“So, Kaylee,” Martin said, jerking her out of her thoughts. She gave him a polite smile. “You work at St. Macartan’s College?” Although he put a lilt at the end of the statement, it didn’t sound like a question. From the look in his eyes, Kaylee was pretty sure he knew perfectly well where she worked—and a whole lot more about her. Before inviting her to their gazillion-dollar mansion, Martin had probably had her investigated to make sure she wouldn’t steal the silverware.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m in development and fund-raising.”
“And how do you like that?”
“I love it.” A warm glow of satisfaction filled her, as it always did when she thought about her job. “Scholarships made it possible for me to go to college.” Scholarships and working her tail off, but Kaylee left off that part. It sounded too self-pitying. “Now I get to raise money so that other kids have that same opportunity.”
“Sounds…noble.” There was an off note to his tone that made Kaylee stiffen, even as she tried to define it. The expression on Martin’s face was uncomfortably close to a sneer, with a wrinkled nose and curled upper lip that made him look like he smelled something foul. She knew that look, had seen it thousands of times as she was growing up, but she wasn’t sure why Martin was wearing it now. She braced herself, ready to defend her job or her background or her worthiness to even be in the same room as his nephew, but Martin changed the subject. “Where did you go to school?”
“University of Minnesota for my undergraduate degree, and St. Macartan’s for my master’s.” There was a hint of challenge in her tone, but Martin didn’t take her up on it. Instead, he just asked what her major had been.
The conversation continued, so polite on the surface that it made Kaylee nervous. To be honest, Martin freaked her out a little. He had that crocodile-in-disguise manner, his eyes flat and cool even as he smiled. As soon as Martin turned his attention to an older couple seated next to him, Kaylee gave a silent sigh of relief and leaned toward Noah. “Restroom?” Martin had flustered her, and she needed a minute and some privacy to remind herself that she wasn’t that helpless, needy child any longer.
Noah tipped his head toward one of the doorways. “Turn left, then right; it’s the third door on the right. Want me to take you?”
“Oh no.” She stood, making patting motions with her hands as if to keep him in his seat. “I’ve got it. My sense of direction is excellent.” With a teasing smile, she excused herself to the rest of the guests. It was probably her imagination, but she thought she felt Martin’s sharp gaze on her back as she left the room.
Within a few minutes, she was hopelessly lost.
Kaylee made a low sound of frustration. She’d followed Noah’s directions, turning left and then right, but there had only been two doors on the right in that hall. Deciding that he’d left out a third turn, she’d made her way down another hallway, which only brought her farther into a twisted maze.
“Rich people and their ginormous mansions,” she muttered, deciding to just start checking rooms. There had to be a thousand bathrooms in this place, so she figured she’d eventually stumble over one. She tried several doors, most of which were locked, and the rest of which were definitely not bathrooms. As she reached for yet another doorknob, male voices caught her attention, and she turned toward the sound. Rounding the corner, she saw two burly men enter a room at the very end of the hall.
“Excuse me,” she called, hurrying as fast as she could on her impractical—yet very cute—shoes, but they’d already disappeared, closing the door behind them. When Kaylee reached it, she tried the knob. It was locked.
With a growl of impatience, she considered kicking the door, but refrained. Not only did she not know where a bathroom was, but she wasn’t sure how to get back to the dining room. Annoyed with herself, she started trying doors again.
She yanked at one. The handle turned with the heavy click of an automatic lock. Kaylee frowned. Why did Martin have a room in his house that could only be opened from the outside? She pulled at it, curious. The door was heavy and resisted opening at first, but then it swung toward her. To her disappointment, it wasn’t a bathroom. Instead, a flight of stairs descended to a concrete floor. She was about to allow the door to swing shut when she heard a sound.
“Hello?” she called, although her voice came out wispy. There was something about the blocky, utilitarian stairs and fluorescent lighting that gave the space an icky basement vibe. Her childhood home had left her with a special abhorrence for basements.