Page 48 of Final Cost

“Is someone there?” I call with the kind of confidence that I don’t remotely feel. “Hello?”

My voice echoes. No one answers. I stand there for a beat or two, feeling ridiculous and wondering what the hell I should do now. I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m imagining things.

Until a shadow detaches itself from the grandfather clock and materializes into a tall man—someone whose grim face I recognize.

“Winwood?”I gasp. Sudden terror wraps me in a stranglehold, but this is no time to lose my head and act like some idiotic teenager from a horror movie. I cry out, lunging sideways for one of the heavy brass candlesticks on the console —

Unfortunately, he’s way faster than me. He crosses the distance between us, wrenches my wrist away from the candlestick and cranks my arm behind me while using his free hand to clamp me around the waist. The next thing I know, he’s hefting me off my feet, while I furiously kick at thin air.

“Don’t hit me, Tamsyn.”

“Put me down!” I shriek. “I’m going to scream!”

“Go ahead,” he says, sounding supremely unbothered. “I know it’s the staff’s day off. Stop kicking. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But this reminder that I’m here alone with him does nothing to diminish my fear. “Put me down!”

“I’m going to. But don’t try to hurt me. Or run. That will only end badly for you. Okay?”

I take a deep breath.“Okay.”

I don’t mean it, of course. My brain is already cobbling together a plan to sprint to the nearest powder room and lock myself in while calling 911. But when he sets me down on my feet, he snatches my phone out of my back pocket before letting me go, sending my brilliant plan up in smoke. I pivot to face him, my fury at being manhandled, disarmed, and de-phoned like that battling with my stark terror. I want to hit him, but I don’t dare. He’s tall and muscular, for one thing, way bigger than me and almost as big as Lucien. Plus, he’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and looks like a low-key G. I. Joe with his black T-shirt, khaki cargo pants and hiking boots. And the cherry on top of this nightmare milkshake? The pistol he’s got strapped to a holster under his arm.

“I’m here to help, Lucien,” he says keeping a wary eye on me. “Where is he?”

I hesitate, not wanting to reveal that Lucien is also not here.

“One second,” he says, frowning. “He didn’t make bail?”

“He’s at the arraignment right now,” I say with all the bravado I can muster. “I expect him back any second.”

“Good. I need to talk to him. “

“How did you get on the property, anyway?” I say, beginning to recover. “Lucien has all kinds of beefed-up security.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his expression. “I designed the security system here, ma’am. I know how to create a blind spot when I need to.”

That ain’t good. And that means…wait, does that meanhe’sthe accomplice who let Ravenna onto the property to set fire to the guest cottage the night she tried to kill me? Of course it does. I long to hurl the accusation in his face—to try to hit him again—but I don’t dare risk escalating the situation by making him angry. My only job is to stay alive and cool headed long enough for help to come. No matter how freaking scared I am.

“Where have you been?” I demand. “The police have been looking for you.”

He hesitates. “That’s confidential information. Let’s just say that I found a nice vacation home nearby. With Wi-Fi. It was unoccupied.”

Of course he did. I remember what Lucien said about Winwood’s extensive military training. He was with some elite team or other. He probably knows how to use a shoelace and some tinfoil to make a satellite dish. “Why did you run off?”

He scowls. “Because Ravenna’s autopsy will show my DNA. But I’m not going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Okay, but why not stay here and tell the police you didn’t do it? That’s what a normal innocent person would do.”

“That was my plan. Until I reviewed the security tapes and realized they’d been doctored.”

“What? Doctored?”

Yes,” he says grimly. “So I had to take matters into my own hands and borrow them —”

“Steal them, you mean,” I say like an idiot, forgetting all about the need to stay calm and nonconfrontational.

“— To recover the lost footage.”

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