snakes and poison ivy and squelched the urge to run back to the car.
Although the moon was bright, very little light penetrated the thick forest of trees. I tried to keep my eyes on Roxy, but found myself tripping over branches and roots jutting out of the ground.
Roxy didn’t seem to have that problem. She navigated the terrain like an expert on one of those wilderness shows. If she started drinking her own urine, I was out of there.
Finally we reached the edge of the clearing. Crouching behind a tree to assess our next move, we faced the house, which stood about two hundred feet from the woods. Large and traditional in style, it was comprised of wood shingles and smooth stones. The windows on this side of the house were dark.
Despite the cold night air, sweat trickled down my back. Getting through the woods was the easy part. Now we had to get into the house.
“Okay,” Roxy whispered, “we’re going to make a run for it.” She pointed at the side corner leading to the back. “Ready?”
“No—”
She took off and I scrambled after her as fast as I could. My left side cramped. I made a silent vow to start exercising and tried to control my need to gasp for air.
Roxy must have triggered the motion-activated security lights on the side of the house because they flashed on brighter than the sun. I froze. My gaze met Roxy’s and since no one came storming outside with weapons raised, I ran the rest of the way.
Roxy peeked around to the back yard. She reached in her utility belt and pulled out a little pick and an Allen wrench. “Here we go.”
We edged around the corner and across the lawn to the back door. There were no interior lights on, and as I scanned the back of the house, I didn’t notice any cameras either. Not to say they weren’t there, just that I didn’t see any.
Roxy, tools in hand, bent down and examined the doorknob.
“You might see if it’s unlocked.” I twisted the handle and the door opened.
“Damn it, Rose, I was really looking forward to that.”
She stood and pushed the door open farther, and we walked into the kitchen. From what I could see in the dark, it had granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. No dishes, no towels, no clutter.
We stood still by the kitchen door and listened. I heard a television from another room, probably the living room, down the hall.
“I’ll take the upstairs and you take down,” she whispered.
I grabbed her elbow. “That was not the plan. Splitting up was not the plan. Every time they split up in a movie, someone gets hacked to pieces,” I whispered.
She shook her elbow free. “Calm down. We’ll meet back here in five minutes.”
“I don’t have a watch,” I mouthed silently. I stood in the kitchen and fought the overwhelming need to get the hell out of the house. I gave myself a little pep talk.
I pulled the mini pink flashlight out of my utility belt and crept out of the kitchen, hugging the walls as I went. Outside the kitchen door was a hallway hub. One dark hall led to the left, one to the right, and the short hallway in the middle led to the foyer. I craned my head and looked into a darkened dining room to my left. Empty. The stairs took up one side of the foyer. The room on the other side of the foyer next to the staircase, was obviously the living room. It was brightly lit and whoever was in there watched a Seinfeld repeat. I tried to imagine Sullivan sitting on the sofa, watching Seinfeld. Nope, couldn’t quite picture it.
I took the hall to the left. I flashed my light over the bare walls. The first door I came to, on the right side of the hallway, was closed. I opened it and swung my penlight over the furniture. A pool table sat in the middle of the room with a small bar to one side, barstools in front of it, and a jukebox on the other side of the room. No Axton. I moved on. The only other room in the hallway was a set of double doors directly in front of me.
My heart began to pound. I wasn’t positive until I turned one of the knobs, but then I knew. Sullivan’s library. The books, the fireplace, the massive desk, it was all familiar. I’d picked the right house. Yay for me.
I shut the door and dabbed at the sweat on my brow. The laptop was gone. I went behind the desk and tried the drawers. They were locked. Damn, where was Roxy and her mad skills when I needed them?
I hastily looked around for anything else that might be of use to me, but found nothing. Feeling defeated, I opened the door a crack and peeked out before slipping back into the hallway.
I retraced my steps and made my way down the hall to the right of the kitchen. Only one door in this hallway. Easing it open, I darted in, closing it quietly behind me.
Chapter 30
Sullivan’s bedroom smelled like him: oranges, sandalwood, and hot male. I took a deep breath, inhaling his fragrance, and hoped it was lingering cologne not a lingering Sullivan.
But his California King was neatly made and took up most of this part of the room. Small bedside tables sat on either side of the enormous carved headboard. I wondered what he looked like, lying there at night. Did he wear pajamas or go commando?
Opposite the bed was a stone fireplace, a replica of the fireplace in the library, but instead of windows flanking it, there were bookcases. A sofa and coffee table sat in front of it.
To the left of the bed was a door. I opened it and shined my flashlight around, which reflected on a mirror, and I got a quick view of myself. I looked startled. I gazed around, taking in the largest, most opulent marble- covered bathroom I’d ever seen. The Jacuzzi bathtub was big enough for two. Without letting my mind wander down that road, I stepped further into the bathroom and opened the door next to the large steam shower.
It led to a walk-in closet. Row after row of suits, shirts, slacks, coats — divided by length and color — and shoes stretched out before me. My mother would kill for this room.
Built-in wood cabinets stood along one side, filled with shallow drawers on the top half, deeper drawers on the bottom. I pulled each drawer out, one by one. Time for payback. I was rifling through his shit for a change. One drawer held rolled ties in little cubby holes. Others contained watches, socks, underwear. Sullivan was a boxer-brief man.
None of the clothes belonged to a woman. That didn’t mean anything, of course, and it wasn’t why I was there, but still, duly noted.
I shut the drawers and the cabinet and walked out of the closet, through the bathroom, back into the bedroom.
In the sitting area I ran my penlight over the fireplace and bookcases. A few books and knickknacks decorated the shelves. I stepped closer, shining the light over the titles, when I noticed a small space between the hearth and the left bookcase. At first I tried pushing the back of the shelf and wound up knocking a stack of books onto the floor.
“Damn,” I muttered, then stopped to listen. My clumsiness went unnoticed, thank God. I picked up the books and put them back.
Well, pushing the shelves didn’t do anything. I took a hold of a shelf and pulled. When the bookcase opened outward, I landed on my butt. Hard. Mentally cursing, I picked myself up and crept into the secret room. It was approximately the same size as the walk-in closet
As I looked around, my pulse began to race, but this time out of excitement, not fear. Turns out the large library where I met with Sullivan was a fake. This room, this windowless, hidden room, was the real study.
A small desk stood front and center. No books, no tchotchkes, no smooth clean surface. This desktop held neat stacks of papers and folders. Which I quickly began leafing through.
They contained mostly spreadsheets and cost projections — thank you, accounting class. I searched the drawers, starting with the shallow center one and found an old photo. A boy who looked very much like a young Sullivan with a boy-band haircut stood next to a smiling woman with gold eyes. His mom? I ran my finger over the picture. Next to it was an old school ladies Timex, the kind you have to wind. The black imitation leather band was creased and the watch had stopped at eleven forty-seven. These were the only personal items I found in the house.
