the rain-streaked window, Sera saw the main house. It wasn't a home; it

g instantly into her shoes. There was no umbrella waiting for her. Jus

flection. I am the housekeeper. Mr. Sterling does not lik

wet heels and carried them. The marble floor of t

portraits of dead men who all looked like they disappr

not disturb him

door, ushered Sera in, and

ng of antiseptic and sandalwood. It was the smell o

ight came from the gap in the heavy velvet curtains,

the window, was a wheelchair. A

ing? Sera

nd began. Tap. Tap. Tap. His finger aga

forward. The fl

asped. It was deep

The door is locked. I'm Se

ckle vibrated t

ll you I eat my wives? O

aid, keeping her voice smal

see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses he wore in the pitc

d get

he side table-a heavy cryst

" script. She sidestepped smoothly to the left. The glass smashed against the

movement. He heard

himself fr

wer that ignored the tremors racking his frame. He tackled her, his weight driving her into the thick carpet. His hands found

. Panic flared, hot and whit

r fingers finding the bundle of nerves on the inside of

ock as his arm went nu

their positions. She pinned him down, her knee driving into

f their ragged breathing. They were inti

d done. She scrambled bac

ack into her voice. I... I grew up with brot

dim light from the window, Sera saw his eyes. They were unfocused, star

s. Drug-

face a mask of stone. But he didn't attack again. He

he muttered. A Quinn

sted. I just do

nto his wheelchair. His moveme

e within five feet of the bed, I will bre

he watched him in the dark. He wasn't just blind.