Page 89 of The Pretender

“Uh, ten seconds.” He didn’t find picking clothes off a shelf all that daunting.

She snorted. “You’re such a guy.”

Okay, but... “There’s a size on them. You read the size, try them on and you’re done.”

“Oh, no.” She wagged a finger at him. “That’s only the start. Sizes differ from designer to designer. Some pockets make your butt look huge.”

He knew he was in way over his head on this discussion and threw up the white flag. “Who knew it was such a complicated process?”

“Every woman everywhere.”

“Oh.” And that was all he had on that topic, so he shut up.

“That’s right.” She turned around and unlocked the window. With a grunt, she tried to lift it but it didn’t budge. “Can you help me with this?”

“What are you trying to do?” As far as he was concerned they could suck it up for another half hour and get out of there, hopefully with what they needed.

“Open the window and let some air in before we either sweat to death or keel over from a lack of fresh air.”

He stood next to her and stared out the window to the empty dock below. “That’s not dramatic or anything.”

“I am the one person on this island who might have sex with you later. You should probably keep that in mind before being a smart-ass.”

“A very compelling argument. Let’s get this open.” He stepped in front of her and shoved on the glass. It didn’t move at all. Figuring it had been painted shut he slammed the side of his hand against the right side, trying to knock the old and peeling paint loose.

Nothing happened.

“I thought so.” She joined in pulling. “It’s stuck on this side.”

She pointed to the right side. The molding around the window had either slipped or been put on wrong. The color was slightly off from the original paint and didn’t crack like in other spots. It was probably added later, maybe to fix a leak or hole.

“The frame is too far over. It... wait.” He went over to one of the boxes they’d searched and rummaged through until he found the screwdriver. With the end wedged under the edge of the molding, he shoved. The wood cracked and splintered and a top piece fell off. “What the hell?”

Gabby crouched down and picked up the folded pieces of paper that had been hidden in the fake frame. She held them up to him. “Tabitha’s hiding place.”

He stuffed the screwdriver in his back pocket. “Sweet damn. Good job, Tabitha.”

Gabby stood up and immediately headed for the ladder. “Let’s go.”

Her demeanor had changed. She shifted from ready to go to wary. It was as if she couldn’t get out of the second story fast enough.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he followed her.

She stopped at the top of the ladder and wiped her hands down her arms. “I don’t know. Holding the papers makes me nervous.”

“Here, give them to me.” He refolded the papers and stuffed them in his front pants pocket. “Now down the ladder.”

Her sneakers thudded against each rung. “What if they don’t show anything?”

Anxiety welled in him. He wanted to blame her and the sudden change of mood, but a new sensation hit him. Tension wound around him and all of a sudden he wished he’d brought his gun rather than leave it in the guesthouse. “Keep moving.”

They made it downstairs and stepped through the side door and into the sunshine... and right into Stephen and Ted.

“Hey.” Ted offered the informal greeting as he put a hand out and steadied Gabby.

Harris could hear her labored breathing and see the wildness in her eyes. She’d reached some turning point where she wanted this to be done now. He could see it in every line of her body. Her muscles were pulled taut, to the point of snapping.

Harris rushed to fill in the gap. “What are you doing out here?”

---