Stepbrother Thief(119)

I lift the ladder up, forcing Cliff to move or get hit with it.

“There should be a padlock up there. Use it. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but Gill.”

“Regina,” Cliff growls, but it's too late. I've made up my mind. I give him one last look and a small smile before I shove the ladder the rest of the way up, letting the hinges do their magic as it slides into place.

“I love you guys,” I whisper up with a small wave, pushing the hatch back up before I can see either of their faces and change my mind.

I pause there in the dark room, listening for sounds above me, but I don't hear anything. Must be well insulated.

I take a deep breath.

Good.

I can do this. We can do this.

You are fucking crazy, Regina Corbair.

I bend down and take off my shoes, clutching them in my left hand as I tiptoe to the door and press my ear against it. Again, nothing. Stupid solid wood craftsmanship. With yet another breath, I flick the lock and ease the door open. Voices filter up to me, too many for just Gill and Aveline. I don't know who's down there, but I'll be damned if they get the jump on me.

Leilani is going to freak when I tell her about this … and Gill is going to kill me.

I swallow past the thumping of my own pulse and wipe my sweating palms on the cheerful daisy dress. I'm not a master thief or a black belt or an expert marksman, just a woman in love, but that's enough to push me forward, through my own fear and anxiety. I doubt anyone expects anything from the chick in the Dolce & Gabbana dress, but that's why this idea of mine might, might, actually pay off.

For Gill, it's worth the try.

I open the door just wide enough to slip out and think about closing it behind me. But no. No. The rest of the doors on this floor are cracked open. If I close this one and lock it, it'll just make it more obvious that we've got something to hide in here.

I creep over to the stairwell and pause, listening carefully.

Voices, low and dangerous, drift up to me, but I can't make out a single word. My heart's beating too loud, and the sounds are masked by a low moaning that can only be coming from Aveline. Mon Dieu, this shit is serious, isn't it?

Hardly taking a breath, I move into Gill's room next and fish some keys out of the top drawer on his dresser. In another drawer—a locked one this time—on his desk, there's a small arsenal: a revolver, a pair of hunting knives, and a few semiautomatics. This is only one of a dozen or more caches like this around the house, protected well enough that Solène shouldn’t accidentally stumble across them but easy enough to get to if you know where to look.

The sight of all that firepower stops me cold for a moment, makes my heart stutter a little. What if I don't load it right? What if I forget to disengage the safety? What if I actually manage to shoot someone?

Focus, Regi. Focus.

I blink away my fears and take a deep breath, dropping my heels on the bed behind me. Okay, revolver first. Revolvers are easy. I dig around for ammo and set the box carefully on the desk, hefting the revolver in my palm and flicking my eyes to the bedroom door. In the back of my mind, I'm keeping an ear out for the telltale creak of the bottom stair. Heh. Maybe I'm a little more perceptive than I thought? I load the gun with shaking hands and lay it on the desk next to the ammo. I'm only just wrapping my fingers around one of the other guns when I hear it: the sound of someone coming up the steps. No, no, not someone, but two somebodies.

As quietly as I can, I shove the rest of the weapons back in the drawer before grabbing the revolver and a knife, closing it enough that the lock clicks back into place. I snatch the keys in my other hand and drop down to my knees at the edge of Gill's bed.

Clever, crafty Gilleon has his mattress set on a wood frame surrounded by drawers—a typical design for a platform bed. What's not typical is the false drawer on the right side, the one that's really a small door. I yank it open and shove my weapons in first, sliding on my belly after them. It's a tight fit—an extremely tight fit—but my slender frame definitely has some advantages over Gill's muscular build.

I just barely manage to crawl in there and yank the door closed behind me before one set of footsteps moves into Gill's room. Huddled there on my stomach, surrounded by shallow drawers and drowning in darkness, fear sparks bright and hot inside of me, but I don't make a sound. I clamp a hand over my own mouth, my elbow jutting into the back of a drawer as I force myself to take slow, shallow breaths through my nose.

I could be overreacting. Maybe the person walking around my stepbrother's room is a friend of Gill's, an associate. Or hell, maybe it's even Gilleon himself? Still, I don't make any noise, don't call out, don't even twitch a muscle.

This person, whoever they are, checks the bathroom, the closet, walks the perimeter of the bed and even pulls out one of the drawers on the end. I watch, frozen in terror, my body cramping up from the tight quarters as the wood glides out smoothly, exposing some sweatpants and old T-shirts. Light spills in behind the drawer, highlighting the wood floor next to my right elbow. Shit. I tuck my arm against my body as tightly as I can, avoiding the splash of color next to me. Seconds pass, long as hours, as I hold my breath and wait for the drawer to push back in.