Page 22 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Smell.” I held one under his nose, and he jerked back, intensifying his glare until I put the erasers away and kept going. He was such a spoilsport.

No day planner. No pack of secret love letters—not that I expected them, but I’d wanted to find them if for no other reason than to shove them in Diem’s face. I moved on, but before I abandoned the top drawer, I pocketed the double cherry eraser. Olivia wouldn’t miss it, and I’d had one exactly like it as a kid. It had been my favorite.

The drawer beneath contained flyers, memos, and tons of loose papers in various stages of neatness. Some were bills. Others were notifications for events. Some were marked with pen. Others were scratched through with marker. It took longer to get through, but again, nothing stood out.

I glanced at Diem to see how he was doing. He’d successfully logged onto the computer and had opened Olivia’s email account. Diem had removed the ball cap and set it on the desk beside him. He scrubbed a hand over his shorn hair ashe puzzled over the endless list of correspondence. The more prominent scar, the one from his slightly disfigured ear to his jaw, caught my attention. Not for the first time, I wondered what had caused it. Diem was littered with scars. They told a story, and I had a feeling it wasn’t a good one.

He must have sensed my attention and glanced over. “What?”

I nodded at the screen. “Do a search.”

Diem’s stormy gray eyes flicked to the computer and back. “A what?”

“A search.” I pointed to the top corner of the screen. “Use the magnifying glass. You can search email content for keywords. Try Noah’s name.”

Diem selected the search box and two-finger pecked Noah’s name into the bar before hitting enter. In a flash, six emails were highlighted. The surprise on Diem’s face was priceless.

“Ha! I’m not just a pretty face, Guns,” I said a little too close to his ear. “Thank me later.”

He stilled, body tensing. I hadn’t meant the words to sound suggestive, but I supposed that was how he took them.

“Open them,” I prompted to break the ice.

I was in Diem’s space, practically leaning on his shoulder and breathing down his neck so I could be part of the search, but he hadn’t said anything, and he hadn’t shoved me aside or growled.

Progress? Who knew.

As he moved the cursor to click over the first email in the list, a woman’s voice sounded in the distance. It came from down the hall.

And it was moving toward us.

7

Diem

“Move, move, move.” I slapped the laptop closed while simultaneously snagging Tallus’s arm and shoving him toward the narrow coat closet I’d tagged upon entering the room.

He stumbled over his feet, and I tightened my grip to keep him upright, knowing I would leave marks if I wasn’t careful. But panic trumped my good sense, and I forcibly moved him along.

The voice in the hall grew louder, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was Olivia. I’d heard her talk a few times during my surveillance, and her mousey way of speaking was distinct enough that I doubted I was wrong. Why the fuck was she up here? She was supposed to be busy with the gala.

I shoved Tallus into the closet and moved in after him, closing the door behind us. The space wasn’t meant for more than a single coat or spare set of clothing. It was no bigger than a broom closet, and with both of us jammed inside, there was no room to move. A sickening sense of claustrophobia surrounded me.

“Shit. My hat’s on the desk.”

Tallus snagged my shirt and yanked me against him when I tried to turn around to get it. “Too late, Guns.”

We were fucked.

Swamped in darkness, pressed fully against Tallus with the closet door flush against my back, I worked at settling my pounding heart. Sweat beaded at my temples. The walls pressed in from all sides. I couldn’t move without knocking an elbow into the wall.

This was bad. I had to hang on to control, or everything would fall apart.

I closed my eyes and focused on my other senses. Tallus’s cologne infiltrated my nose. Christ, he smelled good. Under the spicy artificial aroma was something more natural. Maybe focusing on Tallus’s scent was a bad idea. The warmth of his body bled through my thin T-shirt. The labored sound of his breathing moved air against my collarbone. Fuck. It was too overstimulating.

I was at risk of screaming or getting a fucking hard-on. Neither would be helpful.

“Shit,” I hissed. “I left the desk light on too.”

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