Page 111 of Our Little Secret

Were the cameras attached to a router, something that would forward images to a computer somewhere? Or were they somehow connected wirelessly to some unknown computer? If so, why were the wires here?

Who cared?

It didn’t matter.

What did matter was the fact that Gideon had slipped into the house and set up the whole nest of minuscule cameras.

Her blood pounded through her veins at the thought of him spying on her, watching her make love to Neal. Or gaping at Leah as she primped or slept? Worse yet, playing the voyeur and observing Marilee in various states of undress, staring at her young, supple body.

Oh. God.

Her stomach heaved and she fought the urge to vomit.

In her mind’s eye she saw Gideon on his sailboat, alone, leaning back in a chair, sipping a beer and watching the images on his computer. Was he getting off on what he saw? Or becoming quietly furious?

Either way, you did this, Brooke. It’s your fault.

She was ill at the thought of what she’d done to her family, how she’d let him into her life, how he’d taken her trust and abused it.

What kind of psycho was he?

She thought about going to the police. Immediately she discarded the idea, but her stomach churned when she realized he’d overheard their private conversations, their whispered secrets. He’d even watched as she’d found the bracelet, and when she’d sneaked into Neal’s office. He’d probably watched her freak out when she’d found the dead rat and had smirked in satisfaction at her panic about losing the dog.

Sick, sick, sick!

Her stomach churned.

She considered confessing to Neal, but again thought better of it.

She couldn’t tell Leah or any of her friends, and especially not Marilee.

No, she had to solve this problem. Alone.

And she would.

Her teeth ground together and rage burned through her blood as she ripped out the wires, hearing the pop, pop, pop of staples being splintered from wood.

No way could she let him get away with this!

A dozen quick ideas of dealing with him swirled through her mind, all of them murderous. She would stop him if it was the last thing she ever did. How in the world had she ever gotten involved with him? When she thought of their stolen hours together, their private trysts, the way she’d abandoned herself to him, she wanted to scream.

And then there was the baby.

What a mess!

After stuffing the damning cameras into her pockets, she eased her way back along the plank to the ladder to the trapdoor. She had just started down the rungs of the ladder to the attic when she heard the sound of the front door opening and Leah’s voice.

“Brooke! Brooke!” she yelled, and Brooke slid down the ladder and sped down the staircase as quietly as she could.

“Brooke!”

Shit.

In the laundry room she closed the door and shoved the key into her pocket with all the small spy equipment.

“Brooke!” Leah was walking fast, her footsteps reverberating through the house.

What now?