Bound: The Pentagon Group, Book 3 by Rosemary Rey Page B

closet and drawers,” she motioned to the dresser. “I left out a nightgown for tonight.”
    “Did you see my purse?”
    “A purse? No, only the suitcase was already here,” She said.
    I hoped I could retrieve my phone from the tote bag. If it remained in the SUV, it was surely seized by the police. After all this time, the battery would be down and I doubted if I could find a charger. I sat on the bed, hopeless. I thought my nightmare was over and it became obvious the worst was yet to come. Only when I return home would I know the chaos my time with Brady would bring.
     
    *****
     
    After a restless night in which I tossed and turned, paced about the large room, stared off at the dark horizon with scenes of the events flashing in my mind, and cried until I exhausted myself, had I finally fallen asleep. I rested a pillow beside my body, simulating Matt next to me. I had intended to sleep until my body naturally awoke me, but the noise of clanking and wheels squeaking on the smooth tile floor woke me up.
    “Good morning,” a gentle female voice said in Spanish.
    I sat up and rubbed my eyes to see a sweet, older woman smiling softly at me. She had jet black hair swept up into a chignon. Her skin was the color of chocolate to match her big brown eyes.
    “I brought you some breakfast,” she said as I adjusted my vision to the contents on the tray. “I’m Margarita. I’m Don Shay’s house manager. And you are his Perla.” I inhaled deeply, summoning patience because I had no reserves.
    “It seems so.” I forced a smile. “How are you? I’ve been worried about you since yesterday. I’m sorry you were involved in this mess,” I extended.
    “It is not your fault those people did what they did. We’re all lucky they didn’t succeed in their plans. Don Shay told me everything this morning.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Swimming, of course,” she said, as if it were the most natural explanation of a man I knew little about. “He told me to bring you some breakfast. He would like you to join him outside when you’re ready,” she informed. “It’s so wonderful to have his woman finally home. We’ve been wondering if you were even real, but here you are, as beautiful as you look in your pictures. But of course, a grown woman,” she gushed.
    I began to think Brady had brainwashed everyone else into believing we could be together.
    “How long have you worked with him?” I asked, incapable of calling him Don Shay. She set the cart by the small table and chairs near the window, and began setting the plate and silverware on the table. When I saw the carafe of coffee, I stood up off the bed and walked toward the table.
    “Almost two years since the completion of the house. I moved back home from Boston after I couldn’t take the cold. I left my sons behind with their families. I told them they could visit me. One of them learned about this job and got me an interview. I live here year round with my husband. My husband fixes things around the estate. It is a great arrangement. Would you need anything else?” She said as she drew open the heavy, blackout curtains.
    “No, thank you. Everything looks great,” I commented with a smile.
    She smiled in return and walked away, closing the door behind her.
    Once I opened the doors to the balcony, the hot, humid air washed over me. The smell of the sea was intoxicating; fresh and crisp. I walked outside to look at the ocean. Within my sight line, he swam laps in the Olympic length pool to the left. His back, peppered with a few tattoos, was wide and strong as he glided smoothly from one end to the other. The body art fell in line with his tenacious personality, but a severe contrast to his buttoned up businessman visage. I was surprised his usually clean cut facade contained such a ruffian shell. When fully dressed, there was an underpinning of grit, but seeing him near nude and inked, he was definitely rough and manly. There was little doubt single-me would at the very