Page 115 of Our Little Secret
He took a long swallow from his beer, gave her a wink, then gave her a quick pat on the rump before he announced that he was going to “hit the showers.”
Only then did Brooke see Leah in the archway to the living room. She’d obviously watched the entire exchange. All joy in her face had drained.
“What?” Brooke asked.
“I wish I had that,” her sister whispered as she gazed to the staircase where Neal had disappeared.
“Had what?” Brooke asked.
“Oh, you know. I didn’t mean . . . not Neal, but . . . I was thinking aloud that I wish I had that—what you and Neal have—with Sean,” she corrected, obviously flustered and stumbling. Her cheeks turned pink.
“But it’s over with Sean. Right?”
“Yes, yes. Right. Uh, look,” she swept a glance at her watch, “I’d better get back to packing up.” And with that she too went upstairs, though Brooke couldn’t imagine how much packing she would need to do after being here so short a time.
It didn’t matter. Brooke had a small window in which to do what she had to. So she went up the stairs into the master bedroom, and when she heard Neal turn on the shower she found his damp clothes in a pile on the chair in the bedroom, riffled through his pockets and, praying she had time, extracted his keys. In a flash she was downstairs, in the den, sorting through the keys until she came up with the smaller key for the safe. Her heart was pounding, her nerves strung tight as she listened to the sound of water running. Her fingers fumbled with the combination and muffed it, spinning past the final number.
Biting her lip, one ear cocked to the noises outside the door of the den, she gave it another try, heard the tumblers fall into place, inserted the key, twisted, and opened the safe.
The Beretta was inside.
A small pocket pistol.
Perfect.
She picked it up, snagged two clips next to it, and closed the safe just as she heard the water stop running overhead.
Damn.
She had to work fast.
Barely breathing, she closed the safe and stuffed the keys and ammo into her pocket. Pistol in hand, she slipped out of the room, across the hall, and down the stairs to the garage, where she stashed the weapon and clips under the passenger seat of her Explorer. Stealthily, she mounted the stairs, swept through the laundry, and up the final half flight to the main level.
Leah was in the kitchen at the sink. Uncapping a bottle of Tylenol, she started when Brooke appeared and dropped the bottle, nearly knocking over a glass of water. “Jesus, you scared me.” Scraping up the pills that had escaped, she eyed her up and down. “What’re you doing?”
“Just getting something from the car.”
“What?” Leah asked, tossing back a pill and chasing it down with a big gulp.
Brooke realized her hands were empty. “I mean, I thought I left my phone in the car, but I didn’t.”
“Oh.” Leah took another swallow of water and tossed the rest into the sink.
“Headache?”
“Yeah.” Leah nodded. “Trying to get rid of it. I get these sometimes. Probably tension. You know, I’m going to have to deal with Sean. Or his lawyer. And . . . well, whatever.”
“And it’s been kind of a wild twenty-four hours.”
“Kind of?” Leah shook her head. “I couldn’t live this way. Much as I envy you, as I said . . . but . . . Brooke, this”—she stretched her arms to include all of the house—“this is pure chaos!”
You don’t know the half of it.
“Usually not so much.” But she recalled that Leah had lied to her about the money she’d borrowed, and that Neal had equivocated as well. With everything else going on, Brooke had put it out of her thoughts. But there it was again. Front and center.
Her sister was definitely part of the chaos, much as she disparaged it.
“I’d go out of my mind,” Leah said.
