Chapter 1 - The Foot That MovedThe secret I was never supposed to see
The footsteps stopped outside the bathroom.
Someone’s hand closed around the brass handle.
Maxwell Rourke stared at me from inside the steaming tub, his gray eyes stripped of all the cold authority I had seen during my first six days in that house.
“Stand up,” he whispered.
I blinked.
“What?”
“Stand up, Martha.”
I rose so quickly that my knee struck the side of the tub.
Water sloshed over the marble.
The handle moved.
Maxwell’s voice dropped even lower.
“Do exactly what I tell you.”
The door opened.
A man in a black suit appeared first.
Gideon Vale.
I had seen him twice downstairs.
Six feet four, broad shoulders, shaved head, a scar running from his left ear to his jaw.
Behind him stood another man I didn't know.
Neither looked surprised to find me there.
Gideon’s eyes moved from me to Maxwell.
“Everything all right, boss?”
Maxwell leaned back against the tub.
His face was calm again.
Blank.
The frightened man I had seen seconds earlier had disappeared.
“Fine.”
Gideon glanced at the water.
“Need anything?”
“Towels.”
I grabbed the folded stack beside me.
“Right here.”
Gideon nodded.
“Good.”
He stepped away from the door.
For a second, I thought it was over.
Then he looked back.
“Martha.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes?”
“What did you do upstairs?”
“Cleaned the bathroom.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How long were you in here?”
I felt Maxwell watching me.
“Maybe five minutes.”
Gideon looked at him.
Then back at me.
“Five?”
“Yes.”
He smiled without warmth.
“Strange.”
“What is?”
“You were carrying six towels.”
I looked at the stack in my arms.
“Yes.”
“That takes longer than five minutes to explain.”
Maxwell’s voice cut through the room.
“She was told to bring towels.”
Gideon turned.
“By whom?”
“By me.”
The room went silent.
Gideon held his gaze for several seconds.
Then he stepped back.
“Of course.”
The door closed.
I exhaled.
Maxwell didn't.
He simply stared at me.
Then his right hand slowly curled over the side of the tub.
“You're going to forget what happened.”
I swallowed.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“Martha.”
“I worked in rehabilitation centers for six years. I know what I saw.”
“And what did you see?”
“Movement.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“You saw a reflex.”
“That wasn't a reflex.”
“You're very sure.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at his right leg.
For the first time, I noticed something I had missed before.
There were faint scars around his ankle.
Old surgical scars.
Not from one operation.
Several.
I frowned.
“Who treated you?”
He looked at me sharply.
“No one.”
“That isn't possible.”
“Nothing about this house is possible.”
He reached for a towel.
His fingers trembled.
That frightened me more than his threat.
“Why pretend?”
He looked at the bathroom door.
“Because walking makes me a target.”
“Who?”
He stared at me.
“You think I run this house?”
“You're Maxwell Rourke.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I said nothing.
He leaned forward.
“Someone in this house believes I can't walk.”
I felt a chill creep up my arms.
“How many people?”
“Everyone.”
“Your men?”
“Especially them.”
“Why?”
“Because the moment the wrong person realizes my legs work, I stop being useful as a crippled man and become a problem that needs to be removed.”
I stared at him.
“Removed?”
His expression didn't change.
“Permanently.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Both of us froze.
This time there was no handle turning.
Only a voice.
“Mr. Rourke?”
Maxwell looked at me.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
The voice came again.
“It's Elena.”
Maxwell’s face changed.
Not fear.
Something colder.
Recognition.
“Don't open the door,” he whispered.
I stepped backward.
“What?”
“Don't let her in.”
The woman outside knocked again.
“Mr. Rourke, I know you're in there.”
Maxwell moved closer to me.
His wheelchair was still beside the tub.
A chair he supposedly needed every second of every day.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
Then he whispered something that made my heart stop.
“She knows.”
“Who?”
“Elena knows I can walk.”
May you like
The handle turned.
And this time, the door opened from the outside.
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