The Housemaid's Secret (The Housemaid, #2)

by Freida McFadden

It all started with a simple cleaning job. And now it might end with my blood being mopped off the cabin floor.

I have made an incredibly bad judgment call. I have underestimated an extremely dangerous person. And now I will pay the ultimate price.

It seems somewhat contradictory that somebody who has eight different kinds of moisturizer in her bathroom also owns a dehydrator, but who am I to judge?

“This is so unfair!” Amber cries. “I breastfed her for over a week! Isn’t that worth anything?”

Because for a while, the cleaning jobs I took weren’t exactly cleaning only. I used to do another service for several of the families I cleaned for. But I don’t do that anymore. I haven’t in years.

I’d love to have a six-month buffer in the bank. Hell, I’d love to have a two-month buffer. Instead, I’ve got less than two hundred dollars.

I sit down beside Douglas on the sectional, sinking deep into the soft leather. Oh my God, this is the nicest thing I’ve ever felt against my skin. I could leave Brock and just marry this sofa instead, and all my needs would be met.

I’ve gotten involved with my employer only one time before, and I will never, ever go down that road again. I’d rather yank my own tooth out with a pair of pliers.

Another room seems to include a wall full of pillows. I guess that’s the pillow room.

“This,” he says, “is the bystander effect. It’s a social psychology phenomenon in which individuals are less likely to offer help to a victim when there are other people present.”

My last boyfriend was the one who convinced me to follow the career path to social work—so I could help people in need while staying within the confines of the law. You need to help everyone, Millie. It is what I love about you. He really understood me. Unfortunately, he’s not around anymore.

But I’ve never seen this before. All the dirty laundry is folded.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about that apartment that makes me uneasy.

“Maybe she’s got a little green ribbon around her neck, and if someone unties it, her head will fall off?”

“I forgot how comfortable jeans are,” she comments. “You don’t wear jeans?” “Douglas hates them.” She scrunches up her nose. “That’s why all I am bringing with me are jeans!”

I even purchased a bunch of men’s clothing that she could wash. (Although the first day I stupidly forgot to unfold it all. I’m sure she thought we were a bunch of psychopaths who fold our dirty laundry.)

“But…” I sputter. “But how could he do that?” “Well, when Doug explained it to me, he mentioned something about you being a lying, manipulative bitch, and he didn’t want you to have any of his money.”