Idrive to the castle as if I’m competing for first place in the Indy 500, running red lights and screaming at people to get out of my way. Pulling into the garage, I shut off the car and hurry inside, hoping I won’t encounter Arlo.
I only need a few things, then I’ll never have to set foot in this place again.
In the master bedroom, I head straight for the closet, where I pull a few outfits from hangers and underwear from drawers. I throw it all into a leather Tumi bag I pulled down from a shelf, then turn to leave. I’ll buy myself a new wardrobe later.
A glint of silver catches my eye.
On the floor under Callum’s row of suits, a small key is caught between the baseboard and the carpet. It must’ve fallen out of one of his pockets.
Remembering the last time he left for Prague, how he seemed to be searching for something in his drawers that he couldn’t find, my heart starts to beat faster.
I set the Tumi bag down and get on my hands and knees to retrieve the key. It’s actually a pair of keys, both small, hooked together on a tiny loop. They look almost like the keys Arlo used to unlock my handcuffs, but aren’t identical.
I stand in the middle of the closet, staring at them, wondering what they might be for.
Then I remember the rope.
I turn and look at the bottom drawer of the dresser where I found the unlocked case of colored rope, remembering how I told Dani about it over dinner. How she laughed and said I wasn’t that clueless when I wondered what Callum used it for.
I assumed then that it was a bondage thing.
Only he never used that rope on me.
Kneeling on the floor, I open the bottom drawer and look inside. All the black cases are still there, in various sizes and shapes, except the one that held the rope is now locked.
I fit the key into the lock, and it opens.
Yep. Still rope.
I close that case, pull another out, balance it on my knees, and use the key to open it.
Staring down at the contents, I feel my stomach flip. My pulse accelerates until my hands are shaking.
I’m looking at a big black semi-automatic handgun with a cylindrical extension on the barrel.
A silencer.
Hyperventilating, I carefully close the cover of the case and return it to its place in the drawer. I stare at the other cases in growing fear, trying to decide whether or not to open them.
I’m not sure I want to know what I’ll see inside.
But after a few moments of internal debate, I pull another case from the drawer and open that one too.
It’s full of cash. Paper money in foreign currencies banded together in neat stacks. The only ones I recognize are the euro notes. Everything else is printed in languages I can’t understand.
I close that case, put it away, and pull out another. That one reveals a stash of USB drives and batphones like the one Callum gave me, dozens of them rubber banded together in stacks.
The final case I open is stuffed with passports.
Russian, Czech, Canadian, American, plus dozens more. All of them have a picture of the same man but with different names, matching the nationalities of the passports.
It’s not Callum, but I think I recognize him.
Even without the mirrored aviators, the man in black is hard to forget.
I don’t know why I do it, but I grab one of the passports and keep it, stuffing it into the Tumi bag. Then I throw the case back into the drawer, toss the keys inside, and slam it shut.
The final thing I do before running out the door is grab the signed copy of Outlander from the armoire.
Then I drive straight over to Dani’s and have a breakdown.
