A secret passage wouldn't make the house more valuable, but it would lend a touch of mystery when the potential buyers arrived to inspect the property. If only she could block their view of everything except for the odd, small door.
Hunched over and dragging the weight of her briefcase and purse, Alice reached out with a trembling hand to pull at the knob, hopeful that the door would open and reveal something she could use to sell the place.
A gentle tug wasn't enough to loosen the door from the frame and she feared ripping it off entirely if she pulled much harder. Twisting the knob again, she pushed back her fear and...
"That door tends to stick when it hasn't been opened in a while."
She was a pile on the floor before the man who'd spoken could catch her fall. His strong hands wrapped her biceps, dragging her to her feet before she could flinch away from his touch.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, "I thought my presence would be helpful. You're the realtor, correct?"
Alice's suspicious eyes narrowed, her gaze settling on the sharp lines of the stranger's face. "How did you get up here without me hearing you? The entire floor is practically falling apart. You're not supposed to be here. This is private property."
Inching away from the frightened woman, the stranger held up his hands in placation. "My name is Maximilian Frost."
Recognition of the name pulled Alice from the terror she felt. "Your family owns the house."
His lip twitched in response to some unknown thought. "I find it hard to believe my family owns anything, especially when considering they're all six feet beneath the ground."
Her eyes narrowed more, and he smiled. "May they all rest in peace."
Shaking off the remnants of her shock, she kept her eyes trained on the man while her hands moved quickly to brush the dust and debris from her clothes. “My name is Alice Beaumont. And yes, I'm the realtor."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Beaumont. Have you had an opportunity to walk the entire house?"
Unable to dislodge all of the filth from her white shirt, she sighed in resignation. It wouldn't please Sarah to know the buyer's first impression of the realty firm was a wet behind the ears agent with dirt covering her clothes. Perhaps the decrepit state of the home they were touring would distract them from Alice's state of dress. "Everything except for this closet. The door appears to be jammed tight."
Taking the time to study the man's face, Alice first noticed his strong jaw and cutting cheekbones that cast sharp lines of shadow across his cheek. Five o'clock shadow dusted his skin, the hue matching his obsidian hair. A straight nose sat above full lips.
But that was only half his face. The other half was hidden behind a tragic and disfiguring scar. Mottled and misshapen, his skin was obviously burned, bearing the evidence of attempted skin grafts that failed to completely cover the damage done. Even with the scar, he was a handsome man, character and the need to survive written into the imperfection of his skin.
Most startling of all were the clear blue eyes that stared back as observant of her as she was of him.
"I apologize for my reaction, Mr. Frost..."
"Max," he interrupted, not surprised in any way at the manner in which she studied his face. "I prefer to be called Max."
Stepping forward, he moved into the sunlight that barely broke through the filth laden windows. Alice sucked in a sharp breath, the scant bits of light illuminating the depth of the color of the man's eyes, the shock to her system a palpable thing.
"Max," she corrected herself, "are you able to open the door?"
Not fully a smile, the corners of his lips pulled up in amusement. "I am. Although, I have to ask: Are you sure you want it open?"
It was an odd question fitting of the odd house in which they were located. Nothing about this experience set Alice's heart at ease. "Of course, I'm sure," she lied, her determination to stay employed vying with the strong urge inside her to run from the house and never look back.
He smiled, "It's just that the closet is, most likely, filthy. Just like the rest of the house."
It wasn't until that moment that she noticed the clothes the strange man wore. They weren't shabby or out of style, just peculiar in their formality. Perhaps he was a businessman, so conditioned to dressing in a suit and tie that, even on the weekends, he couldn't find it in himself to dress in a simple t-shirt and jeans.
A black button down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, the wrinkle free material tucked into the trim waistband of his slate gray, linen pants. A black leather belt held the pants loose over his hips, a crimson tie tight around his neck. Not a speck of dust could be found on his clothes. Alice wasn't sure how, in this environment, the lack of dust was even possible.