway and onto the main road. Lily held on tight as he weaved around a pothole, but she didn’t take a single look back at the place. Her imagination had supplied plenty of images for the sounds she knew she’d heard inside.
