Page 65 of The Pretender

Stephen just did not cut anyone any slack. He held his strictest scrutiny for his niece but no one got away unscathed. Harris didn’t understand that choice. Life was hard enough without going through it as a complete asshole.

“The more people on the island, the more likely it is we’ll be tripping over each other and trampling on evidence,” Damon said.

For almost a full minute Stephen and Damon engaged in an informal staring contest. They both said their view then waited. Neither moved and the silence suggested no one else should either.

Stephen finally blinked. He shifted his weight as he took the cell out of his pocket. “I’ll catch a ride back. I want to speak with the fire inspector.”

Gabby sighed at him. “I doubt she’ll talk to you until the report is done.”

“There’s information she might need before she can reach her conclusions,” Stephen shot back.

“Is the goal to make sure she’s poisoned against me?” she asked.

“You brought this on yourself, Gabrielle. You don’t get to act like the innocent party now.”

“That’s enough.” Harris stood up and physically put his body between hers and her uncle. He was fucking done with this. If Stephen wanted a punching bag he should go buy one. From now on, so long as Harris was around, she was off-limits. “Craig, do you need anything else?”

He shook his head. “No. We should go.”

The kid looked as uncomfortable as everyone else felt. His expression saidget me out of hereand Harris didn’t think that had anything to do with the murder or the fire.

Stephen reached the doorway and turned to take one last look at Damon. “You’re here to do a job.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Good.” He spared Gabby a quick look of disdain then left.

As soon as both men left the room, Damon was up and out of his chair. He stepped up to the window and pulled back the sheer. He didn’t hide, but he didn’t step into the open either as he watched the men walk away.

Harris slipped the cell out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “That went well.”

“Uh-huh. What’s really going on?” she asked.

Harris dropped the cell on the table. Damon held one up.

“We cloned their cell phones.” The strategy proved quicker and easier than getting subpoenas. Checking the cells gave them windows into both men’s lives. Their schedules. Their texts and eventually their emails.

Gabby stared at the cells. “What?”

“The point was to keep them in here just long enough to get their information.” He and Damon had worked that out this morning. Wren could collect a lot of data and either dump it on them or have his people do it, but Harris thought Gabby needed to be in on this. She needed to get her hands in there and dig. It was the only way she’d ever move past the revolving door she’d gotten stuck in.

She picked up the phone nearest to her and stared at the dark screen. Then she looked at Harris. “You did that? The supposed art appraiser.”

That was not really a place Harris wanted her mind to go, but the answer wasn’t difficult. “That is a real job.”

“He can also shoot, do a decent showing with hand-to-hand combat and defuse a bomb, if given enough time—admittedly, he’s slow at that.” Damon made a face. “You’re better off running.”

Okay, that was more than Harris wanted to share. Going down this road could lead to trouble. She knew he wasn’t quite who he appeared to be. She didn’t have any clue about his role the day of the murder or his work in liberating artwork. Harris preferred to keep it that way. Once those facts came out, she’d be gone. This—them, whatever it was—would be over. He wasn’t ready for that and refused to analyze why.

“And you know something about cloning phones.” This time she sounded more fascinated than upset.

He shrugged. “My skills are endless.”

She didn’t look away from his gaze. She held it, watching him with a new sort of interest in her eyes. “I’m starting to see that.”

Harris had no idea what to think about that.

Damon came back to the table and grabbed the phones. “Is this a sex thing?”

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