Page 22 of Before the Night Falls
In the dim nightlight, she could make out Hobbes’ distinctive profile as he paused outside Tyson’s office.
Olivia watched as he glanced around. A second later, he produced a key and quietly unlocked the door.
Her pulse quickened.
What would Hobbes be doing in Tyson’s office at this hour?
She watched as he slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickered on—not the overhead, but something smaller. A flashlight, perhaps.
She debated whether to wake Tyson.
If Hobbes was up to something sinister, confronting him alone would be dangerous.
But what if she was overreacting? The man worked here, after all.
Before she could decide, Hobbes emerged from the office, carefully locking the door behind him. He carried something in his hands—a folder of some kind.
He tucked it under his arm and moved toward the stairs with purpose.
Olivia quickly closed her door, leaving just a crack to watch him descend. Once he was gone, she counted to thirty and then followed, keeping to the shadows.
At the bottom of the stairs, she saw the kitchen light was on. She crept closer, careful to avoid the creaky floorboard near the entryway.
Through the arched opening into the kitchen, she saw Hobbes standing at the counter. The folder lay open before him. He was . . . writing something?
No, not writing—signing documents.
Olivia leaned closer, trying to see what the papers were.
As she did, her foot brushed against a decorative vase, making it wobble.
She held her breath before springing into action.
Moving quickly, she caught the vase before it fell—but not before it made a soft sound against the wooden floor.
CHAPTERNINE
Hobbes’head snapped up.
“Who’s there?” He reached for something beside him.
Olivia froze, heart hammering in her chest.
As Hobbes moved toward the entry, Olivia pressed herself against the wall, praying the shadows would hide her.
He appeared in the doorway. But he didn’t hold a weapon as she’d feared.
He held a fountain pen.
He looked past her as he scanned the darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, he shrugged and returned to the kitchen.
This time, Olivia could see what he was doing.
He was signing payroll checks—dozens of them—for what appeared to be the staff at Tyson’s house.
Relief flooded through her. An innocent explanation.
