Page 62 of House of Lies

Attempting to triangulate his position by the sound of his footfalls isn’t working too great. He’s coming closer, but I can’t tell if he’s going to the left or the right of my stack of boxes.

With the overhead lights on, I’ll be immediately visible if I choose the wrong direction to scamper to.

“I thought I made myself very clear when I said the basement was off limits.”

Why the hell does he sound like he’s enjoying this?

Oh my God, maybe this is a sex kink, him stalking his victims through this massive house before slicing their throats.

Or worse.

Fuck, I wish I wasn’t blessed with such an active imagination.

His footsteps pause, and I nearly wet myself as the tension builds. What is he doing? Why did he stop? Has he spotted me? My body is shivering with the effort of keeping still in this crouched position.

Ethan sneezes.

The sound is so unexpected, so loud, so fucking violent, I barely trap a surprised yelp behind my mouth.

“Jesus, it’s dusty down here,” he mutters angrily.

Gotcha! I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know where he is, which direction he’s headed, and how to escape without him seeing. Mustering every vestige of courage I still have left, I bite my lower lip and scurry across to a nearby row of shelves filled with gardening supplies.

The stench of compost becomes stronger as I get closer. Footprints crisscross the floor. I guess the last person to come down to the basement was whoever dropped off all these bags.

Kind of messes up my earlier theory, but I’ll have more than enough time to think about that later.

On the way to the police station…if I survive this.

“Cassidy!”

There’s nothing friendly about Ethan’s voice anymore. My fingertips prickle with panic as I hurry across the basement floor, keeping cover as much as possible as I head for the stairs.

Shit. The stairs.

If Ethan looks back, he’ll see me running up them.

But the alternative is waiting.

No fucking way I’m doing that. My heart will give in.

I don’t look back. I don’t second guess myself. As soon as I reach the stairs, I race up them as silently as I can. Thank God I’m only in socks—shoes would have made too much noise.

If there’d been a key in the door, I’d have locked Ethan inside and called the cops. But I head straight for the wall phone in the kitchen instead.

I rip the receiver off its handle and press it to my ear as I stab in 9-1-1

But there’s no dial tone.

This phone is as dead as my fucking mobile.

Possibly as dead as Becks.

Chapter 24

Ethan

I stalk around a stack of boxes, hunting the shadows with narrowed eyes. I should be in my study, but I’m too busy playing Peekaboo with Cassidy.

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