Page 15 of Brazen Mistakes

This requires sugar. All the sugar.

And more sleep than I got.

I pile a plate full of cookies, nibbling on the edges as I ignore the FBI’s message, instead clearing the rest of my email. Once it’s all sorted and the cookies are sitting uncomfortably in my stomach, I wash my plate, then pick up my long-sleeved shirt from yesterday. The gold envelope flops onto the counter.

My name in fancy calligraphy decorates the front. Who would leave me a Christmas card on the porch?

Tearing it open, a classic winterscape card, complete with sleigh ride, greets me. “Happy Holidays,” it says. I open it as something flutters onto the floor. The card itself is generic and unsigned.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I scoop up a face-down photo from the floor. Flipping it over, tears prick in my eyes, blurring a moment that was filled with joy, now fading into fear and disgust.

Me, arching back, Walker’s head clenched between my thighs, Jansen’s teeth shining white as they dig into the skin around my nipple.

The night before Jansen went home for break. Four days ago. An amazing fucking goodbye.

And someone watched. Watched and took pictures from a crack in the curtains in my bedroom. Then sent it to me.

Scrawled across the bottom in all caps is “WHORE.”

“Very unoriginal,” I say, my hands shaking as I set the photo on the counter. “Do better.”

As if insulting a ghost helps.

It has to be Bryce.

But he’s in jail.

Isn’t he?

Forcing myself past the discomfort, I pull the photo close to examine the handwriting, but with all caps, it’s hard to tell if it’s Bryce’s or not. I mean, I guess one of the neighbors might be a perv.

But it’s probably Bryce.

Shit.

The cookies roll in my stomach, but I force myself not to lose them.

One glance at the clock tells me it’s not even eight. Too much, too early.

Am I safe here alone?

The rundown that Trips gave me yesterday of the security updates tells me I’m as safe as I can be. And the person was outside the house—the photo blurry from the glass, the edge of the curtain visible on one side. My solid pink curtain, right across from my bed. I guess you have to have the best angle for your pervy photoshoot.

So I’m safe enough here alone that I don’t need to ruin anyone’s Christmas. I’ll wait to tell them.

My mind runs through all the steps that the guys will go through once they get back to track this perv down. RJ digging through the internet, Trips pushing and pulling through the network of people from his poker games, Walker doing some color match magic to figure out what printer made this photo, and Jansen ready to break into likely suspects’ houses to verify they’re the culprit.

Okay, so probably not exactly that. It’s so obvious that I need to learn all this shit. I can’t be dead weight to these guys, not when trouble keeps finding us. Finding me.

Grabbing a notebook, I make a careful list. The last thing I want to do is incriminate us all with my need to get my thoughts organized.

Things I need to learn:

The cool shit Jansen does

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