Page 13 of Painted Scars
I pat his soft, silky head while I carry him to the study.
Grayson obtained schematics of her house from the planning authority yesterday, and we memorized them before leaving the bunker. Kitchen, dining, lounge, laundry, bathroom, and study downstairs. Bedrooms and bathroom upstairs.
I nudge open a drawer, and PJ3 wriggles. “This better be worth the hair my shirt’s collecting. ‘Cause I’ll send you the dry-cleaning bill.”
PJ3 flops in the crook of my arm, seeming to enjoy being carried around and fed like he’s the damn sultan. Who’d have thought I could charm the little beast?
“Aww, look, it’s Recon Daddy.” Grayson smirks as he enters the study. He’s in his element bugging the house, hands steadier, eyes sharper than I’ve seen them in months. It almost feels like my friend, tech guy, and shadow are back.
I flip him the bird and balance PJ3 on my hip to plug the scanner into her computer and clone her hard drive.
While the cloner does its job, I rifle through a tray of receipts, invoices, and utility bills. Nothing stands out to me… except her music collection housing every Celine Dion recording known to man.
PJ3 gets restless and demands more attention. Pats comfort him while I check her notebook. Handwritten notes from her sources, all coded, none identified. This girl is smart and covers her tracks. I pull out my phone to take pictures of the pages, as well as Post-It notes stuck to the bottom of her computer screen to analyze later.
Finding nothing incriminating makes my pulse scale higher. Either she’s innocent or a goddamn professional at covering her tracks. It’s making my skin itchy to catch her at her own game.
A sharp knock rattles the front door. PJ3 goes nuclear, barking and wriggling.
Grayson’s frozen halfway through fitting a mic to the back of her computer. “You think someone saw us sneak in or heard the dog?”
I pull out my gun. “I’ll check it out.”
Light on my feet, I creep out to the foyer. Gun pressed to the wood, I peer through the spy hole. The goddamn old neighbor. Gray, thinning hair combed to the side. Sour expression baked into his face. Phone angled at the door as he rattles the flyscreen with enough force to make the hinges groan and rile PJ3 into a barking frenzy. Safe to say he’s not here to borrow sugar. The asshole’s baiting the dog as if it’s a twisted hobby. I catalogue his face into memory.
I try to calm the mutt with a treat, but he scratches the door like he wants to chase the dick from his property and shit on his lawn.
The neighbor smiles triumphantly, presses a button on his phone, and marches down the porch stairs.
I’ve got enough shit on my plate to deal with, but if this jackass is stirring up hell for Kate, I want to know why he’s not six feet under, given her connection to the Romans.
I sheath my gun and lift the squirming PJ3 into my arms. “Me too, buddy.” I rub his head, and get back to my mission.
“Problem?” Grayson whispers from the office doorway.
“What kind of neighborhood menace gets his kicks picking a fight with Kate’s six-pound banshee and records it?” It makes me wonder what else he films, and my pulse doesn’t drop.
Grayson stabs a hand through his mop of ash-blond hair. “Do you want me to hack him too?”
“Once we finish upstairs,” I tell him.
We’ve got a recon date with Kate’s bedroom. I hate how the thought of breathing her scent in again affects me.
I take the lead upstairs, because some part of me wants to check that there’s nothing personal lying around, no underwear on her floor for Grayson to see.
I come across a shrine to fantasy romance. Fairy lights halo the window nook, and I picture her curled under the amber glow, reading there. Fake black leaves and red roses drape over a color-coded bookshelf. Skulls, fantasy goblets, blades, and mythological creature ornaments adorn the shelves. Why does it unnerve me that I want to keep looking?
I run a finger over 3D printed signs ofMorally Grey AlleyandFrom Once Upon a Time to Once He Tied Her Up.
A postcard. Naked. Erect. Dripping cum. Jesus, that’s not art, it’s porn. I turn away before Grayson catches me staring and drops another quip, or I get hard imagining Kate pleasuring herself while looking at it.
PJ3 groans when I move to her bedside table. Half-burnedSmut & Sagecandles perfume the space with Bergamot and Sandalwood. Her comforter is a patchwork quilt of cool purples, pinks, blues, and reds that contrast with the black edges. Heart-shaped pillows and another dick plushy rest against the bedframe.
Everything about this room undoes my order. Nothing good can come of unraveling. I’m here to find evidence, not dwell on the past.
Desperate to find a smoking gun, I tear through every cupboard and drawer of her dresser. Socks, T-shirts, a matching onesie set for her and her dog. I come out covered in glitter. In her.
Don’t make it personal.
