Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Not that I’d gotten far with that anyway. The Sawyers were fairly open about their recent history. Everything since the day their father had died seemed to be fair game for conversation, but their lives before that were a dead subject. I’d managed to learn that Sarah Sawyer had been Griffen and Ford’s mother, and that she’d run off when they were young. Given the timing, I was almost positive their missing mother was the woman who’d written those letters to my father. As far as I could tell, no one had any idea where Sarah was, and I’d never heard any mention of my father.
Maybe if I’d approached the Sawyers openly, I could have found out more, but now I was stuck. I liked my job, and I liked the family. I’d wondered if I’d feel isolated in this small town in the mountains, or if I’d miss being in the classroom. I’d spent the last few years with my mother substituting kindergarten at the local elementary school, and I’d loved it. But now I wondered if part of that love had been the escape from my mother’s house. Because now, running herd on four kids, one of them an infant, I wasn’t feeling the urge to go back to the classroom.
I’d come here to find Sarah and my father. But if I asked openly, they’d throw me out. Now that I understood how security-conscious they were, I knew that for a fact. I hadn’t bothered to hide my connection to my father, nor would I have known how to do so. And clearly, they hadn’t made the connection to Sarah Sawyer either, because I was here. It helped that I was who I said I was; my résumé was filled with the truth, so I’d passed the background checks.
So here I was, the fox in the henhouse. And though I was keeping my eyes open for any further information about Sarah and my father, I was at a stalemate. I could ask openly for what I wanted and risk being booted out, or give up on my quest and carry on as I was, in a job I loved, while I figured out the rest of my future. So far, I was sticking with option number two.
Everything would have been great—except for the puffs of frozen air coming from my mouth with every exhalation, and the killer sleeping across the hall.
I had to keep reminding myself that Ford Sawyer was dangerous. This house was filled with dangerous men. Despite his charm and good humor, I knew Griffen’s background. I wouldn’t want him to consider me an enemy. And Hawk, our head of security, was considerably less good-humored and charming and obviously chock-full of danger. Every single member of the security team could take me apart with their pinky fingers.
None of them made me nervous like Ford Sawyer.
His family was convinced he hadn’t pulled the trigger on Prentice, but from what I’d heard, there’d been little love between them by the time Prentice died. Ford had gotten his brother Griffen exiled in an attempt to take everything that should have been Griffen’s. Why wouldn’t he take the second step of eliminating his father and take the crown for himself? I’d heard enough town gossip to know Prentice Sawyer had forcibly retired his own father and taken over the company. Wouldn’t Ford follow his example?
I didn’t fully understand how Ford’s name had been cleared. I was the nanny, not family. I caught whatever crumbs of information fell by my ears, but I rarely got the full picture—unless something was related to one of the kids. Fair enough. It was their family business, after all, not mine.
Griffen was so concerned with everyone’s safety, I doubted he had a blind spot big enough to move a killer in down the hall from his wife and infant daughter. But people could be weird when it came to family. Griffen was human. His judgment couldn’t be perfect all the time.
I clenched my toes under the blanket, trying to will warmth back into the little icy blocks at the end of my feet. The tip of my nose felt like it was covered in frost. That was it. I shoved the covers back and rolled, slamming my frozen feet onto the chilly carpet at the side of my bed as I snatched up my robe. I was tired. Tomorrow would be busy, and I needed my sleep. Whatever was turning this end of the guest wing into an icebox, I wasn’t going to take it lying down, shivering under the covers. Maybe flipping the breaker wouldn’t work—it wasn’t a guarantee—but I had to try.
The hall was dark when I opened my door, the sconces off. That could be the power failure. Or it could be that the last person up had flicked the switch. Either way, I didn’t need them. I took a deep breath and stepped out into the darkened hallway. I knew my way to the storage closet at the end of the hall by feel. I shuffled along the smooth, polished hardwood—so cold under my bare feet—and felt in front of me, my fingers catching the trim around the door, the cold metal of the handle as it turned beneath my fingers.