15. Leia

Chapter 15

I woke cranky, my throat sore, tangled in my sheets. I'd clearly had a restless night, and not for a good reason. Despite myself, my traitorous thoughts pictured Nicolas Dupont tangled in the sheets with me, his limbs heavy as they rested over mine, pinning me to the bed with lazy possessiveness.

I shook my head then rolled over and screamed into my pillow. That infuriating man. He didn't belong in my head, dangerously close to my fantasies.

But the memory of the way he'd touched me…the way my body had responded to him and how my name sounded spilling from his lips as he encouraged me higher. It had all been a very dazzling spell.

I lifted my head to inhale to scream again, but a soft knock at the door stopped me.

"Miss Boucher?" Nicolas's voice was soft this morning. Not quite contrite but more hesitant than I was used to.

And I was back to being Miss Boucher. Of course. But that was for the best. I needed out of this ridiculous contract. If all Dupont parties ended in me being scared out of my mind, a month was going to be a very long time.

But I still wanted my house. And I wanted my bar. And I was fucking well going to get them.

I huffed and flopped on my back.

"Miss Boucher?" His voice came again, slightly louder this time.

"I'm sick. I just need to rest." My voice was sleep swollen and croaky enough to throw weight behind my claim, but I sensed him hesitate before he spoke again.

"I need to go to La Pet—" He broke off. "The casino," he said, like he couldn't force out the full name any more than I wanted to hear those words. Too many memories of his skillful fingers came flooding back. He hesitated again like he expected a reply before his next words came more muffled, like he'd rested his forehead against the door between us. "I'll have someone check on you."

For the next few moments, I just waited in silence, barely even breathing, like he might hear my thoughts if he was still standing too close. And outside my bedroom door was definitely too close when all of my thoughts were about to consist of how to sneak places I wasn't meant to go in his house.

After the treasures I'd seen last night, coupled with the behavior of his brother, it was clear that the Duponts were obviously rich and without morals, which suggested some degree of criminality. And when I linked that with the stylists strange talk about rules, the coded language they seemed to use…was I in some sort of mafia territory? Organized crime in Baton Rouge? It didn't seem possible, yet here I was. Considering it.

Maybe even starting to believe it.

After all, what more perfect place to mastermind a criminal enterprise from than a casino full of undesirables? And a notorious one…where even the name conjured hot memories.

I groaned. I needed to get my head out of the gutter. And I needed to find something against Nicolas Dupont that would have him forgetting our contract or tearing it up or setting it on fire just to be rid of me.

And that evidence was most likely in his locked wing.

So that was where I needed to go.

I tugged the comforter over myself and made myself into a human cinnamon roll. I'd wait until I knew Nicolas had really gone and things had quieted down.

There was another small knock at the door, and Emma appeared with a tray of food. "The master said for me to bring your breakfast to you this morning. How are you feeling now?" Her voice was quiet, sympathetic, and I withheld a sob that threatened to work its way up my throat. Pity always undid me. "Chef sent some more beignets and one of his special hot chocolates."

I murmured a noise that she could interpret any way she wanted and prayed for the low growl of my stomach not to betray me. I couldn't eat the food. I needed them to think I was truly sick.

Emma sighed a little and slipped from the room, and the tray was still exactly where she'd left it when Jason appeared a short while later.

"How are you feeling?" Even he kept his voice low, and I longed to be deserving of the care and respect these people showed to someone they thought was sick. "Can I get you anything?"

Hmm. That was a question I hadn't expected from Nicolas's bodyguard. But I needed him to leave the house so I could ensure he wasn't hanging around outside my door, still on his ridiculous guard duty. Only possibly not so ridiculous today because he really needed to be on guard against my behavior rather than doing the usual thing of protecting me.

"My robe," I croaked out. "It's at my house. I always wear it when I'm sick."

A half-smile crossed Jason's face. "Has Nic not provided you with a robe? Sometimes, I think he knows nothing about women."

I glanced toward the bathroom and thought guiltily of the hotel-quality robe hanging on the hook behind the door. "My robe was my mother's." That much was true. It was old and threadbare but wearing it still brought comfort. I was only telling half a lie. "Can you get it?"

Conflict marred his features. "I shouldn't leave you alone."

I forced a cough and rolled myself deeper before turning what I knew was my most practiced pitiful gaze on him. It always worked on Harry, anyway. "Please?"

Jason watched me for a while longer, his eyes narrowed, and I saw the exact moment he relented. "All right." He cleared his throat. "Just don't get out of bed."

I made another noncommittal noise, stopping short of actually lying, and closed my eyes like I might sleep. "Thank you, Jason," I whispered just before the bedroom door clicked shut. Then a tear escaped a corner of my eyes because I'd probably just fucked up that fledgling friendship.

I waited a few minutes, then stood at the window, peering from behind the drape as I held it aside just the smallest fraction. Jason set off down the driveway, and I released a sigh of relief. He shouldn't be back for at least an hour. More if he got caught in traffic.

I wriggled into the hoodie I'd brought with me and a pair of my old jeans, and I quietly opened the bedroom door and crept down the hallway, the thick carpet cushioning my footfalls. I reached my double doors and had a clear view of the west wing double doors as they stood open. Score! I hadn't planned much beyond brute strength or an attempt at lockpicking, but open doors was like fate herself had rolled out the welcome mat.

I crept out of my doors as a flash of movement from Nicolas's wing caught my eyes, and I ducked back against the wall, hardly daring breathe as Mrs. Ames backed out of the corridor I'd been about to enter. She was singing loudly and off-key, the noise competing with the low hum of the vacuum cleaner.

She pulled the door closed and reached in her pocket like she was looking for keys but came up empty. Shaking her head, she powered off the vacuum and walked away, and I seized my chance, slipping into the west wing and checking I'd be able to get out even if she locked the door. I clicked it closed behind me, anyway, hoping she'd think someone else had already secured it in her absence.

I hadn't been prepared for the dark. No light filtered from the various rooms because all of the doors along the hallway were closed, and any windows that might have allowed the daylight in were covered. It was like I'd stepped into a grave, and a shiver washed over my skin.

I opened the first door I came to and switched on the light, then stifled a gasp. A beautiful room had been destroyed. It looked like a cross between a werewolf and a Tasmanian devil had whirled through, all claws and sharp teeth, shredding and tearing apart. Claw marks raked down the posts of a bed that must have been spectacular, but now the canopy was shredded, and feathers from the half-empty pillows covered the room like a layer of snow. There was beauty in the ruin now it was peaceful, but the level of violence that had taken place here gripped my chest in an icy fist, and I struggled to draw my next full breath.

Back out in the corridor, I allowed the quiet and darkness to blanket me with calm, wrapping myself in those shadows as I crept to the next closed door. Once open, it revealed a room similar to the one where Sebastian had been on the verge of attacking me at the party. I swallowed against a rush of bile and glanced between the glass display cases. I had no interest in whatever artifacts Nicolas was hoarding.

I'd originally wondered if their crime empire was built on drugs, but stolen art and antiques was looking far more likely, however that worked. Still, crime was crime, and I had to be able to find something to blackmail Nicolas into letting me out of our contract. I was about to become the biggest pain in his ass he'd ever known.

I threw one last glance around the room, already closing the door, but then I stopped. Paintings. So many paintings lined the walls, and a familiar gaze blazed from all of them. Against my will, my feet carried me into the room, and I walked along the line of paintings, taking in the thick brushstrokes of bold oils and the gloomy color palette of years gone by. So many historical periods…

And Nicolas in all of them.

I choked back a laugh, almost unable to imagine Nicolas Dupont being this much into cosplay that he'd commission portraits of himself in historical dress. Such a strange thing to collect. But as follies went, it was possibly forgivable. Even if I did give them a little more side-eye.

As I moved forward in time—the paintings becoming more realistic, losing that strange round-eyed quality of historical portraits—to modern day now, with Nicolas in his usual black-on-black suit—he became increasingly handsome. Even immortalized in paint, there was something hypnotic about him, and every single painter had captured whatever quality it was about Nicolas that made him so hard to resist.

Because I did want to resist him.

But escape seemed a more likely bet.

I shuddered at the word bet in relation to Nicolas Dupont. The house always wins. Those were his words, I knew that much. I needed to win this time. I needed to get away unscathed and with my future intact.

I took one last, long look at the line of paintings, committing this Nicolas, the one with the half-smile that said he already knew most of my secrets, to memory. Then I left the room and closed the door, relief swallowing me that the corridor was still quiet, still calm. I needed to find something fast, though. I had to be back in bed before Jason returned with Mom's robe.

I walked quickly to the next door. Stealth was almost guaranteed on these floors, and I couldn't afford to waste time tiptoeing or being distracted by ruined rooms or odd portraits. I rested my hand on the next door I came to, about to push it open when I stopped and pressed my ear to the door.

Something inside the room was humming steadily. Maybe I'd seen too many true crime documentaries, but the first thought in my head was freezers. Or just a giant walk-in like at an slaughterhouse, with hooks in the ceiling and dead bodies just hanging around the place…chilling.

I snorted nervous amusement and listened again. The hum was constant. Definitely a fan or something similar, and unlikely to be a computer. But had I really made the leap from art thief to serial killer between the last room and this one?

I leaned my forehead against the door, almost tempted to return to my room. I couldn't do anything from there, though. Get right back into bed? Pack and leave? Neither of those seemed like viable alternatives. I couldn't leave before getting the contract cancelled, and I couldn't stay in the home of a potential mass murderer.

My mind whirled with too many questions I couldn't answer from the hallway, so I took a deep breath then pushed the door open.

Wall-to-wall refrigerators. What the fuck? I stood in the doorway like I'd walked into a freezer after all—completely frozen.

I swallowed, but it was painful and noisy as I forced it around the lump in my throat. The refrigerators were stainless steel and industrial looking, but definitely more busy restaurant than local morgue. There was a lab table in the middle of the room and a… I looked closer. Weird—a baby bottle warmer sat on the table, although I was pretty sure these fridges didn't contain formula.

No one had mentioned a baby, and they were pretty difficult to keep quiet.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I murmured as I walked to the first fridge.

A glass cabinet stood against the wall behind me, rows of test tubes visible behind the glass doors at the top, but I ignored those. I wanted to know what all of these fridges held. Art thief was still in the running for Nicolas's crimes, but serial killer was looking a little more likely.

Until I opened the first fridge. And holy hell. More little blood-filled baggies than would ever be collected at a local blood drive. And it was definitely blood because it was labelled by blood type and other identifying details such as sex and age of donor.

Like…what. The. Hell?

I opened the next fridge, the door heavy as it swung open, a sense of dread already in the pit of my stomach and climbing higher, squeezing my breath out of me.

More baggies of blood, but a different blood type. And the third fridge was the same again. Same jewel red, different vintage. But why the hell would Nicolas Dupont keep blood on hand like he was amassing a collection of fine wine?

I stood back and looked at all three of the fridges, doors hanging open, the wire shelves stacked with orderly trays of blood bags. Then I remembered the cabinet with the test tubes. There were doors I couldn't see through, too, so I turned to investigate further—and almost walked straight into Nicolas.

He stood, arms folded, shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms in a way that made me want to lick his skin. Or bite him and leave my mark. Where the hell was his jacket?

Stupid thoughts filled my head as I tried not to give in to the kind of panic that would freeze me and make me unable to act. Shit. Fucking shit. I was in the one place I wasn't supposed to be, with a possible serial killer. Alarm and also shame crowded my thoughts, and I had to focus to breathe.

But I shook my head, trying to free myself from emotions that could paralyze me. I was here, Nicolas had found me, and it wasn't ideal, but… I could be a grown-up about this. I skimmed my gaze up his body from his feet, taking my time before I dared meet his eyes. I already knew they'd be angry.

"Hello." My voice came out as a squeak. He had the same dead expression I'd seen on Sebastian last night, and the edge of his pupils seemed to glow red as he looked past me at the open refrigerator doors.

For the first time, true ice-cold fear filled me in Nicolas's presence. He'd always been vaguely intimidating, keeping me kind of off balance, but I'd managed to convince myself I was safe with him. That he was honorable. But now, in this room, I doubted all my instincts.

Why had I ever believed that?

I backed away from him, my breath pushing from my body in spurts. My eyes widened until they were almost painful, but I didn't dare look away and I didn't dare blink.

Nicolas matched me step for step, a slow, easy predator, following me until my ass hit a wall.

I'd cornered myself.