Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I’ll admit, I’m not disappointed. I wanted to see this mansion in its entirety, and I can’t help but enjoy the way he rests his hand on the small of my back, holds my hand to help me past the threshold of the secret room to the main floor. The way he holds me by his side with an air of pride when we walk back toward the entryway and the circular staircase.
“I’ll bet you have lots of questions,” he says in a low voice. Staff parts to let us go, and his brothers stayed behind in the wine room when we left. “Let’s get to some privacy.”
So many questions, I don’t know where to begin.
What does being his prisoner mean? What kind of work will I be asked to do? What will they expect of me?
How do I get out of here?
Candlelight flickers in wall sconces like the days of old, but upon closer inspection, they’re electric. Makes sense. Still, they look elegant and beautiful.
Thick carpet muffles our footsteps on the landing, and the fragrance of blooming lilacs meets us, a vase as tall as Mario on an end table. The elegant overhead lighting casts everything in a soft, golden light. It’s beautiful here. Stunning. I want to run my fingers along the gilded edges of the staircase and look at every painting and portrait that hang on the walls in majestic golden frames. It feels as if we’ve stepped back in time.
He takes us down a long hall to a second doorway that leads to another staircase. “We’ve got the suite for our purposes,” he murmurs. “It’s the most private room—or rooms, I should say—here.”
Our purposes. My pulse quickens at the insinuations. Or is that just my mind in the gutter? He’s found out who I am, who I work for. What else is there to ask?
We walk further down the hall. I count six doorways before we finally stop. How many rooms does this place have?
It isn’t until he opens the door that I feel how tired I am. This day has lasted eons, and I can barely think beyond the fatigue in my body. My eyes feel heavy and scratchy, my mouth dry. But my stomach rumbles with hunger since it’s been hours since I’ve eaten. I don’t remember if I ate anything I ordered at the club.
When he shuts the door behind him, we’re momentarily engulfed in darkness until he flicks a switch and low overhead lighting illuminates the entrance.
“Go ahead, Detective King,” Mario says. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the back of a chair. “Look around and tell me what you see. I want to see that power of observation in real time.”
I slide out of my shoes and place them by the main door to the hallway, lined up as always. The thick, luxurious carpet feels good on my tired feet. I straighten, pull my shoulders back, and look around.
“This place isn’t used that often,” I start off. I can tell by the pristine state of the kitchen, and hanging up by the small, apartment-sized stove there’s a dish towel with a tag still attached. “If ever.” It’s immaculately clean and tidy, but furnished well.
I step over to the kitchen and open the fridge. An unopened case of water, several bottles of wine. Some prepared salads and fruit, sandwiches on platters. “Someone knew we were coming.”
He nods, still watching me. I walk through the kitchen and note the plastic dinnerware and absence of anything sharp. “But this is a place where you put someone on lockdown. No knives. Nothing that could double as a weapon.”
“Very good.”
I walk back into the main area. “Ah. Video cameras installed to cover the majority of the apartment, though it looks like…” I step fully into the master bedroom and finish my observation. “The bedroom’s off limits. Good.”
He smiles but doesn’t respond.
I walk into the bathroom. It’s bright and cheerful, but the array of windows are not an escape option. Each window’s no bigger than a paperback book. I look around and see much of the same—no razors or sharp objects, but a stack of fluffy white towels and luxury soaps and lotions. A tub the size of a small island sits in one corner, with elegant marble steps and fluffy robes on hooks.
“A gilded cage,” I murmur to myself. “Isn’t it?”
He nods. “An apt description.”
I yawn, unable to stop myself. “You have three routers for Wi-Fi and high-speed internet,” I say on another yawn as he leads me out of the room. “A full tower charging station for electronics, a large, comfortable desk, and a detailed map of New England on the wall. This is a room where you do some investigations as well, then, no?”
He shrugs. “It’s one of my hideouts, yes.”