Uncovering You 6: Deliverance (12 page)

Hell! They probably conspired on the whole good-cop, bad-cop thing.

Anger builds inside me. At Rose,
and
at Jeremy. He’d arranged the whole thing with her so that I would think I had a friend. He’d arranged it all with her so that I would think I have an accomplice.

At least Jeremy was up front about everything he’s done to me. Only Rose was cowardly enough to feign ignorance.

Fuck!
It means my initial suspicions about her were right. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I should have trusted my gut. I should never have fallen victim to my need for a friend, a confidant
,
someone I could
trust
—or, whom I
thought
I could trust—when in reality, that person was the one I needed to watch out for most.

Knowing as much as I do about Jeremy, I am sure he would have had everything about my imprisonment planned, down to the most infinitesimal detail. Of course he wouldn’t allow some random housekeeper to know about me, to communicate with me, after going through such pains to control every other facet of my being.

That is the only way Rose’s change in attitude this morning makes any sense. She saw me without the collar and freaked out, because… because…

Because Jeremy never warned her
.

He never intended to take the collar off on the trip. He’s deviated from his plan. And Rose wasn’t expecting that.

I stop again. Fuck! I need a drink! I look around the kitchen, searching for a bottle of scotch, or wine, or something strong enough to steady my nerves. I’ve never been a big drinker—obviously not, going through what I did with my mother. However, time spent with Jeremy at the villa, with the abundance of wine, seems to have whet my appetite for liquor.

I find what I’m looking for in the top shelf of an enormous cabinet. I’m not tall enough to reach the row of bottles, however. I think of the bar in the basement, right beside the pool, and consider trekking down there instead—when the sound of movement makes me turn my head.

Speak of the devil. It’s Charles, walking into the kitchen, carrying a full crate of frozen meat.

He stops when he sees me. A look of surprise flashes along his face, and then he smiles wide.

“Lilly,” he says after a moment. “It is good to see you.”

His voice is thick and he speaks very slowly. The pronunciation of syllables is off enough that it takes me a few extra seconds to make out the words. He speaks a tad too loudly.

But at least he
does
speak! I beam at him in excitement, all need for a drink forgotten. Finally, I have someone else to talk to, someone else who knows the goings-on of the Stonehart estate from the inside!

“Charles!” I exclaim. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.” I look down at the crate. “Why do you have so much meat?”

He smiles at me, then shakes his head, and points to his lips. “I have to see your mouth to understand you,” he says. It sounds like he’s talking through a mouthful of soup.

I hit the side of my head and feel like an idiot. Well,
duh
.

“I’m sorry,” I say, brushing my hair aside to give him a clear view of my face. “I said I’m very happy to see you. I wanted to thank you for a wonderful breakfast.”

He stands tall at the praise. “It was nothing,” he tells me. “It is a pleasure to cook for a beauty like you.”

This time, it’s my turn to blush at the compliment. I give him a shy smile and run a hand through my hair.

“Did you come in here looking for something?” he asks me. He looks at the open cabinet behind me, evidence of my liquor search. “Those,” he says, his eyes glinting with mirth, “are all cooking wines.”

Cooking wine. Cooking wine! Of course the
kitchen
would be stocked with
cooking
wine, and not real drinks.

“Or are you still hungry?” he continues. “Jeremy told me of the provisions about your weight, but…” he winks at me, “…I think I can make an exception. This time, for you, if you can keep a secret.”

“There are enough secrets going around without us adding to them,” I mutter under my breath.

Charles clears his throat. “Sorry?” he asks.

I shake my head and speak clearly. “Nothing. You call him Jeremy, too?”

“Of course.” Charles frowns. “He calls me Charles, and I call him Jeremy. Why would anything else make sense?”

“So he’s not Mr. Stonehart?”

Charles’s eyebrows go up. And then, he begins to laugh. It’s a bit of a strange sound, coming from a deaf man. Somehow, its sheer honesty is comforting. I start to smile.

“Oh, no,” he tells me. “No, no. I’ve known the lad since he was just a child, no taller than my knee.” He holds a hand parallel to the ground at knee-level. “He was little Jeremy then, and even though he’s grown much since…” Charles’s hand slowly moves up until it’s hovering above his head, “He will always be little Jeremy to me.”

He winks again. “But do not tell him I mentioned that. He
hates
to be called little anything.”

I stare at Charles in amazement. He knew Jeremy when he was a kid? That means he watched him grow, saw him when he was still under his father’s influence. Hell, it means he knew him longer than Rose!

And he is so unguarded about it. Is Charles the treasure trove of information I need? Is he the one I’ve been looking for to give me an unfiltered, unabridged look at Jeremy Stonehart’s history?

“Charles,” I say carefully. “If I ask you a question, would you be willing to answer honestly?”

“Honesty is what I prefer,” he tells me. “So I will do my best. What would you like to know? Where I keep the sugar cookies, maybe?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No. Nothing like that. It’s something simple: How did you come under Jeremy’s employment?”

Charles looks affronted. “That is what you had to preface by asking for the truth? I’d be happy to tell you
all
I know of Jeremy.” He makes a wide, arcing gesture above his head with both hands. “You have been with us long enough that I do not think you will be running anywhere. Employment, you want to know? That is easy. He hired me away from his father.”

His father
. Oh my God, will I finally learn about the man who had such influence, such sway, over Jeremy Stonehart?

“You knew his father?” I ask, astonished. “What was his name? What was he like?”

“Ah,” Charles spreads his hands and offers an apologetic look. “That is one thing I have been told not to speak about. Jeremy does not like reminders of his life before he crafted this—” Charles motions around the monstrous kitchen, “—for himself. I am sorry, Lilly.”

“That’s okay,” I say weakly. Damn, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. “What
can
you tell me about Jeremy, then? Was he always so…” I search for the right word. “… Domineering?”

“Oh, no,” Charles chuckles. “He was definitely not always like this. Everything changed the first year he went to college.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well,” Charles leans back against the countertop. “’Little Jeremy’ was his nickname growing up. Because he was the youngest. Do you know about his brothers?”

I nod. “He told me.”

“There were three boys, all together. His brothers were born just two years apart. They were inseparable, and brilliant. They were amazing sportsmen. They made their father very proud. In school, they got the highest grades. Anything they set their minds to, they accomplished.”

“That sounds a lot like someone I know,” I say. “What were their names?”

“Robert,” Charles says. “And Christopher. Robert was the oldest.”

“And Jeremy?” I ask. “How old were they when he was born?”

Charles thinks for a moment. “Let’s see… I remember Robert’s acceptance into the prestigious prep school around the time Jeremy was born. So that would have made him… thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there?”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s quite an age difference.”

“It is,” Charles agrees. “That’s what started the nickname. It was used lovingly at first. But, I remember, as they all grew up in the same house… it gained more and more scorn.”

“Why?” I ask. “I know Jeremy did not get along with his brothers or father. But I don’t know
why
that was.”

Charles hesitates. “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he hedges.

“Oh, come on,” I pout. I like Charles. I like his unassuming attitude. His honesty is a breath of fresh air. I also think he likes me. So, I play up that angle. “Please?” I beg.

He looks around the room. “Okay,” he finally nods. “But you must promise not a word of this gets to Rose. If she finds out what I’m saying…”

“My lips are sealed.” I make a zipping motion across them. “I swear. This’ll be between me and you.” I pause, remembering something. “But… you do know about the cameras. Right?”

“It is not Jeremy I am worried about,” Charles says, shaking his head. “Besides, there are no cameras in here.”

I blink. “What?”

He smiles. “A chef requires complete privacy to master
his creations. Otherwise, how would I be able to surprise you with my cooking?”

“You’re serious?” I say, feeling super skeptical. “There are really no cameras in here?” I remember Rose pausing not five feet away from where we stand and glancing to the corner of the ceiling, the time she gave me my first tour of the house.

“Well, okay,” Charles corrects. “Maybe there
are
cameras. For security, at night. But when I am working, they are never on.” He steps away from the counter and motions for me to follow. “Would you like to see?”

“See what?”

“The tapes,” he says casually. He beckons me after him. “Come.”

We walk toward an unassuming corner of the room. There’s a pantry door there. Charles stops in front of it, gives me a wink, and pulls it open.

The inside is… stocked with groceries. I look at him, confused. But then he leans in, feels around the edge for something, and a moment later, the back wall is splitting in two. The hum of a motor fills the air.

Through the back is a much smaller version of the command center I found in Jeremy’s bedroom. I get shivers as I remember the punishment I endured for having gone in there without his permission.

Charles looks at me with pride. “You can see everything from here.”

He walks in. I hesitate a moment before following. This feels like a sort of transgression...

Then I remember that I am not collared any longer. The “locked doors” rule might still stand, but I am not breaking it. The door is open. Charles invited me in.

The screens flicker to life and I see the entire mansion: The outside yard. The bedrooms. My old bathroom.

I stop short. If Charles has access to that… does it mean that he has seen me naked? Has he seen everything that Jeremy has done?

He notices me staring at the screen of the sunroom. “Do not worry, Lilly,” he says. “Certain feeds are programmed to turn off when they detect a person in the room. The bedroom, for one.” He points at Jeremy’s bed. “And the bathrooms, and closets. I do not spy.”

I look at him… and find that I believe him. Charles has such an honest face. It’d be hard to imagine him lying to me.

“My access is restricted to certain hours, as well,” he continues. “Jeremy can tell when I am here. It’s all quite safe, I assure you.

“Now… let me see.” He taps the keyboard keys. “Look at the main screen, please.”

I do. All the others turn off, and the video feeds collect on the big one. Charles points to one showing the kitchen, “Do you see that?” He asks.

“Yes,” I frown. “But it’s on. You said it’d be off.”

He grins like a kid hiding a big secret. “Wait here,” he tells me.

Then he rushes out the door, and stops right where we were talking before. He waves. “Do you see me?”

I look back at the screen… and find it blank. The kitchen is empty. “It’s a freeze shot!” I exclaim.

Charles runs back. He looks at me expectantly. Crap! I’d forgotten that he needs to see my lips to hear me speak. “I said that it’s a freeze shot,” I repeat.

He smiles and puts a finger in the air. “Not quite,” he says. He points at the spinning kitchen fan. “It’s on a perpetual loop.”

“So when we’re in there… when we’re talking… it’s really off the record?”

Charles nods. “Yes.”

We leave the pantry and go back to our previous spot. Charles starts unloading the meats. I bend down to help him, and am super grateful when he doesn’t protest.

Sometimes, it feels good just to help another person out, and not to be waited on every second of every day.

“So you were telling me about Jeremy’s brothers?” I remind him.

“Right,” Charles says. “Robert and Christopher were the pride of the family. Jeremy… Jeremy was the black sheep. His brothers were tall and handsome. And he was--how do I say? Scrawny. Very… gaunt.”

I blink. I can’t picture that of the man I know. “Really?” I ask.

Charles nods. “He tried hard to be like his brothers. When he was old enough to understand what they did, he wanted to emulate them in everything. He looked up to them. Oh! How he looked up to them.”

“When did that change?”

“It changed,” Charles says, “when he came home.”

I frown. “Came home? What do you mean?”

“Jeremy has a learning disability,” Charles tells me.

“What?” I’m shocked, taken aback.
That can’t be right. Not the man I know.

“You did not know?” Charles looks surprised. Then he chuckles. “Well, I guess you would not think it when you see him today.

“Yes, Jeremy always struggled with speech. And with reading. Little Jeremy had a lisp, and a stutter. I could never tell, of course, but I know from others.”

Whoa
! This is way more information than I ever imagined I’d receive. Jeremy Stonehart, the man with possibly the sexiest voice on the planet, having a
lisp
? Jeremy Stonehart, having a
stutter
?

If those are things he had to overcome… Jesus, it adds so much more depth to him. No wonder control is important. He’s had to learn to control his speech to make it sound the way it does.