Chapter 1 - The Woman in His Bed
Kayla jerked awake and whispered: “Please don’t fire me.”
Gunther Woods stood beside the bed and picked up the hospital invoice that had fallen from her apron.
A red number was stamped across the bottom.
$38,420.
Gunther realized she had not been sleeping in his bed because she was careless.
Kayla Hughes stared at him.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Her mind had awakened before her body understood where she was.
Soft sheets.
Dark walls.
The smell of cedar and bergamot.
Then she saw the man standing beside the bed.
Gunther Woods.
Her employer.
The man Mrs. Gable had warned every new employee about before they were allowed to clean so much as a bathroom sink.
Never enter his office without permission.
Never touch anything on his desk.
Never ask personal questions.
Never remain in a room after he enters.
And under absolutely no circumstances was anyone to use the master suite for anything other than assigned cleaning.
Kayla was lying beneath his duvet.
Her shoes were on his carpet.
Her hair was on his pillow.
And a handgun rested on the nightstand.
“Oh God.”
She scrambled upright.
Gunther lifted one hand.
“Slowly.”
She froze.
His voice was quiet.
That frightened her more than shouting would have.
“I’m sorry.”
Gunther said nothing.
“I can explain.”
“I’m waiting.”
Kayla pushed the duvet away.
Her hands were shaking.
“I was changing the sheets.”
“At three in the morning?”
“I started before that.”
His eyes moved to her uniform.
The apron was wrinkled.
One sleeve had a faint streak of furniture polish near the elbow.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
Gunther glanced toward the room.
The drapes had been cleaned.
The furniture polished.
The floor gleamed.
Even in the dim light, he could see that the entire suite had been meticulously serviced.
“What time did you start working today?”
“Yesterday.”
His eyebrow shifted slightly.
Kayla swallowed.
“Ten in the morning.”
Gunther looked toward the clock.
3:21 a.m.
“You worked seventeen hours?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I had a lunch break.”
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
It was not amusement.
But it came close.
Kayla hurried off the bed.
The moment her feet touched the carpet, she swayed.
Gunther caught her elbow.
The contact startled both of them.
Kayla immediately pulled away.
“Sorry.”
“You apologize frequently.”
“I have a lot to apologize for tonight.”
His eyes narrowed.
“No. You have one thing to explain.”
He held up the invoice.
Kayla went pale.
She reached toward it instinctively.
“Please.”
Gunther looked at the document.
SAMUEL HUGHES.
Physical rehabilitation.
Outstanding patient responsibility: $38,420.
There were handwritten calculations along one side.
22 × 40.
33 × 16.
Rent.
Bus.
Food.
Brace.
Kayla snatched it from his hand.
Gunther allowed her to.
“That’s private.”
“So is my bed.”
Her face burned.
“I know.”
“Who is Samuel?”
“My brother.”
Gunther waited.
Kayla folded the paper twice.
“He was in an accident.”
“When?”
“Fourteen months ago.”
“And you pay his medical bills?”
“He’s twenty.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Yes.”
Gunther studied her.
“How much do I pay you?”
“Twenty-two dollars an hour.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who authorized a sixteen-hour shift?”
“Mrs. Gable needed someone.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Kayla hesitated.
“She did.”
Gunther walked toward the telephone.
Panic shot through her.
“Please don't call her.”
He stopped.
“Why?”
“She’ll fire me.”
“No one fires anyone in this house without my authorization.”
Kayla almost laughed.
She stopped herself.
“You don’t know how the staff works.”
The words escaped before she could catch them.
Silence.
Gunther slowly turned.
Kayla wished the floor would open.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“You said I don't know how my staff works.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“That doesn't make it untrue.”
Kayla lowered her eyes.
Gunther watched her.
For three years, she had successfully been invisible.
Now, in less than ten minutes, she had slept in his bed, challenged his knowledge of his own household, and allowed him to see a bill that represented the most humiliating part of her life.
She needed to leave.
“I’ll finish downstairs and go home.”
“No.”
Her stomach dropped.
Gunther picked up his gun.
Kayla stopped breathing.
He slid it into the holster beneath his jacket.
“Your shift is over.”
“Oh.”
“Go home.”
She blinked.
“Am I fired?”
“I haven't decided.”
Her throat tightened.
Gunther noticed.
He hated that he noticed.
“Come back at ten tomorrow.”
“My shift starts at eight.”
“Tomorrow it starts at ten.”
“Mrs. Gable—”
“Works for me.”
Kayla nodded.
She put on her shoes.
At the door, she turned.
“Mr. Woods?”
“Yes?”
“I really am sorry.”
Gunther looked at the bed.
The sheets were rumpled where she had slept.
Normally, that alone would have irritated him.
Instead, he found himself looking at the indentation her head had left in the pillow.
“Go home, Miss Hughes.”
Kayla stopped.
He knew her name.
She had never told him.
Then she realized he must have read it from the invoice.
“Good night.”
She disappeared into the hallway.
Gunther remained standing.
He should have called housekeeping.
He should have demanded fresh sheets.
Instead, he removed his jacket and sat on the edge of the mattress.
The pillow beside him still carried faint warmth.
He stared at it.
Then he cursed quietly.
Thirty minutes later, Gunther was downstairs.
Victor answered on the fourth ring.
“This had better involve a corpse.”
“I need information.”
Victor groaned.
“Gabe, it’s four in the morning.”
“Kayla Hughes.”
Silence.
“Who?”
“One of the maids.”
Another silence.
Then Victor laughed.
Gunther’s expression hardened.
“I wouldn’t.”
“You called me at four in the morning about a maid.”
“Her brother was injured fourteen months ago. Samuel Hughes. Find out what happened.”
Victor stopped laughing.
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“That answer usually means I shouldn't ask a second time.”
“Correct.”
Gunther ended the call.
He poured bourbon.
He did not drink it.
Upstairs, his bedroom remained empty.
Yet somehow it no longer felt untouched.
At 9:58 the next morning, Kayla walked through the employee entrance.
Mrs. Gable was waiting.
Her face was rigid.
“My office.”
Kayla followed.
The door closed.
Mrs. Gable placed a termination form on the desk.
“You slept in Mr. Woods’s bed.”
Kayla's stomach twisted.
“Yes.”
“You understand what you've done?”
“Yes.”
“Then sign.”
Kayla stared at the paper.
Three years.
Three years of overtime.
Three years of catching two buses before sunrise.
Three years of saving every dollar she could.
Gone because she had closed her eyes for one minute.
She picked up the pen.
The office door opened.
Gunther stood there.
“What's that?”
Mrs. Gable immediately straightened.
“Mr. Woods.”
“The paper.”
“A termination notice.”
“For whom?”
“Kayla.”
Gunther looked at Kayla.
“Did I authorize it?”
Mrs. Gable faltered.
“No, sir, but house policy—”
“Who writes house policy?”
“You do.”
“Then apparently you misunderstood it.”
Gunther took the paper.
He tore it in half.
Kayla stared.
Mrs. Gable stared harder.
Gunther placed the pieces on the desk.
“Miss Hughes works normal hours from now on.”
“Sir?”
“Eight hours.”
“But we're understaffed.”
“Hire more people.”
Mrs. Gable's lips tightened.
Gunther noticed.
“So that's settled.”
He turned to Kayla.
“You. Come with me.”
Kayla followed him into the hallway.
Every employee who saw them suddenly found something fascinating to clean.
Gunther walked into the breakfast room.
A plate waited at one end of the long table.
He pointed toward the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
“I’m working.”
“Sit.”
Kayla did.
A staff member brought another plate.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Coffee.
Kayla stared at it.
“I already ate.”
Her stomach growled.
Gunther looked at her.
Kayla closed her eyes.
“Traitor.”
A corner of his mouth moved.
“Eat.”
“Why?”
“Because I dislike employees collapsing in my furniture.”
“That happened once.”
“In my bed.”
Kayla picked up the fork.
They ate in silence.
It was the strangest breakfast of her life.
Halfway through, Gunther's phone vibrated.
Victor.
Gunther opened the message.
His expression changed.
Kayla noticed immediately.
“What?”
He locked the screen.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn't nothing.”
Gunther looked at her.
She lowered her gaze.
“Sorry.”
He stood.
“Finish breakfast.”
He walked into the corridor and called Victor.
“What did you find?”
Victor spoke quietly.
“Samuel Hughes’s accident wasn't an accident.”
Gunther stopped.
“Explain.”
“The police report says his car lost control on Route Nine.”
“I know how to read.”
“The brake line had been cut.”
Gunther's face hardened.
“By whom?”
“That's the problem.”
Victor paused.
“The mechanic who inspected the car disappeared forty-eight hours later.”
Gunther looked through the doorway.
Kayla was still at the table.
Eating slowly.
Completely unaware.
“Keep digging.”
“There’s more.”
Gunther waited.
“The vehicle wasn't registered to Samuel.”
“Whose was it?”
Victor said the name.
Gunther's blood went cold.
He looked back at Kayla.
Then at his phone.
Because the car her brother had nearly died in had belonged to someone Gunther knew very well.
Someone who was supposed to be dead.
Victor lowered his voice.
“Gabe, you need to see the photograph I just found.”
May you like
Gunther opened the attachment.
And the man standing beside Kayla's brother was—
