Page 22 of Kristoff

I force myself to take a wobbly step then a few more to meet them at the door.

“Go to the shower,” she instructs, pointing down the hall. She may as well have sent me to walk the plank. Their bathroom is a small, enclosed room, without even a decent window to climb through. I have no possible way to escape in there, either.

Crossing her arms, she reaches down to the hem of her flower-print tank top and pulls it over her head. “Celia.” Harlan’s head snaps back, and his jaw drops. Typical male, his gaze goes straight to her cleavage. She brings the tank to her breasts and reaches behind to unclasp her bra. Meanwhile, he’s still rooted in place.

“Go.” She kicks the sandals she’s wearing into the nearby bedroom. Clearly, she has a plan, and I’m in no position to start questioning things now.

He blinks a couple of times then focuses on her face as I walk away.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Go into your room,” she orders. “Strip down to your pants and mess up the bed like we were…”

Downstairs, a door is thrown open. We’re out of time.

Oh God, who’s coming? I have no idea who it is, or how many people are here to take me back to Faust.

I rush the last couple of steps to the bathroom and catch my toe on the bathmat.

“Gerald,” Kristoff’s voice rings out from downstairs. “What the hell’s going on?”

A few seconds tick by then a door is thrown open. “Where is she?”

My stomach flip-flops. I wring my fingers, searching the walls, as if a door would appear if I wish hard enough.

“I don’t have time for your shit right now,” Kristoff says, exasperated. “I’m in the middle of setting up for the dinner crowd.”

From the sound of it, he’s the same man from the other night. Kristoff didn’t seem much of a fan of the guy even then. I strain to pick up any other footsteps moving around downstairs. I can’t help wondering who else is with this Gerald person.

Celia comes dashing into the little bathroom on tiptoe. Her only cover is an arm across her breasts and a hand at the V of her legs.

She pushes me into the corner of the stall while pulling the curtain across the rod with a metallic rasp. We’re closed into the tiny space. My breathing echoes against the wall.

“Idiot,” she mutters. “He should be focused on Gerald, not on me taking my clothes off,” she adds, wrenching the handle with purpose. Water shoots over us full blast.

She may be acting huffy, but seems like she kept a watchful eye on him when he was staring at me. I would have loved to have seen his expression when she walked out of his room without a stitch covering her olive skin.

Within seconds, my dress is drenched again. The spray doesn’t have the same bite it had before, but I’d been ultra-sensitive then.

Celia is facing the shower curtain, ignoring the water coming down on her. She has her eyes closed, and her brow’s scrunched. Is she trying to listen, or is she praying? Either would be helpful right now.

I turn my face away from the spray and try to keep my breathing as shallow as possible until this is over.

“I have customers coming,” Kristoff continues to complain.

Footsteps come pounding up the stairs again. My heart’s about to explode, but I know where the danger is now. And this brave group of people is taking a dive right into the middle of it, to try and keep me safe.

“Be ready,” she whispers beside me.

But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for, and I can’t ask without giving away the fact I’m hiding here beside her. I’ll have to improvise.

The bathroom door opens. From the corner of my eye, I see the hanger at the end of the curtain rod. It’s a reminder my dress was hanging in here the last couple of days. They can’t know that, but I half expect an aha moment when they see it. I turn to Celia, another layer of urgency clogging my throat. What does she expect me to do?

She has a ghost of a smile on her face but doesn’t give a clue as to her plan. I don’t understand what she’s doing. What is she up to?

She turns, putting her face under the spray for a split second then she pulls the shower curtain open from the far side, just enough to peek out.

“Ah!” a man says from a few feet away.

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