You've Been Warned

It would be so easy to say that the dream I keep having is a premonition. I never used to believe in that psychic stuff, but now I’m willing to change my mind. Except the dream already came true. I saw it with my own eyes. Standing in this exact spot, no less.

The people in those body bags are stone cold dead. Penley—as if I need to be reminded—is very much alive.

Don’t go there.

I can’t help it, though. The thought creeps into my head, as it’s done a few times before. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s horrible even to think it.

And still, I do.

It’s Penley who stands in the way of everything. Were it not for her, I’d have Michael. I’d have Dakota and Sean. I’d have everything I ever wanted.

If only Penley weren’t in the picture.

Chapter 51

SERIOUSLY.

Don’t. Go. There.

With every step, I try talking myself out of it, but there’s another voice, a louder voice—one I barely even recognize as my own—propelling me.

My strides get longer and faster; I’m moving on adrenaline from head to toe. The night air is crisp, a lot cooler than usual for May, and I feel a slight sting on my cheeks.

I look up. Yes. Of course there’s a full moon!

What should be a ten-minute walk takes only five, and before I know it I’m standing right across the street from Michael’s building.

I check my watch. It’s a few minutes past midnight.

And you thought you got Michael angry in Connecticut? That was nothing compared to this.

Through the large glass panels flanking the entrance, I can see the night doorman killing time at his desk. I try to remember his name and I’m almost positive it’s Adam. I’ve only met him once or twice before, when he was filling in on the day shift.

It doesn’t matter.

I dial the building’s number on my cell phone and watch as he picks up. They always answer the same way, announcing the address in lieu of “Hello.”

“Is this Adam?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Hi, it’s Kristin, the nanny for the Turnbulls. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Louis let me use the staff bathroom off the lobby this morning, and I think I might have left my purse in there. Could you check for me? Sorry.”

“Sure, hold on a second.”

He puts down the phone and disappears behind the door near his desk. A starter’s pistol fires in my head.

Go!

I dart across Fifth Avenue and burst through the front entrance. Racing through the empty lobby, I make it safely to the stairwell before Adam returns.

I’m in.

I hang up my cell and tiptoe up five flights so I’m well out of earshot. Then I call Adam back.

“Sorry to hang up on you; I had another call coming in,” I say. “Any luck?”

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see your purse. It’s not at the front desk either.”

“Darn, I thought that’s where I left it. Thanks for looking, though.”

“No problem,” he says.

That’s for sure.

You learn a lot about a building after working in it for a couple of years. In the case of the Turnbulls’, it so happens there are no security cameras on the stairs. Goody for me.

Now comes the hard part.

It’s called breaking and entering.

Chapter 52

I HIKE THE REMAINING thirteen flights, struggling to catch my breath as I reach the penthouse. I check my watch again, which is just a nervous tic, I know.

Lights out at the Turnbulls’ is usually no later than ten. Michael rises with the sun, and Penley sees the benefit of a good night’s sleep strictly from a cosmetic point of view. God forbid she ever has bags under her eyes.

Still, I cool my heels for another fifteen minutes. One last chance, perhaps, to come to my senses.

The chance passes.

Thumbing through my keys, I find the one Penley gave me when I first began working for her. I distinctly recall her saying something snotty and condescending about it being a symbol of trust. What, like I’m going to use it to break in one night?

The key clutched tightly in my hand, I gingerly approach the door and its solid brass lock. Turning my wrist ever so slowly, I try to dull the inevitable snap of the dead bolt. It’s so quiet around me in the hallway. Too quiet. I’m afraid even the slightest noise will wake everyone.

The lock cooperates—barely a sound—and I step inside. I can’t see a thing at first. It’s pitch-black, but I know the apartment so well it wouldn’t matter if I were blindfolded.

This is so insane. What am I doing?

Crossing the foyer, I walk down the long hallway to the bedrooms. Half of me is still pumping with adrenaline, the other half utter fear. It’s like I’m on a tightrope without a net. There’s no excuse for my being here, at least none that anyone else would understand.