Page 13 of Fear the Reaper
Though we didn’t have much to say to each other at what would be our home for a while, we sat around, picking at dried fruits. The crunch filling the silence, threatened to drive me mad.
“Why did you leave the SEALs?” I finally broke the quiet.”
“Looking for a story, Mouthpiece?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s what you are, isn’t? You never minded before.”
“I don’t like anyone calling me that—especially you.”
He leveled his brown gaze on me, expressionless, burning through my soul. “And why am I so different?”
“That’s a dumb thing to ask.” I tossed another dried date into my mouth and bit into it. I had forgotten the horrible taste and frowned. Still, I chewed and swallowed. “But to answer your question—you just are”
Reaper said nothing. He turned to stare at the wall across from us.
“I get it,” I said. “You don’t trust me.”
“Don’t take it personal, Doll. You’re not that special.”
He left me alone in the space then and I couldn’t seem to stop my heart from breaking. I barely knew him, but Reaper’s words tore through me like the world’s sharpest blade.
Maverick “Reaper” Forge
Star’s house was Star.From the paintings hanging on the wall, to the lack of family photos, to the butterflies flying free on the wall behind her bed—all of it told me of a person who didn’t have much love in her life. I would have been in the same boat—except I had the Protectors.
The sterile way the guestrooms sat, with sheets over the furniture spoke to a lack of friends and an almost impossible social circle. When I went through other people’s places, I always had a sense of invading their privacy. With Star, there wasn’t much of anything to invade.
In the bedroom, I trailed my fingers along the side of the few pieces of furniture there and looked behind a picture frame on the wall. The lighting in the ceiling had no way of removing it without leaving a mark and the carbon monoxide detector is a high tech one that made all sort of computer reports to the fire station if anyone tried tampering with it.
The bedroom was clean of any surveillance devices.
I then focused my attention on the kitchen. The room sat open with the living room and dining room. And it told me she didn’t have any friends with children who visited often. Everything was a pristine white and light blue. The cushions sat perfectly on the sofa, the glass figurines were low enough for a child to get at. The painting over the fireplace of a giant orange and black butterfly didn’t surprise me for there seem to be a theme with the creatures.
One picture frame seemed out of order. All the others were perfectly set yet this one was askew. I made a mental note of it, finished my initial search and headed for the kitchen. Here, her personality screamed at me. Everything was stainless. The oven and fridge seemed brand new.
“Did you just renovate?” I asked her.
“No. Why?”
I glanced back to where she stood at the door with her arms folded and shrugged one shoulder. “No reason.” I traced my finger behind the fridge, just at the edge then continued my slow, methodical search and run through of the place.
Once I was satisfied, I led her out of the house, along a back alleyway and to where I’d parked the SUV. We climbed in and I closed the door. “So, what I didn’t want to have happened has.”
“What’s that?” She asked.
“Someone has been in your house.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s a device behind one of the frames in your living room,” I explained, glancing into the rearview mirror. “There’s one in your kitchen under the rim of the island, the end toward the back door, and there’s one in your bathroom upstairs on top of the medicine cabinet.”
I gave her a moment to sort of absorb the news.
“I’m assuming they couldn’t get the light fixtures down to put anything in them because of the way they are set up. But your house is wired for sound.”
“They were in my house.” It was more of a statement than a question on her part. “They were there, in the one place I consider sacred to me. How am I supposed to get over that?”
