Page 98 of Ruthless Cross

"I could eat it every day of the week."

"It's almost ready. You smell good," she said, as he moved behind her, putting his arms around her. "I feel a little underdressed."

"In my opinion, you have too many clothes on," he told her.

"You're distracting me," she said, as he nuzzled her neck.

"And you don't like it?"

"I love it, but I also don't want to burn the eggs."

"Got it." As he stepped back and moved around the counter, his gaze came to rest on a large white envelope on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Did you put that envelope there?"

"What?"

He walked over to the table and picked up the envelope. He knew he had never seen it before.

"Flynn, is something wrong?"

"I think so. Someone has been in the house."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." He just didn't know how it had happened. His alarm system was still on. There had been no breaches during the night.Had this envelope been here when they'd come back from the museum?He'd been so caught up in Callie, maybe he hadn't seen it.

He stared at the envelope for a long minute and then slipped his finger under the flap and opened it. Inside were two pieces of paper. One was a photographic copy of a painting and not just any painting—the belladonna, the deadly nightshade, the calling card of death.

"What is it?" Callie asked, a worried expression on her face as she joined him.

He handed her the picture. "Someone left this in the apartment."

"Is this supposed to be a warning that you're next?"

"I don't think so," he said tightly as he read the scribbled words on the second piece of paper. He couldn't believe it.

"Flynn?" Callie put a hand on his arm. "What does it say?"

He shook his head, unable to say the words.

Callie grabbed the paper out of his hand and read it aloud. "You need my help, Flynn. Meet me this morning at our spot. Dad." She gave him a look filled with both worry and compassion. "Is this really from your father? How did it get here?"

"He must have broken in."

"But how? You have tight security."

"My dad is a master burglar." He blew out a breath, shocked to think his father was not only in town but had been in his apartment, maybe while they'd slept.

"Are you going to meet him?"

"I don’t know."

She stared back at him. "You have to, don't you?"

"This could be a trick."

"Or he wants to help you. He's trying to tell you he knows something about the painting. Maybe he knows who painted it."

"That would be my guess, but I don't know if I can trust my father. Let me reword that. I'msureI can't trust my father, if this is even from him. Maybe it's a setup."

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