Page 72 of These White Lies
A low growl emanates from Brady’s chest.
“I’m fin… It doesn’t bother me.” It’s true, the betrayal doesn’t hurt anymore. “We didn’t have a marriage anymore. It was more about business and having a date for functions, but… I hate thinking about the years I wasted. Years I might have found a man who made me feel… and now people are after me…” My nerves are making me babble. My eyes drift to Brady’s strong profile, and as if he feels my perusal, he squeezes my hand.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” I say immediately.
We walk half a block before Brady slows near a tall iron gate covered in ivy. Beyond the low attached fence is a grand Greek Revival mansion with soaring white columns and a sweeping staircase, fronted by manicured gardens; a brick path curves behind the house toward a smaller building that was likely once the carriage house.
“Keith’s apartment is on the second floor of that building,” Brady says. I follow his gaze to the smaller structure.
We walk several houses past, and stop again. Brady pretends to take a picture of me with the house in the background. Then he leads me back to the front.
He leans down, his mouth near my ear. “Our luck is holding. It doesn’t look like anyone is home at the main house. No cars,and there are Joro spiderwebs over the doors, so no one in or out for a few days.”
His deep voice slides down my spine, and then, to my complete shock, his mouth covers mine. His lips are soft as they move delicately over mine, making no move to deepen the kiss. My hands clutch at the front of his shirt, holding him close, fighting the urge to arch into him.
He pulls back, just enough for me to see the edge of a smirk.
“What are you doing?” I breathe.
“Keeping up our cover, Firefly.”
He pushes the gate open and guides me in close against his side.
“It’s a lot nicer than I thought it’d be,” I mutter, as we step onto the brick path. Bitter resentment burns in my chest. Keith hadn’t offered a dime in restitution for our clients.
Inside, the apartment smells faintly of dust and mildew. A quick search of the main room and tiny kitchen reveals nothing more exciting than a drawer full of plastic-wrapped utensils and menus from local restaurants. No laptop. No mail. Nothing to give the smallest hint that Keith spent much time here.
We move through the bedroom. I pick up a stack of glossy magazines from the dresser and grimace. “Keith didn’t read magazines. Especially not these.”
Brady leans over my shoulder. “Forbes, Vanity Fair, GQ? That’s out of character?”
“Definitely,” I respond. “I never saw him read anything that wasn’t in digital form.
“Bring them,” he says, moving to the bedside table.
I make a face when I see the only items in the drawer are a box of condoms and a half-bottle of lube. “Gross.”
Brady doesn’t answer, continuing to search the room methodically. He moves the bedside table away from the wall and pulls the drawers out, running his hands along theundersides before repeating the same action with the dresser. He even flips the mattress off its base and inspects it, looking for any sign of anomaly. After he’s put all the furniture back in their original positions, he returns to the center of the main room.
Disappointment sits like a rock in my stomach. I’d been so sure the answer would be here.
“If nothing is here?—”
Brady holds up a hand. He turns in a painfully slow circle, his eyes touching every inch of the room, before striding to the window.
Shoving his hand into the fake moss at the base of the artificial Ficus standing there, he pulls out a burner phone.
My mouth drops open. “How did you know?”
“There is no other decoration in the entire place. Why would he have a decorative plant?”
“That’s impressive,” I admit, my lips ticking up.
“I know,” he says with a wink. Patting the moss back in place, he scans the room one more time and drops the black phone into his bag. “Let’s go.”
A low, uneasy hum settles in my mind as we head for the narrow staircase, and I send up a silent wish that this phone will hold the answers we need.
