She hadn’t thought about that in ages. She closed her eyes, trying to remember that woman’s face, but no matter how hard she tried, it was just a blur.
I don’t remember that woman’s name, probably because my father tries not to keep staff members around for too long. I think he was always afraid of any one person knowing too much about us. Because of that, I was raised by a dozen or so different nannies and housekeepers. I learned to avoid forming attachments to any of them, knowing that the women who cooked my meals, taught me right from wrong, and kissed my bruises would be temporary fixtures in my life.
She scowled at the cursor blinking on the screen. None of that mattered in the grand scheme of things. This wasn’t supposed to be about her. She deleted the last couple of sentences and sighed before her fingers started moving again.
But I’m not writing this to vent about my issues. I’m writing this because I’ve spent my entire life as a fly on the wall, watching my father exploit the people he’s supposed to be serving. No one could blame a child for the actions of their parent. But I’m not a child anymore, and if I don’t find the courage to speak out about the things I know, then I’m just as guilty as he is.
All the years of self-loathing and guilt she had been shoving to the deepest, darkest corner of her mind flowed out through her fingers as she laid bare every evil she could remember her father committing. The low battery bar started blinking, and she realized she was running out of time.
She quickly typed out what she knew about the bill DuPont had paid her father to pass before saving it. Rushing over to her desk and digging around, she found a thumb drive and plugged it into the USB port.
Never put all your eggs in one basket. That was one good lesson her father had taught her. The dialog box confirming the data had been saved flashed across the screen just before it went black.
Now what? Jillian let out a defeated sigh. If her father were going to have her dragged away and quietly institutionalized in a matter of hours, her words would never even see the light of day.
A creaking noise made her look toward the balcony just in time to see the shadow of a man lurch over the railing.
Fuck!
She slapped the laptop closed and shoved it under the bed. Maybe the real reason the power was out was that the DuPont family put a hit out on her. People who stood up to them publicly did tend to end up floating face down in the Hudson. That was probably the main reason her father was so desperate to keep her quiet.
Leaping to her feet, she picked up her spelling bee trophy from third grade and hid behind the curtain next to the French doors leading out to the balcony. The handle jiggled back and forth before a series of scrapes and clicks. Jillian clapped a hand over her mouth, as her racing heart begged her lungs for more oxygen.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. She blinked, hoping to keep her vision clear enough to get one good hard hit on the back of his head as the assassin entered. She brandished her weapon, bouncing it up and down in her hand a couple of times to feel the weight of it.
I’ll use the corner. She thought, turning it over in her hand. This could put a hole in a human skull, right?
Her heart thrummed in her ears so loud she could barely hear the door open. A hooded figure stepped into view, and she clenched her eyes shut, bringing the trophy down like a hammer, but not before he spun around, catching her by the wrist.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Jeez, are you trying to kill me?” The burglar grinned, pulling the hood of his sweater back.
“Conner?” Jillian put a hand over her heart and leaned back against the wall. “You almost gave me a fucking heart attack. How the hell did you get in here?”
“If I stayed out past curfew, my dad would lock me out. I had to either learn to pick locks or get comfortable sleeping in the garden shed.”
“Okay, but the wall is like fifty feet.” She pulled him further inside and closed the doors.
“Please.” He scoffed. “It’s maybe thirty feet, and I got a running start.”
“A running start?” She chuckled. “You’re too much.”
“Well, you insisted on coming back here, but Finn and I didn’t feel great about it. So, I thought maybe I’d come to check on you.”
“And Vincent was okay with this?” She arched a brow at him.
“I left a note.” He shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll have something to say, but I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
“Did you have a chance to talk to your pops?” He put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he looked around the room. “This place is nice.”
“I tried talking to him.” Jillian looked away.
“Let me guess.” He smiled. “It didn’t go well.”
“He’s having me committed to a mental institution for troublesome rich kids.” She groaned. “So, I have until morning to figure this shit out.”
“Well, I came here to see if you needed help.” He smiled. “I have a theory that all great ideas come to you when you’re distracted…”
“Don’t you talk back to me!” Maggie’s high-pitched, angry voice was followed by the bedroom door swinging open and closed as she continued
