Chapter 2 - The Woman at the DoorOne secret had already been sold
The door opened three inches.
Elena Rourke stood there.
She looked nothing like I had expected.
Maxwell’s younger sister was elegant, pale, and perfectly composed, wearing a cream silk blouse and black trousers that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
Her eyes went immediately to me.
Then to Maxwell.
Then to the wheelchair.
She smiled.
“Martha.”
“Ms. Rourke.”
“You've been here almost a week.”
“Yes.”
“And you've been upstairs before?”
“Only when instructed.”
“Interesting.”
Maxwell's voice was icy.
“What do you want?”
Elena stepped inside.
“To remind you that dinner begins in twenty minutes.”
“I won't be attending.”
“You will.”
“No.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You've been refusing meals again.”
“I don't need a lecture.”
“This isn't a lecture.”
She looked at me.
“It's a warning.”
My skin prickled.
“For what?”
Elena walked closer.
“People in this house have become nervous.”
“About what?”
She glanced at Maxwell.
“About how quickly certain things can change.”
Maxwell said nothing.
Elena turned to leave.
At the door, she paused.
“Martha.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know why you're working here?”
I hesitated.
“Because I was hired.”
“No.”
Her eyes became strangely soft.
“You were placed here.”
Then she walked away.
The door closed.
I stared at Maxwell.
“What does that mean?”
He looked furious.
“Nothing good.”
Before I could answer, he pressed a button on the side of the tub.
A hidden panel in the wall opened.
I nearly screamed.
Inside was a narrow compartment containing documents, two phones, several passports, and a handgun.
He reached for one of the phones.
“Call someone.”
“Who?”
“Yourself.”
“What?”
“Call your number.”
He handed me the phone.
I entered my number.
It rang in my apron pocket.
I pulled out my own phone.
Maxwell stared at the screen.
His expression became grim.
“Your phone is being monitored.”
“What?”
“Answer it.”
My hand shook.
I accepted the call.
No one spoke.
Only breathing.
Then a distorted voice whispered:
“Leave Rourke House before midnight.”
The line went dead.
I stared at Maxwell.
“What is happening?”
He took the phone from my hand.
“Your employment file.”
“What about it?”
“Show me.”
I opened the email from the agency.
Maxwell read it.
Then he went completely still.
“What's wrong?”
“The person who requested you isn't the staffing agency.”
“Then who?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The authorization code.
I recognized it instantly.
“So?”
“That code belongs to my medical team.”
My mouth went dry.
“I don't understand.”
“Neither do I.”
A gunshot exploded somewhere downstairs.
We both froze.
Another shot.
Then screaming.
Maxwell grabbed the wheelchair.
“Help me.”
“You said you could walk.”
“I can.”
He swung his legs out of the tub.
His feet hit the marble.
For the first time, I saw him standing.
Not weakly.
Not shakily.
Standing.
His body straightened.
Six feet two inches of muscle and controlled strength.
I could only stare.
He walked to the hidden compartment.
Pulled out the gun.
Then looked at me.
“Now you know.”
Three more shots thundered from below.
Maxwell opened the bathroom door.
The hallway was empty.
“Stay behind me.”
“You have a wheelchair.”
“Take it.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Push it.”
“You're going to pretend again?”
His eyes locked on mine.
“Tonight, Martha, pretending might keep us alive.”
We ran.
Halfway down the stairs, the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the house.
Then a red emergency light flickered on.
At the bottom of the staircase, a man lay bleeding on the floor.
Maxwell stopped.
He knew him.
“Gideon.”
The wounded man looked up.
His lips moved.
“Boss...”
Maxwell knelt.
“Who did this?”
Gideon grabbed his jacket.
May you like
“Your sister.”
Then he died.
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