Almost Gone. Ophelia Night

murdering Margot.

      CHAPTER NINE

      Cassie recoiled from the heavy wooden door, adrenaline flooding through her as she replayed the deadly scene in her mind. Heavy hands clamped around a pale neck, those panicked, choking screams. There had been something else as well; a splash of vivid color she couldn’t make sense of.

      She needed to call for help, and fast.

      Who could she call, though? The housekeeper was the only person she knew, and she had no idea where to find her. In any case, if she wasted time looking for her, Margot would die. It was as simple as that.

      Instead, Cassie herself would have to intervene.

      If she burst into the bedroom, shouting at the top of her voice, it would cause a distraction that would hopefully allow the blonde woman to break free.

      Terror overpowered her at the thought, but she told herself it had to be done. Even if her legs turned to water and her voice was no more than a pathetic squeak, she had to try and be brave.

      As she reached for the door handle, she heard another sound that stopped her in her tracks.

      It was a deep-voiced groan of pleasure.

      Hesitantly, Cassie bent and peered through the keyhole once again.

      Moving her head from side to side to make the most of her narrow view, Cassie realized the object she’d seen was a brightly colored scarf. Margot’s wrists were tightly bound, and the scarf was knotted to a brass rail that must be the headboard.

      Cassie gasped as she realized what was happening.

      This wasn’t murder, but a sexual act—dark, violent, and prolonged. She could see Margot struggling to free herself. This wasn’t just kinky experimentation; it looked downright dangerous. And she wasn’t at all sure that it was consensual. Margot didn’t seem to be a willing partner. Perhaps Pierre was punishing her for her earlier outburst, or using it as an excuse to do what he was doing now.

      Cassie told herself firmly that however horrifying the act, it was taking place in private and certainly not her business. If Pierre or Margot found out she’d been watching, she’d be in serious trouble. And if one of the children were to see her peeking through the keyhole, she didn’t want to imagine what the consequences would be.

      Cassie stepped back, but in the shock of what she’d seen, she forgot all about the poker she’d placed against the wall. She knocked it with her foot and it clattered loudly down onto the marble tiles.

      The groans stopped suddenly. After a heartbeat of silence, Pierre called out, his voice sharp.

      “What’s that? Who’s there?”

      He’d heard. And the sudden creak of bedsprings and the thud of feet on floorboards told her that he was on his way to see.

      Cassie picked up the poker and fled down the corridor, running as fast and silently as she could. She prayed that Pierre might stop to put on a gown or slippers, and that she’d be out of sight by the time he opened the door. Because if he saw her, if he even guessed she’d been there, she had a world of trouble coming her way.

      She rounded the corner and skidded on the marble tiles, grabbing desperately at the wall to stop herself from falling. Her finger bent back painfully and she swallowed a cry. From behind her she heard the latch click as the bedroom door swung open. And then she heard the pounding of feet down the corridor. Pierre was pursuing her at speed.

      Nightmare scenarios raced through Cassie’s mind as she headed for her bedroom. She closed the door as quietly as she could and placed the poker back in the fireplace, trying to stop her hands from shaking so it wouldn’t rattle against the grate. A moment later she leaped into bed and yanked the covers up to her chin. With her heart banging in her throat, she waited for Pierre to pass by.

      Because of course he would pass by, wouldn’t he? There would be no reason for him to knock if he saw her door was closed.

      The footsteps stopped outside her door, but Pierre did not knock. Instead, to Cassie’s disbelief, he simply opened it. He snapped on the light and stood in the doorway. His face was flushed, he was barefoot, and he was wearing a burgundy dressing gown.

      Cassie’s first immediate and overriding thought was that this was a complete invasion of privacy. No way was it appropriate for an employer to enter an employee’s bedroom alone and after hours without knocking. His presence in her private space was making her feel defensive and vulnerable, triggering old memories that had morphed into nightmares. People in her room. Hiding under the bed. “Hey, little girlie…”

      Pierre stared at her and then took a look around the room, his gaze resting on her bath towel hung on the hook near the door, and the pile of clothes she’d left folded on the armchair near the fireplace.

      Cassie sat up, straightening her pajama top and instinctively crossing her arms over her chest. She wanted to shout at him to get out, to scream that he had no right to enter her room without permission.

      But this was not a good time to discuss boundaries—not when she’d been peeking through his bedroom door at his private activities.

      “Did you hear anything, Cassie? There was a noise just now.”

      The loud clattering he’d heard was undeniable evidence that someone had been up and about. It was her job to respond to noises and disturbances at night, so there was no way she could claim she hadn’t heard it. She had to offer Pierre a coherent explanation for what had happened.