What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(57)

What did one person do with all this space?

Lance continued down the hall. Two doors from the master suite, he found the study. It was exactly as he’d imagined it: an entire wall of bookshelves, a leather executive chair, and a desk the size of a barge with a matching credenza.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The butler was on the first floor of the house, but Lance didn’t want anyone to see him snooping. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on. Then he went behind the desk and started opening drawers. Haley had found her photo in the pencil drawer, but if Lance were going to hide illegal photographs, he’d lock them up.

Lance opened the desk drawers one by one. In the top right drawer, he found the Polaroid camera. It was a new model that produced an instant photo the size of a credit card. He spun the chair toward the credenza. The drawers were locked. Fortunately, he’d come prepared. He took his lock-picking tools from his pocket and went to work. The locks were simple, and he popped them in a couple of seconds. But the drawers held contracts and other paperwork that Lance didn’t have time to peruse. He closed and locked them again.

He turned back to the desk. Had Kieran moved his stash to a different room? The photo of Haley indicated more than the desire to look at a woman naked. Kieran had the real thing in his bed when he’d taken her picture. The lack of consent was part of the thrill. He’d gotten off on breaking her trust. If he had more pictures, he’d want to look at them often, to relive the excitement. He’d want to keep them close at hand.

Lance reached under the desk. His fingers hit something. He examined the underside of the desk. A yellow envelope was tucked under the rear-drawer support. He slid the envelope out and opened it.

Bingo.

Polaroids of naked, sleeping women, and Lance would bet all had been unaware they were being photographed.

Movement in the hall caught his attention. He slid the pictures back into the envelope and stuck it under his shirt at the small of his back, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. Something jingled in the hallway. Keys?

He stood and went to the door. Opening it two inches, he scanned the hall but saw no one. Lance listened for a few seconds, but the hallway remained quiet. He slipped out of the office, stuffing the gloves in his pocket.

The jingle sounded again, followed by heavy breathing. Lance turned and stopped dead. A Rottweiler stared at him from the other end of the hall. The jingle hadn’t been keys but dog tags.

Lance considered the distance between him and the double doors that led to the second-floor landing. Twenty feet never seemed so far.

He took a step backward. The dog moved forward an equal distance. It emitted a low growl, the hair on its back rising.

Shit.

“Good boy.” Lance eased backward another foot.

The growling intensified. But the dog did not bark.

Lance slid his foot backward on the carpet. His heart slammed in double time, and sweat dripped between his shoulder blades.

The dog bristled and took a stiff-legged step forward.

Lance glanced behind him. Could he make it?

Did he have another option?

No. He couldn’t call for help without revealing his unauthorized search. That would be awkward. He’d have to make a break for it. But he’d rather face ten angry men than one large dog.

Lance spun and sprinted for the door. He heard the dog’s feet dig into the carpet as it charged, but he didn’t dare look back. He focused all his attention on the door. Fifteen feet. Ten. The jingling rushed up behind him. Almost there. Was that the dog’s breath on his ankle?

Lance grabbed for the knob, opened the door, and slipped through the opening. His leg jerked, pulling him backward.

The dog’s mouth was clamped around his boot at the ankle. The dog gave his leg a death shake, yanking Lance’s whole leg back and forth. He kicked at the dog’s head with his other foot. He caught the dog’s jaw with his heel. The giant jaws opened, and Lance pulled his foot free.

Undaunted, the dog lunged for his leg again. But Lance dove through the opening, shutting the door just as the Rottie hit the wood on the other side.

Leaning on the door, Lance breathed, his pulse slamming, sweat gathering under his arms. On the other side of the door, the dog sniffed deeply at the half inch of space between the door and floor. It did not bark, and it did not scratch at the door. Lance pictured it staring.

And maybe plotting revenge.

Lance examined his boot. The dog’s teeth had punctured the leather. Better to replace his footwear than his foot.

The dog hadn’t been there before Lance went into the office. Had it simply been in a different room and heard him? Or had someone let the beast into the hallway because that person knew Lance was in there?

He walked quickly down the hall and peered over the balcony to make sure no one was in sight before he jogged down the stairs. He hurried down the corridor and stopped in the powder room to wash his hands. By the time he returned to the basement, his heart was no longer trying to race right out of his body.

“We were just wondering what had happened to you.” Angry red stained Kieran from the neck up.

The strain on Morgan’s face told Lance that something had happened while he’d been gone. He gave her a questioning look, but a small shake of her head convinced him not to ask.

“I don’t have any more questions for now.” Morgan’s posture was stiff. “Thank you for speaking with us. You’ve been very helpful.”