Page 20 of Broken Surrender
I made my late dinner, humming to myself, enjoying the peace for the moment. I ate the panini in the breakfast nook, facing the window. The dining table was off-limits now; the memories with Desmond were too strong, and he had made his rule clear. My pleasure was his. The landscapers had returned to put new grass and cement down in the backyard, burying John underneath it. But everyone, even the housekeeper, was gone for the day. I went upstairs, heading toward the balcony. I guess I had this idea that I might see Desmond again. But as I passed John’s office, something stopped me. A note was on his desk, one that hadn’t been there before: a folded card. I opened it, and pine cologne and rubbing alcohol wafted from it. Those typed letters:We know what you did.
I dropped the panini, the plate rattling on the desk. I flipped over the card, but there was no address or recipient.
Did that mean that it could have been left for me? That whoever it was, knew whatIdid to John?
Was Desmond messing with me?
I took a deep breath, calming myself down. In all likelihood, it was a note left for John. It was in his office, after all.
But I hadn’t seen it before. And it was clearlyleftthere for someone to find.
Was it one of the house staff?
My chest tingled. I ran through the house, but everyone was gone. In the bedroom, I stared off into space, analyzing every staff member in my mind. I had known them for two years—was it possible it was one of them?
No. It was unlikely.
Was it someone from John’s company?
Was it Desmond?
The walls rose, shrinking me down underneath the painting of those robed women, my crime growing, ready to devour me. I raced outside through the side yard to the Callen House. White roof paneling and black columns stretched up, making his house sleek and foreboding. The back door was twice my size, fit for a giant, and it was late, but I knocked anyway, not knowing what else to do.
A man in formalwear answered, “May I help you, madam?”
“Where’s Desmond?” I asked.
He wrinkled his nose. “Mr. Callen is occupied at the moment. May I leave—”
I bent to the side, peering around the estate manager for Desmond. He passed through the hallway.
“Lena?” he asked.
I waved. “Can you let me in?”
“You remember my girlfriend, Leonard?” he asked, smacking the man’s back.
“Ah. The girlfriend,” Leonard said.
“Come on in,” Desmond said to me.
My heart squeezed in my chest, but Desmond calling me his girlfriendwasn’treal; it was part of our cover. And just because he knew how to tease me didn’t mean that he was actually worth anything.
He led me to a white room with the same black columns in each corner. The ceiling was plain. Some walls had black strokes of paint on white canvases, matching the overall design mood. A black tufted couch rested in the middle of the room, with a glass coffee table in front of it. Had everything been tailored to Desmond’s tastes like my house had been created for John?
Why was Desmond inthishouse?
“Lena?” Desmond asked.
I cleared my throat. “You told the Marked Blooms Syndicate about my husband, right?” He nodded. “Which means…”
“Which means, for now, they’ve made it seem as if your husband went on an impromptu business trip. And in a few months, they’ll ‘recover’ his body.”
My eyes fell to my hands. I couldn’t stand to look at people, especially men. You could always see what was coming next in someone’s eyes, which was never good.Look at the ground. Stay out of sight. Let it pass.
But I couldn’t do that this time. I had to speak up for myself. To figure outwhatwas going on.
“But youknowwhat I did,” I said quietly.
