Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“What?”
“She sits on the hospital board. The board of my hospital. St. Charles.” I turn to Maddox “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
“What?”
“I learned from Dr. O’Rourke—Harrison, your friend—that Rouge is also on the hospital board.”
He drops his jaw. “Wait, at your hospital?”
“Yeah. And I was going to tell you, but I was worried that you…” I swallow.
“That I would what?”
“That you’d insist I stop working at the hospital. That it wouldn’t be safe for me to stay there.”
He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Finally, “I suppose that’s fair. But now that I think it over, you working at the hospital is a perfect cover to look into Rouge. And maybe Mrs. Gimble, if we find any reason to.”
“But what if it’s a false lead? They could both just be sitting on the board because it’s something rich people do.”
He shakes his head. “If there’s one thing I know about Rouge, it’s that everything she does is meticulously calculated. If she’s sitting on the hospital board, there’s a reason.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It might be something as simple as rubbing elbows with doctors who might make good members of the club. Or it could be something darker. Something related to May. Maybe they’re disposing of the bodies after Rouge has their heads and hands removed, for instance.”
My blood freezes in my veins.
Not only because of the implication that Rouge might be doing something awful. We’re already ninety-nine percent sure that’s the case.
But that there are connections we’re not seeing. Invisible lines between the scant dots we’ve been given.
Maybe the Gimbles will help us draw one of those lines. Or maybe it’s another dead end.
The peaceful Debussy streaming through the radio speakers does nothing to ease my nerves as we make the rest of the drive to Winnetka. Finally, we pull up to the house.
Maddox wasn’t kidding. These houses are huge. All of them would easily pull in several million dollars in today’s market. The Gimbles’ house is the biggest on the block. Red-brick exterior lined with arched windows with classic white trim. A stone pathway leads to the front double door painted in a regal shade of purplish brown.
Maddox parks the car a half block away. As always, he gets out quickly enough to open my door.
You’d think I’d grow tired of it, but it’s nice being treated like a lady no matter what the circumstances.
I get out, and he grabs my hands and looks into my eyes, piercing me with his gaze.
“No matter what happens,” he says, “do as I say. I promise I’ll protect you. Just follow my lead.”
I swallow. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
He kisses my forehead. “Great.”
What possible harm could come to us? We’re visiting a couple in their later middle ages. It’s not as if we’re trying to confront Rouge and her Kings head on.
Or is it?
My heart pounds. Maddox must feel it, because he wraps his arm around me and whispers in my ear. “As long as you’re with me, everything will be okay.”
I take in a deep breath and sigh it out. “Thank you.”
This man is so warm. And so strong. Both in equal parts. It’s hard to find a man who strikes that balance so perfectly.
I’ll never find another man like Maddox Hathaway.
And I don’t intend to try.
We walk up to the door and Maddox rings the bell.
A moment later, a young woman with long dark hair answers the door. “Yes?”
Maddox flashes her a smile. “Is this the Gimble residence?”
The young woman frowns. “May I ask who’s asking?”
“Joe and Frida Manx,” Maddox says without hesitation. “We’re friends of theirs from the symphony. My wife and I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by to say hello.”
The housekeeper—I assume—softens her stance a touch. “Oh, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Gimble adore the symphony.” She peers inside the house. “I’m afraid Mrs. Gimble is out to a society tea, though I’m sure you’re already aware of that. But Mr. Gimble is in.”
“Would you mind getting him for us?” I ask. “We won’t be a moment.”
Uh-oh. Frida Manx probably doesn’t have a British accent. Oh, well. Mr. Gimble will realize we’re not the Manxes the moment he opens the door anyway.
I’m not sure what we’ll do then.
Maddox said to follow his lead, and that’s what I’ll do.
“I’ll see if he’s available.” The housekeeper disappears into the house.
“Where did you come up with those names?” I whisper.
“They were in the program. You said them out loud while you were looking through donor names.”
“My God. That’s quite a memory you have.”
Maddox shrugs. “You don’t forget a last name like Manx very easily.”
“What’s the plan?” I ask. “Are you assuming that he only knows the Manxes by name alone and won’t recognize that we aren’t them?”
He cracks a small smile. “That would be the convenience of the century, but no, that’s not the plan.”