Page 3 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

He moved aside after taking his time assessing me.

I stepped into the foyer, watching as he bolted the door.

A swivel clip with a retractable cord hung at his waist. He tugged on the ring of keys attached, sliding one into an impressive double-cylinder lock.

My heart jolted when he peered over his shoulder at me before turning the key slowly.

The message was clear. I didn’t get out until he let me out.

“Your, um, phone. Can I use your phone?”

“Landlines are down.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “Is it okay if I wait around for things to get up and running again?”

“It could take a while.” There was something reptilian in the way he observed me. I felt like prey. Like I was the one who’d fallen right into his trap, instead of the other way around.

“I don’t really have a better alternative.” A rust-colored water stain covered a portion of the ceiling above us. Discolored wallpaper peeled along the corners—a drab damask pattern made popular in the Middle Ages.

“Do you mind if I sit?” I pointed to the living room off the foyer with its Victorian furnishings. A fire raged inside the hearth.

“Empty everything from your bag and pockets,” he ordered, as if he hadn’t heard my request. I removed my gloves and backpack, setting them on the foyer table before pulling out my laptop, chargers, and other miscellaneous items.

I emptied my pockets, then zipped out of the heavy parka before laying it across the table as well. I tugged out the lining of my pants pockets next. “Nothing but lint.”

“You can wait for me there.” His gaze flicked to the living room, then back to me.

“Where are you going?”

“To get your room ready. I think it’s clear you won’t be going anywhere tonight.”

“Okay. I really appreciate this. Hopefully, the cell towers will be functioning again by morning.” Even if they were, it would do little for the snow swiftly accumulating outside. No one in their right mind would attempt a rescue mission up here.

“Leave them,” he said when I reached for my things. “I’ll make sure they make it to your room.”

Somehow, I didn’t believe that, but I nodded anyway. I watched as he shoved everything into my backpack, then climbed the huge staircase ahead.

Releasing my first real breath since entering the house, I removed my wet boots, then went into the living room to warm my hands by the fire.

The disappointment at him not recognizing me settled in, and I blinked the tears away.

I thought our love would bring him back to me the moment he laid eyes on me, but it didn’t. What was I supposed to do now?

My gaze snagged on the telephone wire stapled along the room’s baseboard. I followed its path to the windows where the wire had been cut near the wall jack.

“Landlines are down,” he’d said.

The slight fluttering of the curtain caught my attention. I pulled the panel aside, real panic setting in. The windows were barred from the inside.

“Your room is ready.”

I whirled around, hand flying to my chest. He stood less than a few feet away from me. The firelight provided better illumination than the foyer, better highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You look tired.” I said it without thinking. Did he still get cranky when tired? Maybe that was to blame for his dark mood. “Sorry,” I said when his stare hardened further.

My fingers twitched with the urge to touch the thin line of scar tissue along his hairline. I wanted to press my lips against it in apology for not being strong enough to save him.

He turned on his heels, clearly expecting me to follow.

Trailing him down the second-floor hall, I noted how he walked with military precision. Not even the keys at his waist jingled.

Antique wall sconces barely lit our way; a few of them flickered, one going out completely.

We passed many closed doors. The locks on them were warded, which explained the singular skeleton key on his key ring. He gestured for me to enter the open door at the end of the hall. I stepped inside, ignoring the alarm bells going off in my head.

The opulent bedroom had been recently cleaned. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air. Odd, seeing as how I showed up unexpectedly, and he hadn’t left me alone long enough to clean a room of this size.

“Were you expecting company?” I asked.

“No.”

I looked around for my things, but they weren’t on the bed or in the sitting area. They weren’t on the nightstands either. Maybe they were in the bathroom or the closet, I told myself, knowing in my gut they weren’t.

I took my time walking over to the window, not wanting to give away how anxious I was. I had a view of the front yard, realizing this was the window he’d been looking out of when I arrived at the gate. Had I caught him in the middle of cleaning?

My intention was to gauge the distance from the window to the front lawn.

With the front door locked from the inside, I needed alternative ways out if it came to it.

Jumping from this high up might not have been a problem with the snow there to cushion my fall.

But then I noticed the window was nailed shut.

My stomach sank. I turned to the doorway, where he waited with a darkened gaze.

“Where are my things?” I managed.

“There’s no signal. They’re useless to you.”

“I guess I’m just used to having them near me.” I forced a smile. It slipped away when I spotted the key he now held in his hand. The curtain billowed away from the window as a stiff draft seeped in through the chipped frame. I shivered, keeping my gaze tied to his.

He was so beautiful. Fierce, brave, and protective. I ran my fingers along my bruised jaw, understanding now that it hadn’t played a role in him letting me in.

“He’s a protector.”

I could see that now. Could see it in every action he’d taken since I arrived. But he was their protector, not mine. I realized I was afraid of him, because while I would never hurt him, for them , he would eviscerate me.

“I don’t think I’m ready to go to bed just yet. Maybe we can go back downstairs.”

He stared at me with a blank expression, hand moving to the bulge in his waistband. I hadn’t noticed it before. His shirt had been untucked just enough to camouflage the butt of the gun.

The entry wound at the back of my skull ached with phantom remembrance.

I licked my lips, asking a question I already knew the answer to. “Am I your prisoner?”

“Yes.” His monotone inflection hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes said he relished the fact.

“Well,” I started with more bravado than I felt, “do I get to know the name of the man holding me captive?”

“He sees himself as the brave one.”

“Or are you afraid of me knowing? Think I might tell someone once I get out of here?” I fisted my trembling hands behind my back.

A spark of challenge, and maybe even pity, lit his eyes, as if he wanted to say I wouldn’t be making it out of here alive. “Sparrow,” he whispered.

“His name is Sparrow. I met him once, only I didn’t know it at the time.”

“The gatekeeper,” I breathed to myself, right before he closed the door and locked me in.