Page 171 of Our Little Secret
You liar!
She wanted to take it downstairs and throw it in his face, to expose him for the fraud he was, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Aware of time ticking by, she forced her temper to cool as she set the damning picture on the bureau again.
She had to keep working.
Fast, fast, fast.
Before anyone came upstairs.
Anxiously, she hid one of the tiny cameras on the ledge over the windowsill, which offered her a view of the entire room. After securing the camera with a bit of removable adhesive tape, she started to slip into the hallway when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.
Crap!
Heart knocking, she slipped into the closet, the plastic hangers of Leah’s clothes swooshing as she pulled the door shut. A second later someone came into the room.
She held her breath. The closet was small and tight. Brooke closed her eyes, her ears straining as she heard someone just inches away.
Rustling.
A soft thud. Something tossed onto the bed.
More rustling.
“What the fuck?”
Eli’s voice. Only not quite so raspy. And angry.
“Where the hell?”
She heard him walk around the room.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
She squeezed as far back as she could, felt nervous sweat break out on her forehead.
“I know it was here . . . shit!”
Please just leave!
He’d discovered that either his wallet or his knife was missing.
Now there would be hell to pay.
And she knew where his fury and frustration would be leveled.
Well, so be it.
She heard the door open, then footsteps fading down the hall. “Leah!” he yelled, and then footsteps thumping double time down the stairs.
Silently, she opened the closet door a bit, saw no one in the room, and stepped out into the hallway. She was shaking inside, her heart beating as if it would fly out of her chest. She started to close the door to the guest room, then realized he hadn’t shut it, so she hurried to the stairs.
She heard glasses clinking and muted conversation before Eli’s now raspy voice demanded, “Have you seen my wallet?”
“No, babe,” she said. “Isn’t it in the bedroom?”
“No. I just checked.”
“Your jacket, then? A pocket?”
