Chapter Four
A noise woke Olivia from sleep, and she opened her eyes to see the guy from the day before setting a tray of food on the dresser. The same older woman was delivering another pile of clothes.
"Oh, you're up. Food and fresh clothing." The woman waved at the dresser.
They started to leave and not wanting to miss an opportunity to get some answers, Olivia quickly said, "Wait, please."
They both turned back to her. The woman with a slight frown on her face, the man a broad smile. "Listen, um... I'm sorry, but I don't know your names."
The woman gave her a tolerant smile. "I'm Maria." She gestured to the guy beside her. "And this is Al."
His smile turned into a grin followed by a wink.
She smiled at Maria, ignoring Al and his boy-next-door good looks. "Maria. Thank you for the food and clothes," she said sweetly, remembering you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "But do you have any idea how much longer I'll be here?" She really needed to get back home, fearing time was running out.
"I'm sorry, signorina, but I don't know the answers you seek." Then, as if wanting to give her some hope, she added, "I'll let Signor Conti know you're asking and maybe have an answer for you when I return in a few hours with your lunch."
Olivia's thoughts drifted as the duo retreated, closing the door behind them. Signor Conti. Nicoló. Nico. The name had triggered the image of him from the night before. Nico in her room, wrapped only in a towel. Her cheeks heated as she recalled the moonlight reflecting off flawlessly smooth, tanned skin, broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, and a set of chiseled abs. She'd seen a lot of male torsos so could say with authority, his was perfection.
She'd been alarmed, waking up and finding him in her room. And with the uninformative conversation they'd had, she still wasn't sure what the purpose had been. All she knew was the late night visit had left her worried enough she'd had trouble falling back to sleep. Tossing and turning and taking quick glances at the connecting door, she'd fretted until exhaustion had finally pulled her under.
The smell of food drifted to her and made her stomach growl, reminding her she'd never had dinner the night before and was starving. Scooting off the bed and making her way to the dresser, she looked down at the tray—scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She grabbed up a fork and started shoveling.
Her eyes drifted around the room as she ate, trying to think of a way to escape. Nico's advice to "get comfortable because she'd be there a while" had her very worried indeed. She needed to get home, and that meant she needed to find a way out of the room.
Her eyes landed on the mystery door that, after last night, was no longer a mystery. Nico coming through it in nothing but a towel, it was safe to say the room beyond belonged to him. It would also be safe to assume, the main master bedroom door wouldn't be locked. She needed a way into that room.
It was while spreading jam on her toast she had an idea. Looking from the butter knife to the handle on the locked connecting door, she wondered whether her plan would work. Eager to find out, she licked the knife free of jam then set it to the side wanting to get changed before enacting her scheme.
Grabbing the pile of clothes, she made her way to the bathroom not daring to change in the open where anyone could walk in at any time. She used the bathroom, scrubbed her face, and brushed her teeth before getting dressed. The clothes still had tags, and while not her exact size, they fit well enough. The jeans were a little baggy, and the top was tight across her breasts, but it was better than the dress she'd arrived in. Sadly there was no bra. She also didn't have any shoes except her black high-heel pumps. Debating putting them on, she decided bare feet would be better for stealth maneuvers.
Grabbing the knife, she carefully listened at the door. Hearing no signs of movement, she quickly went to work on the handle—removing the faceplate, unscrewing a few screws. When the handle on the other side of the door fell to the carpeted floor, she reached into the opening and depressed the metal latch with her fingers. The door swung open.
Holy crap, she couldn't believe it had worked. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, making sure it was empty. It definitely looked like a master bedroom. At least double the size of the room she'd been put in, it even had a sunken sitting area. The decor was dark, yet tastefully done in black and shades of dark gray. All the furniture was dark wood, looking solid and heavy.
Not sure of her exact plan past escaping the house, she figured she would at least need some money to get home and hoped a search of the dresser drawers would produce some cash. Nothing. Other than a ton of clothes.
She checked the nightstand drawers next, hoping to be more successful. Slowly pulling out the top drawer, being careful not to make too much noise, she carefully moved things around, trying to find something useful. Nada, unless she could figure out a use for stray condom packets, ballpoint pens, or a Dean Koontz paperback. She took a few seconds to marvel at the fact Nico had a book in his nightstand, and from the dog-eared appearance, it looked as if he were actually reading it.
Moving on.
She was having the same bad luck with the bottom drawer until she spied a thick white envelope. She opened the flap to discover a thick wad of cash, all in small bills.
Bingo.
Pulling out a few twenties, she put the envelope back exactly how she'd found it, then stuffing the money in her back pocket, she made her way to the main door.
Now the tricky part. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened. Hearing nothing, she slowly opened it a crack and peered out. Still nothing. She opened the door wider and stuck her head out, looking both ways down the hall. No one.
Not believing her good fortune, she didn't waste time. Hugging the wall, she found a set of back stairs and quickly tiptoed down. She wasn't sure which direction to go next, but taking a chance, she went right, sticking to the shadows as she made her way deeper into the house.
Hearing voices, she ducked into the next room she came to. It appeared to be a living room or maybe a music room as there was a large grand piano taking up space in the far corner. Luckily, not only was the room empty but it also had a sliding glass door, leading outside. Holding her breath and praying it wasn't attached to an alarm, Olivia disengaged the lock and slid the door open just wide enough to fit through. Unless the alarm was silent, she was good.
Knowing the brick walls were too high to climb, she didn't bother making her way to the edge of the property. Instead, she followed the line of the house, unbelieving she still hadn't run into anyone, until she came upon the garage, giving her another idea.
She stepped inside the dim interior and saw she had four cars to choose from. Three big and clunky town cars or a shiny, black sports car. The choice was a no-brainer. Opening the driver's side door of the Porsche, she slipped inside, settling herself into the soft, leather seat.
Spying the fob in the cup holder, she pushed the start button and cringed. She sure as heck hoped the roar of the engine didn't sound as loud outside the garage as it did inside the car. Engaging the car's door locks, she adjusted the seat, fastened her seat belt, and put the car into reverse.
There were four buttons on the dash, and she wasn't sure which would open the garage door and which was for the gate. She pressed the first two buttons then held her breath as the garage door started to rise. She had her foot on the brake but was ready to move it to the gas pedal as soon as the car could clear the door. Her heartbeat raced, and her palms were sweaty as adrenaline coursed through her body, expecting at any moment for someone to come and stop her.
She backed out carefully, still not seeing anyone but feeling pretty safe now that she was in a moving vehicle with two tons of machine between her and whoever tried to stop her. Halfway down the drive, she started pressing buttons again, praying under her breath that one of them would activate the gate.
She heard muffled shouts and turned her head to see three men running toward her. The one in the middle had a phone to his ear. Shit. The gates were barely parted wide enough by the time she got to them, and she heard a grinding scrape on the passenger's side as she squeezed through.
In her panic to flee, she got lost trying to find her way out of the neighborhood, but she didn't stop, wanting to put as much distance between her and the house as possible. She was sure she'd run into a street she recognized eventually. The car had GPS, but there was no way she could figure out how to operate it while driving, and stopping was out of the question.
Finally, she found a street she knew intersected with Las Vegas Boulevard. She stopped to make a right then put her foot back on the gas ready to floor it and get the hell out of dodge, when the car came to a stuttering halt. She repeatedly pushed the start button but nothing happened. No lights, no engine roar, no... nothing.
A black—all too familiar—town car pulled up behind her, and four men in suits got out. Panicked, she double checked the door locks while continuing to push the start button, hoping for a miracle and praying the men wouldn't want to damage the car to get her out.
But her hope diminished when Al materialized at her side window with a smirk on his face, dangling a key fob from his fingers.