by Mara McQueen
Stupid Milo, with his stupid ideas, and stupid messages. Of all the places to warn her away from, he couldn’t have mentioned the surprisingly well-kept indoor garden. Or the sunny terrace. Or the kitchen—at least there was coffee there. No. He had to send Olivia to the gloomiest part of the estate.
It was her fault, really. For worrying too much about a man who was probably enjoying a vodka and coke right about now, or some other unoriginal drink.
She should’ve been upstairs, listening to Mrs. Bolton play, and trying to tease Kieran mercilessly without anyone catching on.
If Kieran hadn’t been at the estate...
She shook her head. It had been a long, long time since she’d experienced anything other than her dull routine of work, mediocre food, and crashing in the tangled mess she called a bed. She couldn’t remember doing anything noteworthy for her personal life. For herself.
A couple bad dates that ended in the type of awkwardness that produced viral Internet stories, a gym membership she won in a lottery at work and never used, a few outings to the theater and...nothing.
Her career and her loans had been her only concerns.
But right then and there, in the midst of the damp tunnel, she promised herself to experiment more. She needed a bit of excitement.
And that’s precisely what Kieran offered.
But he couldn't offer anything else, she thought with a frown. Neither could she.
Come Sunday, she’d be off with a contract and a handful of memories, while he remained at the manor, at least for a while longer.
And that pained her. If their roles had been reversed, she would’ve gone bonkers. To be secluded in a house ready to be sold, watching the only woman you love disappear before your very eyes, while not having a single soul you could talk to.
It must’ve been a very lonely existence.
Maybe after Olivia found a buyer, Kieran could finally go back to his real life. Whatever that entailed.
But for now, she needed to focus on finding something. Anything. So far, she hadn’t seen a glimpse of broken water pipes, rat infestation, or the damn Butcher.
This tunnel was smaller than the main one, its walls so close together, Olivia had to sway sideways every time a beam cut her way. There were also a lot fewer murals, the only one depicting a woman sitting on a large throne, a bejeweled sword in her hand, and a boat way off in the distance behind her. Olivia was usually a fan of women on thrones—and her art history degree had taught her there weren't nearly enough in all the paintings this world had produced so far—but this one looked sinister.
A cold chill crept up Olivia’s spine. The walls closed in further the more she advanced.
It felt as if they would cave in any moment, the beams giving out, the dirt cascading on top of her in a huge, excruciating—
“That’s it," Olivia yelled in the darkness.
She’d been in this hell hole for at least twenty minutes. Clearly—painfully so—there wasn’t anything here.
Either Milo had been hallucinating, or Olivia hadn’t understood his ramblings. Or whatever he'd seen was long gone.
She hoisted the lamp higher to see if maybe she’d find a shorter way back.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There was something there, just behind the veil of darkness.
An irregular form, its edges glistening in the weak light.
Perhaps another pile of debris.
Perhaps something else.
Holding on to her baton for dear life, Olivia advanced slowly. The sound of her heart beat into her eardrums, blood thumping underneath her sweaty skin.
Someone...someone had brought a lot of junk down in the tunnel—and she knew exactly who.
Large sacks lay nestled in a pile. They looked exactly like the one Darryl had been carrying the first day Olivia had met him and his never-should-have-been-born girlfriend.
There was a small mound of them, all scooted to the side, in a small wall cavity, but spilling out enough to draw attention. They even managed to drag a small end table down here, for heaven’s sake.
This was the thing that had freaked out Milo? A heap of knick-knacks that would’ve undoubtedly been thrown away.
And Olivia had spent a few hours of her life fretting for nothing—hours that she’d never get back.
She inched closer to the sacks, giving them all a once over.
Pathetic. Preying on an old woman for the sake of a few thousand quid. It was inexcusable, Olivia didn’t care what Kieran’s opinion was on the matter. It was vile, revolting and –
She stopped breathing.
Her vision blackened, becoming as focused as the tunnel caging her.
Her eyes widened to the point where pain shot through them.
Nestled between the various sacks, way in the back, was Milo’s suitcase.
And Milo wouldn't have left his luggage lying around in the dirt. He had absolutely no logical reason to cart it down into the tunnels and shove it between the blasted junk stolen by two lunatics.
No matter which way she twisted it, the luggage wasn't supposed to be there.
Which only meant it had been hidden here, in the bowels of Bolton Manor.
Something had happened to him. Something worth hiding evidence for. Something that had made him disappear.
Help
As soon as Olivia ran out of the tunnels into the portrait room, she barreled into a rock-hard chest and a strong pair of arms that gently wrapped around her.
“Olivia?” Kieran asked, completely confused. But there was an undercurrent behind that one word. A cautiousness that hid a dangerous kind of tension. It crept from his voice into his muscles, which tensed instantly when Olivia’s scared gaze found his. “What’s wrong?”
Was anything right? “I need to call the cops.”
His arms coiled tighter around her. “Did something happen in the tunnels?”
“No. Yes. I mean—” Her world twisted out of control and she went along with it. She was out of breath, out of options, and out of calm. “I think? I’ve found Milo’s suitcase hidden in there and I don’t know what’s going on and he said not to call the police and—”
“Hey, hey.” Kieran tilted her chin up gently, calm gaze catching hers, and not letting go. He took deep, soothing breaths, chest touching hers until she began mimicking him. The frightened haze slowly ebbed away as he drew small circles along her back. “Let’s get you some tea, and then we’ll figure everything out, okay?”
“Coffee. The strongest you have,” Olivia said, sagging into his embrace.
Damn, it felt good to hear him say that, and not dismiss her incoherent mumbles outright. And it sure felt good to know she wasn’t alone in this.
Whatever this was.
Kieran didn’t let go of her hand as they quickly made their way into his study. It grounded her, this no-nonsense, confident energy he enveloped himself in. As soon as she sat down, he locked the door behind them, suddenly serious.
He made quick work of getting her a glass of water. He sat down in front of her, steepling his fingers, patient as he watched her chug her water. She didn't let go of the baton.
But Kieran was right, they could figure this out.
No longer twitching, she looked at him, pleading silently for reassurance. Some semblance of logic to stop her mad thoughts.
Someone to tell her Milo wasn’t in danger. She needed that.
“Now,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Olivia opened her mouth. She hesitated. The words caught in her throat. The only thing she needed was someone to trust—she wanted Kieran to be that someone.
He raised his brows. “I can’t help unless I know what needs helping.”
And he hadn’t given her the slightest hint he wasn’t trustworthy.
“Milo’s gone. Really gone,” she began, her voice small.
Kieran nodded, silently asking her to continue.
“Milo, who should have been back by now, left me a weird vide
o message on my phone, saying he found something in the tunnels,” she said, trying to get the words out as fast as she could. “After I heard that, I went down there, obviously—”
“Obviously.”
“—and found his suitcase—or luggage or whatever the hell he insisted on calling it—tucked between all the stuff Addie and Darryl stole, which, by the way, is a lot more than I think you realize.”
Olivia took another deep breath, and took out her phone quickly, dropping it. Before it hit the desk, Kieran’s lightning-fast reflexes sprung into action—he caught it and gave it back to her without even blinking.
“Milo said—he said—I don’t know. Just that he saw something. Prick wouldn’t say what, of course, because hey, why the hell should I be privy to whatever’s going on in this house.”
She was rambling. She knew it. But it felt so good to finally get it out, it didn’t matter. The strain ebbed with every incoherent sentence.
Kieran frowned. “Did you—”
“I tried calling his cell.” Olivia cut him off, painfully aware her voice had risen to dodgy levels. “It’s off. But it’s working because he called the office yesterday to take a vacation. Like—what the hell? A vacation, out of the blue? I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know what to do. He might lose his job. I might lose mine! But if he’s in trouble...What do I do? I have—I mean, I need—I—” She dug the heel of her palms into her eye sockets. “I need to think.”
Her scattered thoughts ran around in her head and refused to stay put long enough for her to form a plan.
“You said he called your office?” Kieran’s deep voice cut through her panic, the sound a welcome comfort.
“Yes. And he didn’t have the courtesy to say where he’d be or when he’ll come back.” She gestured wildly, her baton almost hitting Kieran.
“Okay,” Kieran said with a calm that clashed with Olivia’s agitation. He bowed his head, features softening as he grasped the baton gently and slid it out of her hand onto his desk. “Let’s just leave this here until nobody is in any danger of accidentally losing an eye.”
Olivia frowned for the millionth time that day. She hoped the only bad thing to come out of this Bolton Manor visit would be a few wrinkles. “You could’ve asked me to put it down, you know?”
“Just as you could’ve said something when you first found out about this.” He nodded at her phone. “I’m not just a handsome face.”
“Apparently you’re modest too.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, the blouse constricting her ribcage.
The corners of Kieran’s lips quirked up. He grasped the back of Olivia’s neck and planted a powerful kiss on her forehead. It eased some of her nerves; not that she would ever admit it out loud.
“And I can do magic," he said. "Or the twenty-first-century equivalent of magic.”
He opened his laptop, the sudden harsh cold glow angling his features even more. He typed quickly, fingers dancing on the keyboard with practiced ease.
“What are you doing?” Olivia came to stand next to him, curiosity temporarily overriding her nervousness.
His arm shot to the laptop as if to close it. He tensed and lifted his head, locking eyes with her in a silent confrontation.
Olivia raised her eyebrows and straightened her back. She didn’t have time to waste on misplaced sensibilities—an open porn tab or two wouldn’t scare her away. But his cautious expression and clenched jaw told her being privy to his fantasies was not what he was concerned about.
Kieran nodded solemnly after a few seconds, his calculating stare softening, and turned back to work, opening his screen to Olivia. He even moved his chair so that she’d be able to see better and crowd his personal space.
An old picture of him appeared, from when he was maybe seven or eight. Little Kieran had a wide-eyed, frightened look, so distant from the cool veneer he showed nowadays. Kid Kieran was clutching a woman’s hand to his chest. Judging from the many rings, that elegant hand belonged to Mrs. Bolton.
Olivia didn’t have time to study it properly, as Kieran opened...something, and the entire screen went grey. Tiny dialogue boxes crowded it, filled with ever-changing numbers, flying from side to side in a flurry. Olivia couldn’t keep track of all the movement.
But Kieran could.
With three clicks and a single code so long she lost count at about the seventh digit, he brought up a map of Britain that got increasingly smaller with each second. More numbers glided across the screen in rapid succession, the only one she recognized being Milo’s cell.
“What the hell is this?” Olivia asked, leaning so close, her cheek almost brushed Kieran’s shoulder.
He tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her neck. “My superpower.”
“You have an alter ego to go with that?” Olivia asked, half-joking, half-freaked out that she had accidentally stumbled on a part of Kieran’s life that went way deeper than their fledgling association should allow.
Kieran shrugged and focused his attention on the map narrowing down on Nottinghamshire. Tiny red spots popped up, the biggest one located somewhere near where Olivia estimated Bolton Manor to be. A small ping ended the process unceremoniously.
“Well,” he began and typed in some more numbers, the intensity in his gaze gone. “He did make a call today, from around this area. Outside the estate’s perimeter, a little down South.”
Olivia straightened her back, her mind trying to make sense of the news. Milo was still around. That made even less sense than how she found the information.
“So he’s here now?”
“Don’t know.” Kieran shrugged again and half-heartedly toyed with the map some more. “His phone signal's off. That shouldn’t be a problem in most cases, but he seems to have taken out the battery. I can’t track him.”
Slowly venturing into baffling territory, Olivia rested her hip against the desk, grounding herself.
“Why would he...” she trailed off, squinting her eyes. She fought the looming headache with all the energy she had left, her mind jumping from one idea to the next.
The message. The luggage stashed away in the tunnels, next to the stolen goods. The call.
“What if Darryl did something to him?” she asked, not recognizing her own shaky voice.
Kieran shook his head. “He wouldn’t risk losing this amazing honey pot,” he said and waved his hand at the crooked walls. “And for Milo? Please.”
Instead of calming Olivia, Kieran’s flippant answer spurred her on. “No, listen.”
She began pacing in front of the window. Just at the edge of reason, a sick scenario took shape, each possibility more frightening. “We need to call the cops on Addie and Darryl. It all makes sense. Milo was trailing us the night we went into the tunnels—”
“Excuse me?” Kieran stood up straighter in his seat. He looked dangerous.
“Yes, he’s insane. Yes, I hate it as much as you. But maybe he spotted those two stealing more stuff. Maybe he wanted to turn them in as a last attempt to make you like him and get the contract. The clues point to that. The message, the overturned cabinet, the luggage with their stuff, the message, the tracking...”
“But there’s just one problem—”
Olivia stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. “He already knew about them stealing your stuff.”
Devious Trail
Olivia’s mind raced back to their conversation at the edge of the forest, when Milo had also mentioned the Henderson estate, conveniently located South of Bolton Manor.
Olivia remembered Milo's wistful glint after his initial plan to scare her off hadn’t worked.
Everything did point to Addie and Darryl. A little too much. This whole crazy situation reeked of a convoluted scheme with a hint of sloppy thinking. Only Milo would be capable of that.
“That sick son of a bitch,” Olivia whispered. As creepy as it was, his plan had almost—and Olivia wanted to kick herself for it—almost worked.
> She had been too busy with this nonsense, making up one crazy scenario after the other, while dear old Milo took his time to score another, wealthier client.
“Motherfucker!” she yelled and whirled around, eyes ablaze. “He’s trying to get the Henderson contract.”
And doing a damn excellent job at it. Send Olivia off on a wild chase while he charmed the Hendersons.
If Milo ever found himself unemployed, he could run the whole world with his cheesy grin.
Olivia vibrated with anger. She gnashed her teeth, the sound only fueling her fire. Of course he took a vacation. He needed time to sweet talk the Hendersons while making sure Olivia spent hours trying to make sense of his devious little trail of crumbs.
He knew she’d walk into the tunnels after hearing his message. Probably call the cops, blow the sale, and come back to Leeds with empty hands while he’d waltz into the office with another contract, worth millions more than the one Olivia had worked to get, and have the promotion thrown at him.
The bastard had wanted to blindside her.
“I’m going to kill him.” She wrung her hands painfully to stop from lashing out. She'd been painfully close to making a fool of herself and losing the Bolton contract.
She'd been so stupid and careless. Gullible. Naive.
“Now, now.” Kieran stood, encasing her in his arms so that her back lay against his chest. She squirmed, a sick aggressive shiver raking her body. He propped his chin on her shoulder, swaying them both slowly from side to side until she stopped trembling with rage. “Violence never solved anything.”
“I want to stomp on his neck until he can’t speak anymore.” Olivia gnashed her teeth together. “That’s a normal reaction, right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, his tone suggesting he didn’t believe a word. “Like all normal, modern human beings. Maybe club him over the head too.”
“It’s on the list,” she said with a sneer, reclining her head on his shoulder. He seized the opportunity and peppered small kisses on her long neck, a pleasant hum in the back of his throat.
