Page 15 of Hidden While In Sight

Anne had squirmed beneath him, trying to hump him. He hadn’t satisfied her from the way she blew out a frustrated breath, and when he pulled out and stood, fastening his pants, it was obvious he didn’t intend to.

“Seriously, Colin?” Anne had asked, pushing up to her elbows.

“After you mouthed off earlier?” Ashford lifted an eyebrow. “You can finish yourself off.” Then he’d left. Not just the den, but the house—heading back to work, Diego assumed.

He’d been uninterested in watching Anne finger herself to orgasm and had searched the screens for Hannah, who had returned to the gym. She was using the treadmill this time, which wasn’t her typical machine of choice. She ran on it as if something was chasing her.

When she finished, she’d returned to the den and sat, where she always sat, as if she’d forgotten her husband had fucked somebody else on the couch, even though the fabric probably smelled of her nanny’s pussy juices.

Hannah read the goddamn Bible on that couch for a while. Diego didn’t know how long; he was too annoyed to keep track.

She’d risen, putting the Bible away neatly like she always did, and had gone for a swim.

Which Diego realized was unusual. Hannah normally swam right after her sweaty workouts, using it to cool herself off, but today she’d sat on the couch first. He chuckled grimly. She probably figured workout sweat wasn’t any worse than sex-and-ass-crack sweat.

He wanted to study Hannah’s face again, but no way in hell was he watching her swim.

Instead, Diego sat and waited, drumming his fingers and furious at her, at Ashford, at the slutty nanny, at everything. He was losing his fucking mind.

So of course Ramiro called him.

He answered, snarling something unintelligible into the phone and cussing out his friend in his mind.

“Bad day?” Ramiro asked with a laugh.

Diego swallowed his next snarl, pushing away from the desk to grab one of his bottled waters. He guzzled the whole thing while he listened to Ramiro’s grating laughter.

He tossed the empty bottle. The clank of its plastic hitting the waste basket was highly unsatisfying. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wanting to break something.

“You done?” he barked into the phone.

“Shit, you really are in a bad mood,” Ramiro said. “Blue balls?”

“Fuck off,” Diego returned, walking toward the house’s inner hallway. He would just glance through the glass doors to make sure Hannah hadn’t drowned.

Ramiro sighed. “The client called. Their clock is ticking down. Anything yet?”

“Nothing you want to hear.”

“Will there be anything?” Ramiro asked. “Or are we wasting our time? Should I pull you?”

Diego’s throat tightened, and his hand went numb where it clutched the phone. “I only leave one way.”

Ramiro’s tone grew hard. “That’s not what the client wants, Diego. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“That’s the endgame, Ram. Figure out how it’s going to work.”

“The wife must be a gorgeous piece of ass,” Ramiro said.

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” The words were out before Diego could blink.

The line went silent.

Then Diego did blink. He blinked again, the fury still there but somehow removed, as if a film separated him from it; a thin film, stretching as if it might break.

He raised his hand, dragging it over his face. “Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mumbled.

Ramiro’s silence drew out.

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