Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [19]
So I sent up a silent apology for being so dishonest. I prayed it would work. And I flicked.
Nothing happened. Not a damn thing. I was too far away.
Muttering a couple of really inappropriate words that would make my mother reach for the Ivory soap to wash out my mouth, I fumed a minute, thinking about what to do. This could be a sign from above that I was just not meant to do something so dishonest. Someone up there was telling me so.
Someone down here, however, was saying I just needed to get closer to the car. I guess it was the little fishnet-wearing devil Lottie sitting on my shoulder. She had, throughout my life, been able to tie, blindfold and gag any haloed angel who ever tried to take up residence on the other one.
Not thinking about it for a second longer, in case I lost my nerve, I hurried to the door and opened it, cursing the squeak. The outside hallway was dark, so I turned on the portable lantern Simon had left for me, keeping it on the lowest possible setting.
Fortunately, I was just a few steps away from the stairs, and I quickly made my way down the first flight. Pausing on the landing, I peered over the railing to the foyer below, to ensure the coast was clear.
I saw nothing. Just shadows and shapes in the ink-black night, which was almost enough to send me scurrying back to my room. But I resisted the urge. I simply had to make it down the second flight and out the front door, push a button, then race back up here and leap into my bed before I froze to death.
Speaking of freezing, I really should have put my clothes back on before setting out on this midnight jaunt. I was still wearing just my silky white nightgown with thin spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline.
Hey, I went to bed hoping Simon would suddenly remember he had to tell me something, remember? Had to be prepared. I just hadn’t been prepared to have a maniacal impulse to disable my own car so I could get the chance to stay here for a while.
If I went back upstairs, I might lose my nerve. So I proceeded forward, creeping down one silent step at a time. The door to the office was firmly shut. Only the tiniest hint of a glow was visible beneath it, probably from the last burning embers of the fire. It was after 1:00 a.m., he had to be in bed.
Beneath my bare feet, the marble tiles were like blocks of ice and I hissed with every step. Tiptoeing, I finally reached the door and unlocked it. I said a quick prayer that it wouldn’t squeak, then slowly tugged it open.
No squeak. Thank heaven.
“And they say Chicago’s cold,” I whispered as a gust of damp, frigid air blew in and assaulted me. The Windy City had nothing on this mountain. I needed to perform my act of sabotage and hightail it back upstairs quickly.
Shivering, I stepped right outside the door, whimpering at the frigid wood floor of the verandah. When I quickly pressed the button on the keychain device, a single flash of the headlights on my car told me it had worked. I was just thankful the horn hadn’t beeped the way it did whenever the car was remotely locked.
Not that it probably would have mattered. The storm had certainly eased, but low rolls of thunder continued to churn in the sky and silent bolts of lightning appeared here and there to brighten up the night. The rain no longer came down in sheets, it merely sluiced a steady drizzle of icy moisture onto the already soaked ground.
I liked storms. Oh, not driving in them, obviously, but I liked looking at them. Smelling that electric scent of power and feeling the moisture in the air before the first drop of rain fell. When safely under shelter, I often liked to watch lightning dance across the sky in the distance, knowing I was safe and it couldn’t reach me. Getting a bit of a thrill by pretending maybe it could.
But it was late, I was freezing and I needed sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day, the make-or-break