Page 44 of Brazen Deceits

“Jansen likes it to steep for three and a half minutes,” he says, looking at the timer instead of me.

“Good to know,” I say, my toes slowly going numb.

He notes the coffee—mugs prepped—the kombucha and Mountain Dew. Last, he looks at me, standing on one foot, cooling the other in the sink.

“Sorry I scared you.”

I shrug. “I probably couldn’t hear you over the kettle. You’re good.”

Walker’s eyes skirt over me, landing on my foot. “Will it be okay?”

“Yeah, it should be fine.”

We stand in the kitchen, not looking at each other, until the timer goes off. Walker pulls out the filter. I take my foot out of the sink so he can set the spent tea in the basin. “So,” I say, trying to figure out what I feel right now besides pissed (fuck you, Trips) and so lonely I want to fling myself at Walker and pretend that everything is normal.

“Thanks for the drinks,” he says, a fake grin plastered on his face. He grabs his kombucha and RJ’s soda and leaves.

Closing my eyes, my wet foot dripping onto the floor, my hand beats the familiarone two three four fiveon my leg as I breathe, trying not to cry. I will not cry. I just finished crying. No more. This Clara isn’t a puddle, she’s a beast.

The coffeepot sputters out the last of the water. Giving myself a mental kick in the ass, I open my eyes, load the rest of the drinks on a tray, and go join the meeting in the living room. I can do this. I will not be a weepy mess in the kitchen. I’m strong. And nobody is going to make me feel small—never again.

Walker is back in RJ’s chair, avoiding the couch. I set the tray on the table, handing Trips his cup with a smile. His confusion feeds the fire of my anger.

I pick up my own mug, settling into the middle of the couch. Footsteps trudge down the stairs, and it’s all I can do not to leap up and exit stage right. The tension in the living room is akin to walking in a thunderstorm, and all I want is a lightning-proof umbrella. The doorbell rings, and ten agonizing seconds later, RJ comes into the room with a pile of pizza boxes, the scent of melty cheese, tomatoes, and fresh crust filling the room.

I slide the drink tray over, making room for the boxes. As soon as RJ folds himself into the corner of the couch, I wrap myself around him, squeezing tight. “Welcome home.”

After a second of hesitation, he pulls me tight against him. “Glad to be back.”

I pull away sooner than I want to, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’s smiling though, and doesn’t let go of my hand, so I think hugs are now normal. The unreasonable excitement I feel at that change drags my mood most of the way out of the pit of despair I’d fallen into. I’m just so fucking grateful he’s back.

Walker and RJ joke about some car-thing Jansen did while we pass around the pizzas, and seeing Walker’s real smile? Yeah. It feels like my heart is being gnawed out of my chest by a fucking boa constrictor. Although, I don’t think those snakes eat you alive. Eh. I stand by the way it feels, even if it would make Emma’s pre-vet self cry.

I take a bite of Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza, glancing at Walker. No one else knows this is my favorite. I want to show some appreciation, some subtle thank you, but I don’t know where to begin.

I want desperately for shit not to be broken between us. He fucked up. I may have overreacted. But if he doesn’t even want to talk to me? How the fuck am I supposed to work with that?

Trips catches my eye, glancing between Walker and me, an eyebrow raised. In response, I scratch my cheek—with my middle finger. He barks out a laugh, and the other two guys look at him, trying to figure out what he was laughing at. That was not the reaction I’d hoped for. Damn it.

Luckily, we’re both saved by a flurry of blond hair and boundless energy that leaps on me from behind the couch. Jansen scoops me into his lap, kissing my nose, my cheeks, and my forehead, making me giggle like a toddler. Finally, hegives my lips a solid smack, before pulling me under his arm and grinning at the rest of the room. “So what’d I miss?”

He nabs a piece of veggie pizza, pours himself some tea, and relaxes back into the couch, tucking me against him. And it feels so good I don’t even care that I’m not acting professional. Trips shakes his head at Jansen, something tight around his eyes as he looks at us. I sneak a glance at Walker, but his face is a perfectly calm mask. RJ shifts so he can see us, stifled mirth in his eyes.

Trips sets down his slice of everything pizza and wipes his fingers on a napkin. “We waited for you. So how’d things go in Chicago?”

RJ switches to his Mountain Dew, and the urge to put my slightly scalded foot on his now plateless lap is almost overwhelming. I contain myself. Barely. “It took two days, but we cut a hardline into their security system. As long as no one goes looking for my hardware, we should have access indefinitely. It lets us see camera feeds and any door or window alerts.”

Jansen finishes his slice and jumps in. “I checked all entry points on-site. They’re all rigged to the alarm system, but someone messed with one upstairs bedroom window, probably years ago. I got in and out through that window to set RJ’s device. Sadly, it’s on the other side of the house from where we expect Grandpa Cadieux, aka Jimmy Quinn, to leave his briefcase, so it’s a bad exit point if things get dicey.”

RJ takes over again. “I spoofed their Wi-Fi network and got some general household emails. It looks like they started catering for Thanksgiving a few years ago when Grandma decided she was too old to cook for a family of thirty-four.So we might have an in with the catering staff, but as we’re supposed to wait until Sunday, I’m not sure that’s a viable lead.”

I sit up a bit. “Did we ever figure out why we have to get the document on Sunday?”

Trips, Walker, and Jansen all shake their heads, but RJ glances down at his lap. “I don’t know for sure, but Jasmine has a recurring business meeting every Sunday morning, while Grandpa ordered the car for himself later that afternoon. It looks like Jasmine doesn’t want to look like she’s part of this.”

“Sneaky bitch,” Trips mutters. “But I get it.”

The silence is rough. I look around, all the guys caught up in their own thoughts. “Do we know who we’re up against?”

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