She took a deep breath and tried to convince herself she was really safe. "Is there any synthetic blood in the fridge?"
"No. Are you hungry?"
"Not now, but I usually have a snack before dawn, and I'll be very hungry when I wake up."
"I'll arrange a delivery when I report in to Connor. I need to make sure Phineas got back to Romatech all right."
She wondered if Phil was going to be in trouble for running off with her instead of staying at Romatech. "Where should I sleep? Is there a basement?"
"There is, but it has windows." He opened a door underneath the staircase. "When Connor comes here, he sleeps in the closet."
"Oh. Okay."
Phil smiled and returned to the kitchen. He took a flashlight from a cabinet. "I'll check the perimeter. Make yourself at home." He went out the back door.
With a groan, she glanced at the dead deer. "Life sucks, huh?"
She checked the bolt on the front door. A Malcontent could just teleport inside to kill her, but at least the bolted door would stop any deer or moose relatives intent on revenge.
The closet under the staircase was surprisingly roomy. It was bare except for a row of shelves at one end. She pulled a blanket and quilt off a shelf and spread them on the wooden floor. Then she wandered through the small kitchen. Some clean clothes were stacked on top of the dryer. Flannel pajama pants, T-shirts, a navy terry-cloth bathrobe.
A nearby door opened onto a small bathroom. She grabbed the bathrobe and locked herself inside. She glanced at the mirror above the vanity. Nothing. The only thing she could see reflected was the claw-footed old bathtub behind her. She kicked her boots off. Good Lord, she hated mirrors. They made her feel like…nothing. Small and worthless.
I think, therefore I am, she reminded herself. She had feelings, hopes, and dreams, just like a live person.
But her dreams had just been crushed. Her eyes misted with unshed tears.
She untied her whip and slipped out of her catsuit. While the tub filled with hot water, she rinsed out her underwear and bra in the sink. She hung them to dry on the towel bar.
She settled in the deep tub, letting the hot water seep into her cold bones. She closed her eyes, hoping to relax, but her mind filled with a vision of smoke and fire.
She'd loved that club. She'd designed it, furnished it, decorated it. She'd auditioned the dancers and hired the waiters. It had been her refuge from the cruel world. A place where she controlled everything, and everyone did as she commanded. It was a sanctuary where she never had to feel small and never had to endure the pain from her past again.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. What was she going to do now? Spend the rest of eternity hiding, quaking in fear, with nothing to do but relive the horrors of her past?
She shampooed her singed hair, then ducked under the water to rinse it off. Her face burned. That was her fault. She shouldn't have waited so long to teleport herself and Phil away from danger. But she hadn't quite believed his story about the bomb. How on earth could he have known it was in her file cabinet?
She climbed from the tub, dried off, and put on the terry-cloth robe. It was obviously made for a man. The shoulder seams hung halfway to her elbows, and the sleeves fell past her fingertips. She rolled up the sleeves, belted it tight around her waist. The robe was designed for a man's broad chest, so she flipped the collar inward to help cover her cleavage.
She grabbed her whip and padded into the kitchen. The lights had been turned off, and a big fire blazed in the hearth. She dropped the whip on the coffee table. Was Phil trying to make the place look romantic? Candles flickered on the mantelpiece. And the moose that had been overhead was now gone. She whirled around. The deer and wild pig were gone, too.
A door creaked open, and she spotted Phil at the top landing of stairs that led down into the basement. He switched a light off, then stepped into the main room.
He smiled, his blue eyes gleaming as he looked her over.
Her knees grew weak, but she covered it by sitting suddenly on the couch. She ran a hand through her short, wet hair. "What happened to the animal heads?"
"I moved them to the basement. I figured you wouldn't mind."
"No." She curled her feet underneath her on the couch and adjusted the bathrobe to make sure she was covered.
He moved closer, still looking at her and still smiling. "I checked the perimeter. We're in danger from two vicious-looking raccoons living under a wheelbarrow." His gaze shifted to the coffee table. "Thank God you have your whip."
She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but the few tears she'd shed in the bathtub had only been the tip of what felt like a giant iceberg in her chest. She turned her head away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.