Uncovering You 2: Submission (9 page)

Stairs spiral around the outside of the room, leading to the second floor. To my left, enormous entrance doors are flanked by two skinny windows. I go up to one and look through it.

The air leaves my lungs in a gasp. The lawn in front extends as far as the eye can see. A driveway winds through it, splitting up into a roundabout before the mansion. A beautiful, white clay fountain depicting two angelic beings in a lover’s embrace is in the middle, looming larger than life.

Tall spruce trees and evergreens stand on either side of the driveway like soldiers at the ready. I’m sure if I could see all the way to the end, there would be a massive iron gate.

Footsteps on the marble floor make me jump and turn around. My heart is beating out of my chest when my eyes fall on Rose, descending the stairway and smiling warmly at me.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Miss Ryder,” she says, giving a little curtsy. “Mr. Stonehart told me to be expecting you today.”

“Please, Rose, there’s no need for formalities,” I start. I cut off when I see her eyes dart above me. I follow her gaze, and find a camera pointed right at us.

Her eyes come back to me, holding warmth and kindness, but also caution. “Mr. Stonehart asked me to show you around the estate.”

I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Please.”

Rose gives an almost imperceptible wink and turns away. “Follow me.”

As I trail after her through the rooms, I can’t help but think of what an extravagant waste all this space is. Stonehart lives here alone. He must, for I haven’t seen any hint of a woman’s presence. Yes, I get that he’s rich, but having so much square footage all to himself makes me uneasy.

Why does one person need so much space? What is he trying to prove? What is he trying to hide?

Other than you?
a cynical voice asks me.

Every once in a while, Rose stops seemingly for no reason at all and glances back at me. Each time, a small gesture on her part alerts me to the presence of another camera. I get what she’s doing, and couldn’t be more thankful for it. Rose is reminding me that our entire interaction is being monitored by Stonehart.

“Does Mr. Stonehart entertain often?” I ask almost an hour later, when we return to the lobby.

“Oh, no,” Rose shakes her head. “He never invites people here. He has an apartment in the city for that sort of thing.”

“Does he spend a lot of time there?”

“Not since you came along,” she tells me, and smiles. “Miss Ryder, excuse my candor, but I really must tell you something.”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“Well, I don’t know the particulars of your arrangement with Mr. Stonehart, and it’s certainly not my place to ask, but I only want to say that since he welcomed you into his life, Mr. Stonehart has been a changed man. I have never seen him so content.”

I frown, wondering if this is a test Stonehart told Rose to put me through. I remember the camera above me. “Thank you,” I say noncommittally.

She nods at me in a way that I’m almost certain means, “Well done.” She turns away.

“I’ll be on my way, now,” she says. “There’s nothing more for me to show you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

My eyes widen. “You mean, you don’t live here?”

“Heavens, no! I’ve always preferred my own bed. Especially when Mr. Stonehart isn’t around to call on me.”

“Okay,” I say, processing this new information. Stonehart is trusting me to be
alone
in his entire house? This has got to be a trick. I need to proceed with caution.

“Charles—the cook—will be in shortly to make your dinner,” Rose says. “You may introduce yourself if you’d like, but be warned: He is not very talkative.”

“I will, Rose. Thank you for showing me around.”

“It was my pleasure. Whatever makes Mr. Stonehart happy makes me happy, and
you
make him very happy.” She walks by me through the door. “Good-bye.”

After the doors close, I stand still for the longest time. The house is silent. The only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

This has to be a test
, I tell myself.
There is no way Rose has her own place
.

Stonehart wouldn’t risk her finding out about me and raising an alarm. Things cannot be so simple.

A terrifying thought creeps into the depths of my mind. Stonehart would not risk Rose knowing about me…
unless she’s in on it, too
.

That makes my skin crawl. Could kind, sweet Rose be involved in my capture? Could she and Stonehart
both
be in on it?

After thinking on it for a while, I see how that can totally make sense. What is Rose’s
real
relationship with Stonehart?

I don’t know. But, whatever it is, I intend to find out. And until I do, I have to remember to stay on my guard around her—no matter how much that hurts me.

I have no friends here. To think otherwise would be lunacy.

It is a dark, depressing thought.

Chapter Fourteen

I walk through the entire mansion, not touching a thing, but imprinting the layout in my mind. Stonehart said he’d be gone for three days. I plan on making use of that time.

There is a pool, a bar, and a theater in the basement. The pool is a full, Olympic size one. I never really liked to swim, but my body is itching for physical exercise. Doing something strenuous can empty my mind. I make a note to check if my closet includes swimwear later tonight.

I look behind the bar, and find it stocked with all kinds of liquor. I debate pouring myself a glass—Stonehart never mentioned restrictions on consumption. Ultimately, I decide against it. Who knows if he’ll take it as a transgression.

I return to the main floor and do a second walkthrough of the mansion. I’m looking for anything that will give me a clue about Stonehart, the person. If I’m to ferret out information I can use against him, that would be the best place to start.

Unfortunately, my search comes up empty. I’m not yet bold enough to open drawers and closed doors, but even if I were, I doubt I would find much. The house is sterile. It’s decorated well, with modern furnishings accentuating the architecture. However, it feels more like a showroom than a
real
home. The few paintings on the walls are generic and nondescript. There is no clutter anywhere, and not even a hint of dust that could give me some clue about which rooms are used less than others.

Roaming around gives me no sense of Stonehart the
man
.

Eventually, I find my way to one of the living rooms. Two leather couches stand facing each other in front of a gas fireplace. I find the switch and turn it on. The flames come to life, dancing behind the glass. I sit down and watch them.

At exactly six o’clock, a bell chimes from down the hall. Curious—but cautious—I rise to see what it is. I walk into the kitchen, and discover a full meal laid out on the dining table.

There is no sign of Charles.

“Hello?” I call out. After Rose’s warning, I’ve given little thought to the cook, but now seems like a good time to at least thank him. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

Frowning, I sit down at the table, and discover another note.

Lilly,

I am pleased with your behavior thus far.

- J.S.

A floorboard creaks behind me. I whip my head around.

There’s nobody there.

I take a few deep breaths to slow my racing heart. How can Stonehart be “pleased” with my behavior if he’s on a business trip? Rose pointed out the cameras for me, but surely Stonehart has more important matters to attend to than watching me.

Then again… I look at the note more closely. It’s in the same blue ink as all the others have been. This isn’t a message he faxed in.

The obvious answer is that he wrote it before he left and asked Charles to give it to me. Or, maybe he wrote
two
—one saying he’s pleased, the other displeased—and depending on what Rose relayed, had Charles give me the appropriate one.

That makes the most sense. It also means that I passed whatever test Rose put me through. For a forgotten moment, I gloat in that feeling, pleased that I have done something right…

I come to myself with a violent shudder. I am
not
here to be pleased that I have made Stonehart happy. At least, not
intrinsically
! It’s all supposed to be an act.

Except…
what happens when the act becomes reality?

Hunger gone, I push my food aside and stand up. Stonehart made mention of his office in the note this morning. Rose did not point it out to me during our tour. It may have been a simple oversight on her part. Yet I know that Stonehart’s office is the one place in this whole mansion where I might find something that might help my quest.

I consult the blueprint of the estate I have built in my head. It’s split into two massive wings, and the entrance foyer. There are three levels: the basement, the main floor, and the top floor. The sunroom is part of the west wing, facing the Pacific Ocean.

Out of nothing more than a desire to spend as little time as possible in that general area, I head east to renew my search.

I walk down the wide hall all alone, my feet making the only sound against the cold floor. I pass one empty room after another. Oh, they might have some furniture in them, but they
feel
empty. Empty, abandoned, and neglected. Like nobody even lives here.

My search on the main floor comes up empty. And I’ve already been in the basement—more than once. I walk back to the foyer and climb the stairs.

I pause at the doorway of the master bedroom. It’s the largest room in the house, larger than even the sunroom. It’s constructed in a similar style. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the ocean. Rose kind of glazed over this room when we passed.

I stop and peer in, thinking hard. Stonehart said I couldn’t go into his
office
. He made no mention of his bedroom.

Unless he considers his bedroom his office,
I think to myself. I don’t really believe that’s the case, but I still proceed with caution.

I adjust the collar on my neck, give a quick prayer that I won’t activate it, and step inside.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. When nothing happens, I open them slowly. A chill runs down my spine as I come to grips with the fact that I am in Stonehart’s bedroom. I am actually
in
his bedroom. I wonder how many other women have been here.

I take a little step forward, still straining to feel the quick warning jolt that my collar gives me. My stomach heaves as I remember the agony that I experienced when I wandered over my boundary that first day.

One step, wait
.
One step, wait.
I proceed like that all the way to the glass wall. When I’m finally there, I exhale a sigh of relief. Stonehart didn’t lie: I really
am
allowed through any unlocked door.

I look behind me at the bed. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen, at least twice the size of a California King. Why does a single man need so much space?

But everything about Stonehart is larger than life. He told me that he is a man who
can
, so he
does
. I guess all of this—the mansion, the bed, the vast display of wealth—is the manifestation of that.

I walk up to the bed so close my shins almost touch it. I feel like I’m impinging on a sacred space. I reach down to feel the black covers, and then stop short.

It really feels like I’m intruding. I do not want to do anything to make Stonehart mad.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement against one wall. I spin toward it—but there’s nothing there.

Strange
, I think. It must be my nerves playing tricks on me. Feeling decidedly discomfited, I start for the door…

And stop again when I feel a tiny breeze blow against my face. The windows are all closed. Where did the draft come from?

I look back at the wall, and that’s when I see it: a tiny crack running vertically that looks suspiciously like the outline of a door.

Looking around to make sure I’m still alone, I tiptoe toward it cautiously. When I’m standing right by it, I can see that
yes
, it definitely
is
a hidden doorway.

Against my better judgment, and with my heart pounding hard, I push it forward.

The door opens.

The room is dark. The only thing illuminating it is a series of black television screens on the opposite wall. There are dozens of them, almost like an electronics shop. There is no video feed, but the screens are on nonetheless.

An uncomfortable twisting sensation rises in my stomach. It is a lot like anxiety. I don’t think I’m supposed to be in this room.