Page 102 of Can You Take It?

“I need to check your phone,” I say, leaning in closer, making it clear this is happening whether she likes it or not.

Her head snaps up. “Do you have a warrant?”

I smirk, the corners of my mouth curling up. She really thinks she can throw legal shit at me right now?

“I want to check your phone as your boyfriend,” I assert. “So no, I don’t need a warrant.”

“You’renotmy boyfriend.”

I lean back, grinning like I’ve already won. “After what we just did, I’d qualify as your husband. But looks like subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, rolling her eyes again as she bends down to retrieve her phone from her bag. The deep red shade of her ass catches my eye—angry and flushed, the perfectcontrast against her skin. She takes her time, clearly stalling the inevitable. When she hands it to me, I can see she’s tense. She knows I’m about to find something she doesn’t want me to see.

I unlock the phone and start scrolling through her apps, messages, emails. But it’s when I get to her search history that things get real fucking interesting. A list of searches flashes across the screen: “Zip ties for immobilization,” “anesthetic spray for numbing,” “blindfolds for sensory deprivation,” “muzzle gag for silence,” “ligature strangulation effects,” “injection sites for sedatives,” “hidden surveillance cameras.”

“Care to explain this?” I ask, turning the phone so she can see.

“It’s for research.”

“What kind of research?”

“For the books I read.”

I lean in, still holding her phone, fingers tapping the screen as I continue scrolling. “What kind of books are you reading?”

“I plead the fifth on that one.”

And just like that, I want to bend her over and fuck all that sass out of her.

“Fine,” I relent. “You can go.”

She looks shocked. “Just like that?”

I nod back at her, and she mumbles a reluctant “thanks.” She gets off the table, bending down to pick up her clothes. I follow suit, grabbing my shirt from the floor. We both start dressing in silence.

I fasten my belt, watching her from the corner of my eye as she pulls her shirt over her head.

Just as she’s about to turn and leave, she pauses. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, and without looking back, she speaks, “I’ve got a question.”

“Mhm?” I grunt, slipping my arms through my jacket sleeves, still half-focused on straightening out my cuffs.

She finally turns to face me, her head tilting slightly as her eyes move toward the two-way mirror. “Was there… was there really someone watching us?”

That gets my attention. My hands freeze mid-adjustment, and I glance up at her. There’s no way in hell I’d let anyone watch her like that—nobody gets to see her except me. “Check the news tomorrow. If you see any reports about dead FBI agents, courtesy of their boss, you’ll know the answer.”

Her mouth falls open for a second, then shuts again like she’s trying to decide if I’m joking. She clears her throat and mutters, “I’ll take that as a no,” before turning on her heel and walking toward the door.

I watch as she exits through the front door. But I’m not letting her leave alone. I follow, my hand gripping the frame for a second before I push myself off, watching the way she moves as she steps into the hallway. The door groans shut, and I exchange a look with Noah, who’s propped against the wall.

“What the hell, Rick?” Noah asks, his brow furrowed. “You just let her go? She could be the killer!”

I run a hand through my hair. “Noah, she didn’t kill Liam. I can fucking tell.”

“Just like that? You’re letting her walk away, and we’ve got nothing?” Colton snorts from across the room.

“Listen, asshole, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I can smell a killer from a mile away.”

“You sure you’re not just pussy whipped, Rick? I mean, she practically walked out of here scot-free.”

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