I was so preoccupied that I almost didn't hear the front door opening, but my lizard brain heard it. The part of me that always listened for the bedroom door opening heard it. The part of me that slept with one eye open heard it.
I froze in my tracks.
“Hullo?”
A man's voice with a British accent floated up from the lower floors.
Someone else was in the house.
Old impulses rose up, telling me to run, to flee, but even as my legs twitched with the flight response, my civilized brain was trying to override it, telling me that not everything was dangerous.
Yeah, right.
Swallowing hard, I inched my way across the floor, praying it wouldn't creak under my weight, and leaned over the banister, trying to hear where the intruder was in the house.
“Hulloo?” the voice called again. “Sadie MacElroy?”
Whoever it was knew my name, knew I was here. They had to have been watching the house. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. Very cultured, a bit nasally, and definitely at the front of the house, between me and the front door. Was there a back door? Not that I could get to it without being seen, and if there was it probably led into a closed garden...
I took a deep breath and tried to think.
There wasn't any reason I couldn't be here. I had a key. I had permission from Malcolm—albeit through his lawyers—to be here. So really, it was the other person who shouldn't be here. Paparazzo? Reporter? They must have been waiting for someone to show their face. Though usually they stayed within the bounds of the law and remained outside. So probably not paparazzo. Who, then?
I looked around, but I had no idea where the fire escape was, and even as I frantically tried to remember where it had been situated on the outside of the house the sound of heavy footsteps started up the stairs.
“I only want to talk! Miss MacElroy? Please, it's important. My name is Morris Denton, and I work for Mr. Ward...”
I bit my lip and backed up from the stairway. He was going to be here any second now. Why, oh why wasn't there a second stairwell? What kind of rich person's house was this? I didn't want to talk to him, but I was stuck.
He came up the stairs.
My first impression was of a man Malcolm's age, but far more staid and conservative. Malcolm dressed beautifully, but there was that irrepressible something about him, a humming energy beneath his skin that I now recognized as the creative force. This man looked far more like a successful businessman than Malcolm did. His dark hair was cut in a sober style instead of Malcolm's wild locks, his skin was pale and his eyes were dark and serious behind gold-rimmed glasses. His coat hung well on his lean body, and he seemed surprised to actually find me when his line of sight crested the stairs.
“Oh! Miss MacElroy. There you are...”
I took a step back, even though I knew it was futile. It showed I was weak, too. But instead of pressing his advantage, Mr. Denton suddenly looked contrite.
“I'm so sorry,” he said, and he spread his hands, showing me his palms. A clear, universal gesture that told me he meant no harm, and I forced myself to relax a tiny bit, but the thumb drive in my underwear was a harsh reminder that I had a job to do. An important job. I didn't have time to talk to whoever this man was.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just leaving.”
“Please!” The word erupted from him and he took a step forward, startling me. The edge in my blood came back. Who was this guy, and why was he here?
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes?”
He subsided a bit. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You are Sadie MacElroy, yes?”
I lifted a brow. “Who wants to know?” Not the most original of lines, but I felt that, given the circumstances, it was a legitimate one.
He seemed to relax. “My apologies. My name is Morris Denton. I'm the Chief Technical Officer of Warden Industries. I've worked with Mr. Ward for a number of years and it's my belief that he is innocent of the fraud and embezzlement charges that have been leveled against him.” His British accent was pleasant and lilting, and I had to fight my natural impulse to agree with him on the assumption that someone with a British accent would naturally know what they were talking about.#p#分页标题#e#
“How do you know who I am?” I asked him instead.”
He colored. “Everyone knows who you are. As Mr. Ward's current paramour and alleged kidnapping victim—” He held up a hand as I opened my mouth to protest. “—which it is obvious you were not, you are in a very privileged position and I have been frantic to reach you. You are well protected by your employer at the moment, but I have to admit I asked someone to watch the house and let me know if you showed up... I thought if you did, I might be able to enlist your help.”