Page 42 of Rest In Peace

Dinner ended. Alex and Christine cleared the dishes while Matt got up on his crutches and moved toward the living room, his movements slow and weighted. My heart sank with them.

As I cleaned up the last of everything and let the kids go, the lie sat heavily on my chest, a stone pressing against my ribs. I closed my eyes, saw Adam Andersson's face, and felt his threat coil around my neck. I could almost feel his fingers grab me; that’s how close he had been.

What had I done? I was suddenly lying to Matt, hiding things. What would this do to us? Was it worth it?

Chapter 39

Mary's heels clicked on the polished floor, a staccato counterpoint to the thumping bass that vibrated through the mansion's walls. She wove through clusters of laughing guests, each adorned in shimmering fabrics and expensive colognes, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of strategically placed lighting. She scanned each exuberant face, searching for the one man who had ignited her fury.

"Pete!" she called out, but her voice was swallowed by a new wave of music. He was nowhere in the thrumming sea of bodies. Her jaw set, she stormed past the living room, her eyes raking over the revelers. The kitchen proved just as fruitless—no sign of him amid the clinking glasses and bursts of laughter.

"Damn it," she muttered, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. With a determined pivot, she made her way to the grand staircase, the click of her heels now muffled by the plush carpet runner.

Ascending the stairs, a flicker of memory teased at the edges of her thoughts. It was here, on these very steps, where Pete had charmed her with his mischievous grin and an offer of a private tour during another of his lavish parties.

"Quite a view from the top, isn't it?" he had whispered, his breath warm against her ear, his hand lightly grazing hers as they reached the landing. That night, under a canopy of stars, their laughter had given way to stolen kisses in the shadows, each touch more daring than the last.

"Your eyes," he'd murmured, tracing the line of her jaw, "They hold secrets and fire."

"Maybe I'll let you in on them," she teased back, her heart racing as his hands found the small of her back and pulled her close.

Now, as she continued to climb, the ghost of that passion lingered, the heat of his skin, the urgency of his lips pressing into hers, the sensation of being wanted so completely. The memory hung in the air like the faintest scent of cologne, tempting her resolve, promising more forbidden pleasures. But tonight, anger laced her veins, not desire.

"Where are you, Pete?" she whispered to herself, reaching the upper hallway. Her pulse quickened, not from desire but from the frustration boiling within her. Why hadn’t he called her afterward? She needed answers, and she would get them.

Mary paused at the top of the stairs, the vibration of music from below softening to a dull pulse. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, an attempt to steady herself—to fortify her will against the memories that threatened to undo her. In the darkness behind her lids, she saw Pete's face and heard his laughter mixing with the clink of champagne flutes… the taste of bubbles tickling her throat, sweet yet sharp. One glass, two glasses…. Her resolve wavered like a flame in a gentle breeze.

"Damn it," she muttered, her eyelids snapping open. The plush carpet felt cool under her heels as she took a determined step forward. "I'm stronger than this."

"Pete!" Her voice sliced through the muffled beats, wielding frustration like a weapon. Yet beneath the edge of vexation, a note of something softer played—a melody that sang of silk sheets and whispered promises.

"Pete Hancock!" she called again louder, her tone mingling reprimand with a hushed plea. It was a strange duet of emotions: wanting him to hear her anger but also her need. She hated herself for the latter.

"Where are you?" Her voice echoed down the corridor, seeking him out, demanding he face her. Each word was a dance of shadows and light, conveying more than mere annoyance. It was the sound of a woman scorned yet still perilously close to succumbing to the very source of her anger.

"Pete!" She changed her tone. Her voice became a blend of seduction and fury that cut through the bass that throbbed from below. Mary's hand trembled as she nudged the door wider, the soft glow of the study beckoning her in. "Are you hiding from me?"

The door creaked, protesting her intrusion. She stepped inside, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor, an insistent staccato against the distant rhythm of the party.

"Playing games now, are we?" A smirk danced on her lips though her heart hammered with a cocktail of emotions.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, scanning the room for any sign of Pete. "I know you're here," she cooed, her voice draping each word in velvet.

Silence greeted her, starkly contrasting the revelry seeping through the walls.

"Pete, this is no time—" Her words caught in her throat as her gaze landed on the figure sprawled across the Persian rug.

"Pete?" The name escaped as a whisper, a ghost of sound.

There he was, motionless, a crimson halo seeping into the intricate patterns beneath him. Mary's breath hitched, her body rooted to the spot. The world seemed to tilt, reality skewing as she took in the horror before her.

"Pete!" Desperation laced her cry now, raw and ragged. But there was no answer, not even the slightest twitch from the man who had consumed her thoughts.

"Please." It was a plea, a prayer to break the nightmare's hold. But the silence was unyielding, the truth undeniable.

Tears blurred her vision, fear and disbelief warring within her. Pete, the charmer, the rogue who had stolen her resolve, lay lifeless before her. And Mary stood alone with the echo of a party that suddenly felt worlds away.

Mary's heart thundered, a drumbeat syncing with the pulse of panic. She whirled, eyes darting across the expanse of Pete's study. The air thickened, each breath a struggle against the weight of dread pressing on her chest.

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