Page 13 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
I had just spent three days chained to bathroom pipes. Now I was still virtually a prisoner, but they were concerned about my fashion sensibilities? “Umm, I just… Maybe someplace cheaper? Like Walmart.”
Adrian sent me a droll look. “Philip has money. You may as well take advantage.”
“That’s what I don’t want to do,” I said quickly. “He’s already doing enough by letting me stay here.”
The way Adrian studied me made me shift in my seat. His expression softened. “I don’t know all the details of your situation, but I know you’re scared. And you should be. These are some scary assholes you’re dealing with, Philip included. He doesn’t give a shit about most people. They’re collateral damage to him. But regardless of the reason, he’s decided to help you—and you can believe this much: when you’re under his protection, you’re safe.”
Chapter Seven
ONLY THE NEXT day, I couldn’t find Shelly or Adrian anywhere.
I knew better than to go to Philip’s office after what had happened there. Instead I wandered the hallways of his expansive house, peeking around corners so I wouldn’t find him.
There were actual wings as if this were the castle in Beauty and the Beast. In the part of the house where our guest rooms were, the halls were papered with faintly gleaming thick stripes, almost pearly, that went from the crown molding at the high ceiling to the floor.
As I explored deeper into the house, they changed to some kind of black leather padding, studded with buttons. I ran my fingertips along the leather, such a strange choice for a wall. It reminded me of Corduroy’s exploration in the department store, finding wonders he didn’t quite understand. He had pulled off a button and been discovered. I had no desire to be found; my hand fell away.
I reached the end of the hallway and slowed, ready to turn around.
The shadows at the far wall caught my eye, something not quite right about the way they lay across the padded-leather paneling. I kept walking, even when the plush white rug ended, leaving only hardwood floor.
When I got close, I could see there was a false wall extending part of the way into the hall. From far away it wasn’t obvious that anything else would be back here. Up close, I could easily turn the corner into a small nook—which contained only a metal spiral staircase.
I had thought the second floor was the top floor. What was above this? The roof?
The stairs shivered under my weight. I had no idea how Philip ever ascended them without them swaying like a tree in a storm. When I reached the top, I discovered I wasn’t on the roof. I wasn’t outdoors at all, not technically, but the glass windows surrounding the small enclosure made it feel like I was, the panes like facets of a diamond—a jewel from which to study the stars. There were pillows and impossibly soft throws strewn over the small nook. Did Shelly know about this place? I imagined she did. She seemed to know everything about Philip.
Even though the little observatory was beautiful, I felt like I was intruding on someone’s private space. I climbed back down the spiral steps—and ran into a large, wide body at the bottom.
It held me there, hands on the rails at my sides, locking me in. Philip. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My blood rushed through my ears, making my voice come out too loud. “Nothing.”
“Then why do I keep seeing you all over my house? First my office, now here. Are you a spy? Who sent you?”
“What? No!” Oh my God. Talk about paranoid. Then again, maybe it was warranted considering Shelly had been an informant for the police. “I was just…I was just curious.”
That wasn’t what I had meant to say. I couldn’t find Shelly. I was looking for the kitchen. I’m scared. There were a million things I would have said if I could have thought about it, but his presence, so close, so warm, so large, removed the ability to think. And once the words were out, I recognized the truth of them. I was curious about Philip Murphy—and that was a dangerous situation.
“Curious,” he said, sounding amused. It was too dark to see his face completely, and it gave him the impression of a god, watching me from above as I stumbled and fell far beneath him. “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat.”
Curiosity killed the cat—a dangerous situation for sure. “I’m not a cat,” I said hotly.
He ran a hand over my hair, a gentle caress. Petting me. “I don’t know,” he mused. “You have claws.”
“Trust me,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “If I had claws, you’d be bleeding by now.”
A silent laugh, more vibration than sound. “Maybe I am.”
“No.” I was the one bleeding. I was the broken one. “Don’t,” I said thickly.
“Don’t what?”
At least he didn’t say it with feigned innocence. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, but he wanted me to say it.
“Don’t act like you give a shit,” I said. No one gave a shit. Except for some reason Shelly did. My heart clenched.
“You’re in my house,” he countered. “That makes you my business. And I’ve been thinking about your…offer.”
