“I didn’t see any cameras in your apartment.” Why would he need security? He lived in the Georgetown neighborhood. Not the safest place to be, but it was mostly industrial, not considered a high crime area. Who’d break in? The apartment was barren aside from his flat screen.
“You won’t see any here when I’m finished.” He pulled turkey from between the white bread and popped it in his mouth.
“How do you know this stuff?” I asked. Why did he feel the need to force it down my throat?
He didn’t look at me, but his jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. “The shit I know would blow your mind.” The wrinkles in his forehead deepened.
“I don’t know anything about you, Mr. Reed. Besides the fact you are obscenely gorgeous and way too smart to work for Wallace Cruse. Seriously. What’s your deal?” I was half joking.
He wasn’t.
He responded with an icy glare. He wasn’t going to answer me, but he contemplated the idea. I could see it on his face. Damn, his eyes cut through me like swords. Distracting as hell.
“Where’s your computer? I need to connect you to the system. Your cell, too, so you can keep tabs from anywhere.”
He changed the subject again. I wanted to bang my fist on the table and demand his life story. Instead, I crossed my arms and slouched in my seat. “Is this necessary?” Had the spirit of my overprotective, overbearing, dead father possessed Franklin’s body?
A loud buzz came from his left butt cheek. With a grunt, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, headed towards the balcony, stopped short, then stomped out the front door.
Feeling ten levels of irritated, I tossed his half-eaten lunch in the trash and headed for the guest bedroom. I tried to make myself useful while Mr. Moody Pants took care of yet another call meant for nobody’s ears but his. Unleashing my frustrations on the bedding, I tossed pillows on the floor and stripped the mattress with dramatic flair.
The private calls were beginning to unnerve me. What was he hiding? What was I not supposed to hear? It wasn’t any of my business. I held no rights to him or his private life. We’d spent the last twenty-four hours together, and he disappeared every time his phone buzzed.
I wasn’t getting the warm and fuzzies I’d expected after doing the things we did in my shower. On my bed. His couch.
Oh crap. Just thinking about it made me weak in the knees.
I bundled up the sheets and comforter and tripped over Franklin’s duffel. My foot got caught in the damned handle, and I crashed to the floor with a loud thud. My knees took the brunt of the fall. The bedding protected my face from some serious carpet burn. Thank goodness, no one was around to witness my lack of grace. I untangled my foot from his duffel strap and crammed the spilled contents back into the bag. Thank the sweet heavens above, he wasn’t there to witness my shameful act of rummaging through his private property.
What did I hope to find? Hadn’t a clue. The opportunity presented itself. Who was I to deny fate, even if it was a result of my own clumsiness?
I found nothing out of the ordinary. Toiletries, bottle of Gendarme, few changes of clothes. It smelled of him. Warm, fresh, and all male. I was about to shove the bag back under the bed when something caught my eye, laying in the corner of the room next to the jeans I’d tried to rip off him last night. A wallet-sized picture of me and Jacob. The black-and-white image was fuzzy, like it’d been taken from a considerable distance. I was laughing in the photo. He’d probably told me one of his goofy jokes. We were in the cafe down the street, enjoying a cup of coffee.
My heart raced. Shit. The last time Jacob and I had visited the cafe was at least three weeks ago. Alarms blared in my head. This weekend needed to be over. I folded the jeans and placed them on the bed.
The picture? Oh, I would keep that for a while.
* * * *
The longer I waited for him to come back, the higher the red bar on my anger meter rose. His muffled voice rose and fell outside, his footsteps tracked up and down the hallway. At one point, I peeked through the peephole to find him standing in front of Jacob’s door, phone to his ear, shoulders taut, his free hand clenched at his side. Judging by his stance, the phone convo was not a happy one.
Why would he take a picture of me and Jacob? Why the concern with my safety? Who was this whirlwind who’d stormed into my life and decimated the wall I’d lived behind?
Crap.
I’d let this near stranger into my home. Had let him violate me in torturous, pleasurable ways. Had trusted him completely. What a naive dumbass. My father must be doing flip-flops in his grave.
No time like the present to right a wrong. I stomped to the extra bedroom, grabbed his duffel and jeans, and headed for the front door.
I took one last whiff of his dreamy scent, then tossed his shit into the hall.
“I’ve got things to take care of,” I shouted. “Thanks for a lovely weekend.” I slammed the door, flipped both bolts and the chain lock.
Almost immediately, he pounded. I ignored it. Soon, my phone rang. I ignored it as well.
One more knock. Softer this time. I swallowed down the clumps of sand in my throat, then marched away from the temptation that lingered only inches away to finish making the guest bed.
I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of cleaning I could get done when pissed. I vacuumed, dusted, rearranged a closet, cleaned both bathrooms, washed windows. Not the front windows. I didn’t want to look toward the beach, didn’t want to see or be seen. By dinnertime, my arms ached and exhaustion set in, but my house looked like I’d won the Merry Maids lottery.
Franklin hadn’t attempted to contact me. Thank goodness. I wouldn’t have known what to say to him anyway. Monday morning would pose a challenge. I wasn’t one to call in sick for no good reason, but Lordy was I tempted. I contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged the thought away. I couldn’t let my indiscretion with a coworker alter my work ethic any more than it already had.
I wasn’t hungry, but I grabbed my pint of Rocky Road, plopped my tired butt on the couch, and channel surfed my way to zombie land.
Sometime later, I woke with a pint of melted ice cream in my lap and a kink in my neck. I heard voices outside my door and tiptoed over to spy. Before I had a chance to peek, a sharp knock made me squeal and nearly empty my bladder where I stood.
Another knock. “Miss Wood. It’s Detective Waters.”
Knees weak, I drew a deep breath and unlatched my three new locks.
“Hi. What’s going on?”
Over his shoulder, several uniformed men huddled in a tight circle. Jacob’s door was ajar and the police tape drifted across the floor like a drunk snake.
“May I have a word?” His large smile put me at ease until he snickered.
“Of course, come in.” I moved aside and gestured for him to enter.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at my chin. His gaze darted to the drippy container on my coffee table, then back to me. “Rocky Road. It was my wife’s favorite.” A deep dimple formed on the left side of his face. He returned the hanky to the breast pocket of his shirt.
My cheeks burned hotter than a freshly toasted marshmallow.
Wise brown eyes scrutinized me. “Are you alone, Miss Wood?”
“Um, yes.” Gulp.
“I’m afraid we have a situation next door.” As he spoke, he studied the living room. Searched. Took inventory.
“Why? What happened? Is it Jacob?” For the third time that day, my hair stood on end. For the first time in three years,