Page 48 of Before the Night Falls
And if she did, would Tyson be crossing a boundary he shouldn’t?
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Olivia easedout of her room, planning to slip outside—avoiding detection by anyone.
Instead, she ran into Tyson on the stairs.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Tyson . . .”
Something washed through his gaze as he nodded at her. “Going somewhere?”
“Just outside.”
“I was going to take a walk—just around the backyard. Want to join me?”
Though part of her wanted to avoid him, she knew she couldn’t do that for long. She might as well pull off the Band-Aid. “I’d love to.”
They stepped outside together and walked along the fence until they reached a gate in the back.
“The property extends all the way to those pine trees.” Tyson pointed toward the horizon. “About thirty acres total.”
Olivia nodded. The setting sun felt good on her skin—warm, safe. Different from the artificial lights of her studio. Different from darkness.
“Every time I’m out here, I can’t help but think how beautiful it is,” she said.
“It’s one of my favorite places—my oasis, I suppose. Everyone needs a place where they can breathe.”
Something fluttered in Olivia’s chest when she saw the gentle smile on Tyson’s face—a feeling she quickly quenched.
“Mind if we walk a bit farther?” Tyson asked. “There’s an old stone cottage nestled back here between the pines that dates back to the 1800s. Great visual for your segment.”
“Lead the way.”
They followed a winding path through the pine trees. In the distance, birds called to each other, their songs punctuating the quiet. For a moment, Olivia felt peace wash over her.
Until she saw it.
Half-hidden by wild rosebushes, two small wooden doors lay flat against the hillside. Two weathered and gray wooden slabs with rusted iron hinges and a heavy padlock.
Her steps faltered. Her lungs seized.
Darkness. The smell of damp earth. The sound of footsteps approaching. The mask.
Always the mask.
“Olivia?”
She realized she’d stopped walking. Her hands were trembling.
“What is that?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, thin and fragile.
Tyson followed her gaze. “Oh, just an old root cellar. Been here since before I bought the place. I don’t use it. The main house has better storage.”
Root cellar.The words echoed in her mind, bringing with them the scent of roses. She could almost feel the cold concrete against her skin, the weight of thick ropes fastened around her wrists.
“Are you okay?” Tyson peered at her with concern.
“I—” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I just remembered I need to make a call. For the show. My executive producer needs . . . something.”
