Page 12 of Keep Me In Your Heart

“Hello, Ms. Devereaux,” she croons. “I see the light through the peephole. I know you’re there.”

I pull my head back in a snap. “What do you want?” I ask with skepticism.

My mind is reeling, trying to figure out why this woman ishere. Is this because I broke into their house? I mean…broke inis hardly accurate. I just walked in. Did that brutish asshole tell on me? Can I still be arrested?

“I’d like to speak to you,” she says. “I believe you already met my brother.”

Her brother?

So is this the sister that sends spies into his house? Maybe that’s what she’s looking for now? Would she pay me to spy on him again? I’d gladly do it.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I unlatch the dead bolt and turn the brass knob on the door. As I peel it open, I stare at the woman waiting there. She’s very pretty. With long brown hair and large green eyes, she looks to be in her mid to late thirties. I can see the resemblance between her and the man who nearly attacked me. She’s tall too, but not as tall as him.

“What do you want?” I mumble through the gap of the doorway.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“For what?”

“I have something to discuss with you. A…business proposal, if you will.”

My brow lowers as I stare at her, glancing down at the envelope in her hands. A business proposal? Shedoeswant me to spy on him.

I quickly glance behind her to see that she’s alone before I slowly open the door and allow her to come in. She scans my apartment, possibly noticing how immaculate it is. I might be broke, depressed, and lonely, but I keep my space clean, always.

Leading her down to the dining room, I point to the table. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask hesitantly.

“Coffee would be nice,” she replies.

As she takes a seat at the table, I move into the kitchen and grab the coffeepot from the machine. “So, how did you find me?” I ask as I fill it with water.

“My brother told me your name. I saw your face on the security footage. Then, I looked you up. Read an interesting article in theNew Yorkerabout you. You were listed as a potential rising star in literature. Your parents were mentioned too.”

I glance down as I continue making a pot of coffee. That piece came out nearly two years ago. I was fresh out of college and had impressed enough professors to get a spot on theones-to-watchlist they publish every year.

It felt like a gold star at the time.

Now it feels like a festering wound.

“Are you looking for a freelance writer? I don’t really do that sort of writing,” I say before switching the machine on. It whirs to life as I take down two mugs from the cabinet.

“I’m sorry, but no. I’m not interested in hiring you as a writer.”

Ouch.

“Then what is it?” I ask from the kitchen.

“Why don’t you come sit down, and we can discuss it? It’s…sensitive in nature.”

My cheeks grow hot as I stare at her. Possibilities flit through my mind, but nothing sticks or makes any sense.

Pulling out a chair, I sit down and face the woman, waiting for an explanation.

“Ms. Devereaux, what I’m about to offer you is unconventional and a bit strange. I’ll warn you now.”

“Okay…”

She opens her manila folder. Inside is a stack of what looks like very official papers. There’s even a fancy crest at the top.

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