Home > The Conspiracy of Us (The Conspiracy of Us #1)(17)

The Conspiracy of Us (The Conspiracy of Us #1)(17)
Author: Maggie Hall

In case it was one of the men come to escort me downstairs, I zipped the dress up.

The girls were nowhere in sight, but the man who had let us in stood at the top of the staircase.

“Sorry, I’m not ready yet,” I said. I smiled at him, and he reached into his jacket pocket.

He pulled out something that, for a moment, didn’t register. It was too discordant with the marble floors, the dresses, the Bach chiming from the speakers. He stepped toward me, and the overhead light glinted off the object.

Then I knew, but I still didn’t understand.

It was a knife.

CHAPTER 12

I stood frozen, half in and half out of the dressing room. The man moved slow and steady toward me, the dagger—shorter than Stellan’s, but thicker and more menacing—gleaming in his hand. My reflection glittered in his wire-rimmed glasses.

I stumbled back into the dressing room and slammed the door. I snapped the lock shut with shaking fingers, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

The store was almost empty, plus it was late afternoon—the perfect time for a robbery. I just hoped he wouldn’t come after the gowns that were in here with me. There were only a few, and they couldn’t be as valuable as the cash register, or the jewelry, or the merchandise out on the floor.

I held my breath.

The doorknob jiggled hard.

Silence.

Then a crash.

I jumped away. One more crash—a shoulder or a foot slamming into the door. The thin wood splintered down the middle.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

He wouldn’t be going to that much trouble for these dresses. He must not want to leave any witnesses.

And I was trapped.

“Aimee! Elisa!” I forced out. My voice sounded tiny in the emptiness, and there was no answer. Besides the jagged rhythm of my own breath and the tinkle of the music, the shop was deathly silent. Oh God. He might have gotten to them already.

The whimper that came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like me.

One more thud and the man’s foot cracked through the center of the door.

I whipped around, frantic, the adrenaline shooting through me bringing the dressing room into focus. The gleaming mirror, the pink velvet armchair. The smattering of crimson feathers from the red dress that had fluttered to the carpet and fanned out like bloodstains. My own reflection, a small girl with dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves, whose wide, panic-stricken eyes didn’t match her exquisite dress.

Someone was trying to kill me while I was wearing a ball gown. This didn’t happen in real life. But I was pretty sure I wasn’t dreaming, and this wasn’t an action movie. The door cracked further, and bile rose in my throat.

If this was a movie, I would at least try to defend myself.

A tall vase of lilies sat on a table next to the armchair. I ducked behind the chair and grabbed it, the dreamy scent of the flowers surrounding me as I dumped them on the floor, drops of water splattering my bare feet. I held the vase like a baseball bat.

The man yanked away a cracked section of the door, making a hole large enough to reach through to the lock. The door swung open.

He didn’t run at me, didn’t yell, didn’t glance down the stairs to see if anyone had heard my screams. The cold calculation in his eyes was more frightening than rage would have been. Like the eyes of a hunter. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a robbery.

The heavy vase trembled in my hands. “Get away from me!” I screamed.

He toppled the armchair with a casual swipe of his hand. I brought the vase down as hard as I could. It shattered against the side of his head, and I dodged.

I wasn’t quite fast enough. His knife sliced into my shoulder. A scream ripped out of my throat, but I sprinted past him, finally hitting the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the opposite side of the room.

I clutched at my shoulder. Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped onto the white carpet. The crunch of the hunter’s feet on the shards of vase forced me to tear my eyes away from it.

He was between me and the door. He wouldn’t miss next time.

I ducked behind the metal garment rack of rejected dresses and pawed frantically through them for anything I could use to protect myself. I found nothing but vibrant silk and beading, so enchanting a few minutes ago, now mocking me with its uselessness.

The man was halfway across the room. As a last resort, I yanked at the garment rack itself to see if I could pull out a pole or anything to use as a weapon. But when I leaned on it, it moved. It was on wheels, and an idea popped into my head. It wasn’t a very good idea, but it was the only one I had.

When he was just a few feet away, I gripped the end support and shoved the rack as hard as I could.

It smashed into him. The metal vibrated in my hands, and the whole rack toppled with a crash.

I darted toward the door as a flare of silver snaked out from the mound of brilliant fabric. I dodged the knife, and he missed.

Blood thundered through my veins, propelling me down the stairs. “Help! Aimee! Elisa!” I screamed. “Help!”

Now I wished my shopping trip hadn’t been so private. Silent, faceless mannequins gazed up at me from the sales floor. Beyond them, though, was the foyer and the door that led out of the shop.

If I could get outside, I could get away.

That square of sunlight pushed my legs faster. Almost there. Almost there!

A few steps from the bottom, my foot caught the gold dress’s mermaid hem. I grabbed for the railing, but it was too late. My feet flew out from under me, and I launched through the air. I barely had time to throw up an arm before my head smashed into the ground.

Pain exploded in a thousand glass shards in my brain. I lay on the ground, crumpled, choking. Air wouldn’t go into my lungs. Run! my mind screamed. Run! My body wouldn’t listen.

I forced myself to my hands and knees, and the blood running down my arm streaked a perfect river of red between a black tile and the white one next to it. My vision went blurry at the edges.

“Help,” I sobbed to no one. “Please.” I clawed at the floor and forced myself not to pass out. If I passed out, I was dead.

The clang of heavy footsteps on the stairs turned the pain in my head to wild panic. I crawled to a couch and clung to it, dragging myself dizzily to my feet as the killer reached the bottom of the stairs.

The room spun like a carnival ride. He stood between me and the front door. I scanned the store frantically, and under a staircase in the back, another door glowed like a mirage.

   
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