Page 60 of Masked Secrets
When the footsteps fade, I turn back, torn between confronting them immediately, which would be my preference, versus following them.
The rational part of my brain remembers that they mentioned leaving her in the basement. If they do, I should be able to rescue her from there without putting her at risk.
I should notify the people in charge, but I have no clue who I can trust. Based on the conversation between the two guards, they are in on some criminal venture with Mr. Broadmoor. For all I know, the PR company is involved as well.
Until Brooke is safe, I’m not taking any chances.
Ten minutes later,I’ve secured a knife from the kitchen. With the weapon tucked inside my tux jacket, I locate the stairs to the basement.
Quietly, I walk down the steps. Reaching the bottom, I stop to listen at the door. There’s no sound, so I slowly push it open; thankfully, it’s unlocked.
Scanning the area, I flinch at the sight, my stomach dropping.
A dim light illuminates the outline of Brooke’s lifeless body, lying on the cold concrete floor.
I’m too late.
I should have confronted the men before they did this to her. I can’t believe I let them murder the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Overcome with fear and guilt, sweat dots my forehead as I hurry to her side, needing to hold her.
29
STUART
Reaching Brooke, I drop to my knees and press my fingers against her wrist as my heart threatens to pound out of my chest.
“Brooke, can you hear me?” I ask. She doesn’t answer.
My hand is so shaky that I’m not sure if I can feel anything. I lower my head, holding it below her nose, hoping to feel her breath against my cheek. I might sense a little air, but I’m not sure. If she’s breathing, it’s shallow.
I check for a pulse in her neck. Feeling a faint beat, I let out a sigh. I have to get her help quickly.
I’m not sure who to contact. I can’t trust security or, apparently, Mr. Broadmoor. Hell, I’m not sure there’s anyone here who I can trust. I don’t dare risk being seen carrying Brooke. The only option is to sneak her out. That will require changing her clothes.
Looking around the cluttered basement, I spot a stack of uniforms like the servers are wearing. That will work. I quickly change her clothes, careful not to jostle her too much. I spot a baseball cap on a shelf. Tucking her hair under the cap, my hand grazes a large bump on the back of her scalp.
She moans, “I hurt.”
“I’m so sorry, darling. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on and stay quiet. I’ll get us out of here.”
A wave of fear rushes over me, knowing she likely has a concussion. I’m going to kill the bastards who did this to her. But first, I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.
Hurrying, I gently place my arms under her and lift, cradling her body against my chest. Slowly climbing the stairs, I protect her head and minimize the noise. At the top, I extend the fingers of my right hand just beyond Brooke’s body to turn the doorknob. Fortunately, no one is in sight, so I head toward the kitchen. There should be a back door that we can sneak out of.
I walk into the kitchen with Brooke in my arms. Servers hustle in and out while chefs shout orders.
One of the male servers stops me, asking, “What happened to her?”
Thinking quickly, I say, “She’s had a bit much to drink, I’m afraid. I’m going to find somewhere she can sleep it off. Is there somewhere she won’t be noticed?”
“Check the corner by the back door.”
“Thanks, mate.”
I’m able to slip behind some shelving units, weaving my way to the back door. I put Brooke in a corner where she’s mostly hidden by a large cabinet. She’s conscious but in a daze from the head injury, so I remind her, “Stay quiet if you can, okay?”
“Uh huh,” she mumbles, leaning her head against the wall.
