Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,25

Not dead at all.

I step fully inside the house and look around the kitchen and the epically large living room. It looks the same in here as it did last time. High-end rustic. Comfortable and cozy.

Mrs. Haywood died in last fall, on a weekend I was visiting my mom in Memphis. Mr. Haywood didn’t want anyone at the house the day or two after—in fact, the door was locked and the lights were off—and after that, he jetted back to New York. I heard he’d put the home for sale a short time later, through the teeny Gatlinburg grapevine. So the last time I was here was over a year ago.

I hold my breath as my eyes scan the open space. Not a single mote of lint seems out of place, making me wonder if he’s living here yet.

“Hello?”

I take another small step forward and train my gaze on the left side of the open space, where one set of stairs tilts downward and another flight curves elegantly upward to the third level.

He’s probably not here. Guilt churns in me. I should have followed right behind him, rather than pace around the woods for half an hour being nervous and uncertain.

Just when I’m about to turn and go, I hear a creak above me.

Could he upstairs? I can’t just go up there…can I? What if he’s gone to get patched up and he comes back?

I have a good excuse, I guess.

I walk quietly into the kitchen. It’s wrong to snoop in other people’s things, but I tell myself this will help me discern whether he’s living here. If the refrigerator is empty, there will be no reason to go traipsing around on the third level.

I pull the door open and— Red Bull. Yikes. That’s a lot of Red Bull in there. Meaning—he must be living here? Or needs a lot of caffeine while he hunts on his new acreage? I make a face. Red Bull is so gross. The refrigerator also harbors a few apples, some apple jelly, a carton of eggs, and a jug of orange juice.

Okay—so maybe he is living here. I’m a super snooper. An interloper. Not just any interloper. One who kicked him in the head and made him bleed. I squeeze my eyes shut. I should go now.

But what if he’s upstairs, passed out?

What if?

Didn’t that Facebook executive’s husband die from falling off a treadmill and hitting his head? I think he did.

I blow my breath out. I’m going to do it. Because I know if I don’t, I’ll wonder till I drive myself insane. And really, can I embarrass myself any more than I already have by attacking the man in the first place?

I stride into the living area, which smells like leather and firewood.

“Hello?” I call, more loudly than before.

When there’s no answer—just a lonely echo—I start up the stairs. My heart begins to pound. Do I remember CPR? Only on bears!

Fuck me.

At the top of the staircase, I hesitate. The stairs lead to the midpoint of a hallway, so I can’t see directly down it without taking a few more steps. Which I do, slowly and quietly. From the right side of the hall, I see a crack of light. A crack of light—which means a door is open. Maybe the master bedroom door.

I’ve come this far. I figure what the hell. If he’s up here and not answering my creepy interloper cries, there’s probably something wrong. My heart pounds. I hope there’s nothing wrong. I walk slowly toward the light, which does indeed turn out to be a door ajar.

I stand just in front of it. “Hello?”

My voice is softer now, because I’m scared of what I’m going to find. I should say something else, but I can barely breathe. I push the door open and— holy master bedroom, Batman! I blink a few times, surprised by the opulence. And the gun. There’s a gun on the bed. A really big gun on the—

The hunting rifle. That’s his hunting rifle, Einstein.

He’s been here! Where is he now?

My body goes ice cold, then flaming hot. Fuck me. Fuck fuck fuck me. I walk further inside, so I can check the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

Please let him be okay…

That’s when I notice another door. A door through which I can see his gorgeous back and shoulders. I can see he’s got his head down on the bathroom counter.

Shit!

I bustle in, and he is up, arms raised, eyes wide, looming