Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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When Zoya finished with the Ark boxes and returned to the house, she had a message waiting from Foster. They'd picked up a body, and the family wanted a quick burial, so she'd need to work on Sunday. At least it'd get her away from Roman. She'd avoided the subject, and he'd not mentioned kicking her out again, which she attributed to the cooking. He'd already eaten half the pie. Even without Mariana's help, or having lived with Charamel, Zoya could tell just from the soiled pages of the recipe book, which selections were favorites.
She'd watched him drive away in the new truck and assumed he'd return before dinner.
The men who came to the house today and construction plans she'd seen on the bedside table told her there was about to be more activity than she wanted. But if she complained, he might kick her out, meals or no meals. Dealing with the mess and strangers would be a challenge, but she had no choice.
After locking her bedroom door, she pulled the paint can from behind the chair. More cooking meant more groceries. She'd done a meal-plan and market list for the next two weeks. She removed the lid and peered inside. Her family picture had always been on top, but now Dad was first. An odd feeling crawled up her spine. Had Roman been in her room and found her hiding place? He had no right. This was her stuff. She counted the bundles. All there. She was just being paranoid.
But a new location might be in order in case he did search. Under the mattress? No. He'd look there for sure. She stepped to the bathroom. The Catch had an episode where drug dealers hid their goods in a plastic bag immersed in the toilet tank. The thought made her queasy. She opened the cabinet below the sink and spied a box of tampons. He'd never check there. She made the transfer, placed the remaining tampons on top, and slid the box back in its spot.
If he had snooped, then why hadn't he said something? Her heart hammered. What if he thought the money was stolen and had gone to the police? No. If so, they would have already been here. Maybe he was waiting. But for what? Her mind raced.
The sound of a car door got her attention. She peeked out the window. He was back earlier than expected. Before he came in, she was in the kitchen. "Nice truck."
"Thanks."
She shoved a paper toward him. "Here's a list of meals. If there's anything special you want me to add, tell me so I can get the ingredients."
He barely looked at the sheet. "I need a drink."
From the cabinet he took whiskey and poured into a glass she already had sitting out. Drink in one hand and the bottle in the other, he walked to the back porch, sat, and propped his feet onto the railing. He stayed that way until she called him for dinner.
Something was going on with him, but she didn't know what. He didn't speak during the meal and she wanted to tell him she knew he'd been poking around in her room, but his mood warned it wasn't a good idea.
