“Use your words, Gabriella.” His voice echoes from the recesses of my mind.
Could it really be that easy? Would he actually have given me a hint to his hiding spot, or has he just been taunting me all along? There’s only one way to find out. Still, even as I reach my hand out, I hesitate, unsure if I really want to know. Curiosity wins out, and I pull the dictionary off the shelf, gingerly fingering the spine. Slowly, I turn and open the book, flipping through the pages. My eyes widen when I get to the “G” section. A small hole is cut out in the pages. Inside, a small key is taped to the interior. I know exactly what this opens.
Unable to control my curious nature, I remove the key from the book. I push the bookshelf aside, unsurprised when it moves as easily as it did when I discovered it. For a few moments, I stare at the previously hidden door, turning the key over and over in the center of my palm. What lies beyond that door? What am I going to find? Do I even want to find it? So many questions, and part of me wants to turn and leave, but knowing I’ll never be in the house again, I decide to satisfy my curiosity before I leave.
Taking a deep breath, I push forward and slide the key into the lock. It’s a perfect fit, just as I suspected. I slowly twist it, unfastening the lock. As I open the door, I hold my breath. Then I frown when I step into a small room. It’s only the size of a small closet, and it’s nearly bare. The only thing occupying the room is a small filing cabinet against the side wall. There’s another door directly across from this one, which I assume is for the tunnel in Adrian’s plans. I make a mental note to ask Rafe if that’s been completed yet.
The cabinet beckons to me as I wonder what Adrian could have that would need extra hiding. My fingers tremble as I pull it open. It’s full of files, as one would assume, and I start flipping through them. I’m finding nothing before, suddenly, my fingers freeze when I find two files that take my breath away.
Latham, Andrew.
Latham, Gabriella.
My blood runs cold at the sight. Why the hell would Adrian have files on my father and me?
I slowly pull mine out and open it, gasping as news articles fall into my hands. Each article is about the robbery and my parents’ deaths. One is about me, the lucky daughter who was away for the weekend, at a life-saving spa weekend. Skimming through it, I remember this article, the one that claimed I was so lucky that I wasn’t home.
The next article shows a photograph of me from the funeral, dressed in all black and sunglasses to hide my red, puffy, bloodshot eyes. My heart races as I notice the circle around my head in bold, red marker. What the hell does this mean? As I continue to browse through the file, I begin to feel sick. There are more photos of me from the subsequent months. Photos of me on campus at Northwestern. Photos of me leaving my parents’ attorney’s office. More from the day my parents’ killer was given a plea deal. Hell, there’s even one from the day I packed up my things from the house, and when I moved stuff into a storage unit.
Then the scenery in the photos change. They show me in Philadelphia, at my new job, my favorite coffee shop, and right outside my studio apartment. Finally, the last photo in the stack is from the day I met Adrian. My blood chills as I wonder just how long he was watching me. Why? And does this mean our meeting and the subsequent relationship was contrived?
I sink to the floor and get lost in the photos and articles, trying to unearth some hidden clues. I’m shocked to find my college transcripts and the receipt showing that my loans were paid in full. The last paper in the stack is a list of Monet paintings, and as I scan it, I realize we had reproductions of each one in our house. My eyes widen when I see Mom’s favorite one circled. None of this makes sense.
As I come to the last page, I close the folder and set it in my lap. My fingers tremble as I reach for the one marked with my father’s name. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing myself to be ready for whatever I find. Before I can open it, however, I hear footsteps behind me, and panic starts to rush in.
“What the hell?” he snarls when he sees my tears.
He takes a seat behind me then lifts me up and into his lap. He holds me to his chest, gently rocking me. I didn’t even realize I was crying until now. He smooths my hair back and looks down at me, confusion in his eyes.
“Baby, what are you doing in here? What’s wrong?”
Sniffling, I gaze up into Rafe’s concerned gaze. “He . . . he . . .” I choke out then hold up the file for him when I can’t say any more.
He keeps one arm tight around me then uses the other to sort through the stack, muttering curse words the deeper he gets into it.
“This is it, Brie. You can’t stay here anymore,” he says gruffly, confusing me because I already agreed to move in with him. He must see the confusion in my eyes. “My receptionist will be off maternity leave soon enough, and I can handle everything else until then. I don’t want you ever stepping foot on this property ever again. It’s not safe.”
Blinking, I look up at him. “I don’t understand, Rafe. Why?”
It’s as if he knows something I don’t. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “There are things you don’t know about him, Brie. He isn’t a good man, and neither is his father.” He gestures to the files. “This proves it. There has to be some connection with him and your parents, and there’s something in these files that will tell us that, but I want you far away from here. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I won’t let him toy with you any longer.”
“What do you mean? How do you know this? What the hell is going on? Why does he care about the paintings?”