Page 78 of Pretty Little Threats

Dad hired multiple PIs when the cops failed to find her killer. They never figured out what happened. But someone has to know something. Vittoria Miller was one of the richest women in the world. Something niggles at the back of my mind, but if I let myself think about Mom for too long, I won’t have time to search Dare’s house again.

Leaving the sketchbook behind, I return to Dare’s room—the one he claims is ours—and shower and change into a pair of simple leggings and a soft shirt. I eye the bed, wondering why he insists on me sleeping with him. It’s not like we trade midnight secrets, and with my new vow of abstinence, we’re not having sex.

Does he want me close?

No. That’s dumb. He’s doing it to get inside my head.

Pushing all thoughts of Dare aside, I start my search. Now that everything is set for Futurum’s grand opening, I can finally get started on finding something to use against Dare. Something real. Maybe in the process, I can find where he hid the murder weapon. If I find that, most of my problems are solved.

Although I did a quick and frantic search of the home the first day I was here, I’m more methodical now, taking my time to check under, around, behind, and everywhere in between. This time, I’m focused.

There’s probably nothing useful, but I’m determined to at least verify that thought. The comforter and sheets are still rumpled from our sleep. I glare at the bed as I head toward it, sinking to my knees and slipping my hands beneath the mattress and box spring, smoothing my palmbetween the headboard and the wall. My fingers brush over the cool metal of a gun.

Not damning evidence, by any means, but it’s good to know that there’s a weapon close by. I leave the gun and bed and turn to the closet. Ties. Expensive suits and shoes. More clothes than any one man would ever need. A drawer full of joggers. I consider throwing them away, but then I’d only be depriving myself of that gorgeous view. If I can’t fuck the man, at least I can appreciate his body.

The bathroom, the guest rooms, the closets, the laundry room. Nothing. Of course, I didn’t expect it to be so simple.

Aside from a quick breakfast, the next three hours are spent searching every inch of Dare’s home. Drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, room after room. My heart slams against my rib cage and my breaths are heavy by the time I stop outside of his office.

I’ve searched through everything else. All that’s left is the room that might get me in the most trouble if I’m caught, but some risks are worth it. There’s still plenty of time left in the workday. If I don’t do it now, I might not get the chance again.

I take a breath and push inside. Except for the desk, everything is meticulously organized. The books on the shelves behind the desk aren’t sorted in any particular way, but the bookshelves are free of clutter. The throw blanket for the leather chair in the corner of the room is perfectly folded. The plants are all healthy and happy.

The space is almost inviting.

Looking through every door, behind every book, takes time, but I’m determined, and after an hour, I’m left empty-handed. The knife that slit Eric’s throat is nowhere to be found.

The filing cabinet and safe both have some typeof fancy biometric lock. I snap pictures and send them to Cassia, in hopes she’ll be able to help me break them.

Cassia

No can do, love. Those are retina scanners. I’m good, but I’m not that good.

Rose

No worries. Did you call Orion?

Yeah. He’s found a link between a shell company and the collection company.

Orion is the best of the best. He’ll help you figure it out.

Neither of us brings up what happens once she figures out who was responsible for ruining her dad’s life and indirectly leading to his death. Locking the device, I slip the phone into my pocket and pick through the papers covering Dare’s desk. Corporate paperwork. A contract or two. Nothing I can use against him. The computer monitor is sleeping, but two clicks of the spacebar wakes it.

The lock screen demands a passcode. I don’t have enough information to try and guess. If there’s one thing I don’t understand, it’s Dare. I have no idea what he’d use. I don’t know any significant dates...wait. Actually, I know one date.

The day his parents died.

One attempt won’t hurt anything.

I enter the date, rolling my eyes when the computer chirps in protest. “Of course not,” I grumble to myself.

“What are you doing?”

My head snaps in Dare’s direction. His eyes are blazing with fury, and he blocks the only exit from the room. Pulseskittering, I hold his angry stare and keep my mask of boredom in place. There’s no point in playing innocent.

“Snooping,” I admit, despite the icy fear trickling through my veins.

What will he do now that he’s found me here, clearly searching for something to use against him?

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