Page 3 of The Wages of Sin

I silently nodded, even though, just like everyone else, scrubbing toilets was my least favorite job. There was no use arguing, and since conversation was off-limits, complaining wasn’t even an option.

According to Jane’s text this morning, this was a four-bedroom, four-bath apartment, which meant I’d have my hands full scouring tile for a while. So, tightening my grip on my cleaning caddy, I headed off in search of the nearest bathroom.

I found the first one right across the hall from the kitchen. Thankfully, just like everything else I’d seen so far, this guest bathroom was already spotless.

The white marble countertops gleamed. There wasn’t a stain to be found. Given that I couldn’t find a single fingerprint smudge on any of the fixtures, I doubted anyone had even stepped foot inside since last week’s cleaning.

I still went through the whole routine—scrubbing, wiping, polishing. Cutting corners wasn’t wise with clients like this.

Follow the rules.

Do the job.

Live to see tomorrow.

That’s what Jane told me the first day I came to her, and her words had served me well for the last year, two months, and thirteen days. I saw no reason to deviate from them now.

It sounded like Rose had moved on from the kitchen and was now working in the main room when, an hour later, I stepped out of the guest room that housed the third bathroom. So, I moved on to where I figured the last bathroom had to be—the client’s bedroom.

I rapped softly on the door. There was no reply, so I quietly entered and glanced around.

Even though the room seemed just as spotless as every other one I’d been in so far—not to mention just as modern and stylish—it had a slightly more lived-in feel than the clearly untouched guest rooms.

It was the tiny things that gave it away, I realized as I walked around the perimeter of the room, dusting the few surfaces I could find.

The slight indent in the center of the left pillow was the only indication that the bed was ever used. The slight wear on the top two drawers of the dresser showed that they were the only ones ever opened. The thick paperback novel on the bedside table with a pristine spine even though the bookmark was buried deep within its pages.

These details might be small, but they came together to paint a vivid picture of someone whose mind was as uncluttered as their apartment. Someone brutally efficient. Someone who’d perfected, not leaving evidence of his presence behind.

I didn’t want to imagine what a criminal with those attributes might have done to own a place like this.

A couple of years ago, realizing I was in the home of a cold-blooded killer would have chilled me to the bone. But that was a lifetime ago.

Now, I simply pushed the terrible implication of what I was seeing to the side, compartmentalizing it as quickly as I had the client’s deep, sexy voice.

If you come across anything you shouldn’t—no, you didn’t.

That rule applied to feelings, too.

There was no room for powerful emotions like horror or lust in this new life of mine. Not if I wanted to keep myself from being the client’s next victim.

No, the best thing I could do was quickly finish the job and get the hell out of here.

Fortunately, in a room as clean as this one, dusting didn’t take more than a couple of minutes. The second I was done, I grabbed my caddy and headed for the bathroom door.

It swung open with the tiniest push.

I should have realized what was happening the moment a wave of steam poured out, hitting me in the face. At the very least, I should have known to duck my head.

But I didn’t.

Not even when the steam began to clear, and the figure of a man started to take shape.

A tall man, lean with perfectly defined muscles down his arms and torso. A man with close-cropped hair that was currently dripping water down his neck and shoulders.

A man that had clearly stepped out of the shower and toweled off only minutes ago...and was now standing in his bathroom totally naked.

Chapter Two

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