Her Forgotten Betrayal(60)
She’d been all over the house, scouring every closet, room, and drawer. There’d been nothing to find, except for a neglected, forgotten home that no one, including Shaw, had loved in a very long time. And Cole had found no signs of tampering around the Victorian’s windows and doors.
Yet someone was using her quiet, isolated, healing retreat on High Lake to get a cheap thrill out of tormenting her. When she found out whom that someone was, she was going to help Cole kick some serious ass. Then she was going to use her sizable connections and financial assets to guarantee that what was left of the man was prosecuted to within an inch of his life.
Think, Shaw. No more waiting around to see what happens next. Get this done!
The strange sounds and voices she’d heard at night, the accidents…they’d all been real. It was a relief to know that for sure. But it was also a puzzle. How had someone managed that?
Someone’s playing with you…, Cole had said.
As though he knew her patterns, the things and places she preferred most in the mansion, and when he could get in and out of the Victorian undetected, like this last time while she and Cole were sleeping. The sense that she was being watched, that she’d been observed from the moment she’d walked back into this house, was stronger than ever.
She scanned the room she and Cole had spent the last several hours in, not sure what she was looking for. But the instinct wouldn’t let up that something important was there.
She had to call Inspector Dawson about all this. She pushed off the bed, ignoring the headache that had settled in. She began to pace. As soon as Cole came back and they’d talked, she’d tell him about how useless Dawson had been so far. They’d call Atlanta together and demand that someone get his butt up there and help them figure things out. Shaw would take the heat for breaking Dawson’s stupid rule and talking to Cole. But she wasn’t stopping until the inspector agreed to get to the bottom of this.
No more taking no for an answer. No more letting people talk her into doubting herself. Things had gotten completely out of hand.
How had someone known to sabotage her bath, the silverware drawer, the step that was already in bad repair? It was as though…
As though someone were watching her every move. Maybe he had nefarious plans for the whole house and was waiting for the best time to spring each surprise. Had he known about her and Cole’s past even when she couldn’t remember, and after Cole’s arrival he’d found a way to ramp up her already raging anxiety? Had he really been triggering one accident after another, hoping she’d break down and blame it all on Cole?
She scanned her environment again, taking in the details of the guest room she’d cleaned once or twice but otherwise hadn’t spent any time in. There had to be something she was missing. She was CEO of a research corporation. Details would have been her bread and butter. What was she missing? What part of this room hadn’t she had her hands on, that someone could have used to his advantage?
She saw the same faded wallpaper as before, and the even shabbier shades on the bureau lamp and the one standing beside the bed. The drapes were pulled across the windows, the night sky bright beyond it with twinkling stars. She turned from the window, her gaze rising to the crown molding that trimmed the ceiling all over the house.
She squinted. She’d cleaned everything, absolutely everything in the Victorian except the ten-foot ceilings. They’d been bothering her, too—the cobwebs, the stains. But her balance was still questionable, and she’d been told to avoid things like standing on ladders.
The blood chilled in her veins, making her shudder.
It wasn’t possible. The solution to how she’d been under surveillance this entire time couldn’t be that simple or that fantastic. Was she being paranoid again?
What was taking Cole so long to come back?
The hell with waiting or being too weak to take care of this herself. She dragged the room’s tallest chair toward the nearest wall, gritting her teeth as her head throbbed. After several misfires, she got herself standing on the seat. She braced her hands on the back of the thing so she didn’t tumble off onto her head, then she let go and straightened. Pushing herself onto the tips of her toes, she stretched until her fingers could feel along the strip of molding above her, pressing to see if it could be loosened. Nothing happened.
Undaunted, she eased back to the floor, moved the chair toward the corner, and repeated her search there. It took two more tries before a portion of the molding literally popped off into her hand, revealing a neatly cut compartment behind it.
Shaw gasped. Her head was throbbing so hard she felt it in her toes. Her body’s tantrum this time was from the shock of discovery, not pain. Her sight line was still several feet away from the ceiling. But she was close enough.