Page 24 of Declan's Hope

Hope tensed. "Do you think so? Maybe I should leave."

"No. Someone needs to get inside, and we think you’re our best bet."

"We?" Did Haven know about this and hadn’t warned her?

"Maybe we is stretching. Let’s just say, me." He grinned at her before his expression sobered as he once more focused on the screen. "He found and dismantled all the surveillance I had inside the house." He gave her a half-grin. "Watch this." He typed in a couple of commands on his keyboard.

Seconds later, a separate screen filled with a scowling Declan, his narrowed blue eye peering close to the camera, and only a glimpse showing of the black eyepatch on the other side of his face. He was too close to the lens, giving the impression of looking at him through a fishbowl. A toilet sat in partial view behind his head.

"All right, Garrett," Declan said, his scowl deepening. And though he was clearly pissed, she soaked in even this little bit of him. "I found all the other baby monitors throughout the house. But come on. In the shitter? Are you fucking kidding me?" He leaned back enough most of his face came into view as he pursed his lips before glaring into the lens. "You know what? I oughta keep it here just for the hell of it." Then he grinned. "But I’d hate for you to feel inadequate every time I showered. So, sayonara." The screen went blank.

Okay…

How inadequate would Garrett feel? She did an internal eye-roll at herself.

Come on, Hope, now’s not the time to worry about how adequate Declan might be.

"So, um, you had the whole house bugged?" Lucky for her, his focus had remained on the screen. She didn’t need him noticing the flush warming her cheeks.

"Yeah. I knew he’d find them. But I honestly thought he’d miss this one." He quickly glanced at Hope, his own face flushing. "Not that I planned to watch him while he…well…"

"No need to explain." It was actually kind of funny seeing Garrett get all flustered. "But this begs the question, how many other cameras do you have set up in other places? On other people?" She raised a brow and gave him a pointed look.

If Webster’s definition of flummoxed came with a picture, it would be Garrett at that moment as he opened and closed his mouth and more red crept up into this cheeks. He finally composed himself enough to say, "I might—might—have a camera…" He shrugged. "Or two set up outside of a few strategic locations for everyone’s protection. You know, here, the EPA, the colonel’s, Haven and Cal’s, your school." Well, that explained that. He eyed Hope and frowned. "Your apartment, and maybe the Shaw estate," he said in a rush.

She raised her brows at the last. "I guess that’s okay," she said, with a secret smile. She’d half suspected it anyhow. But this just proved, whatever Destiny believed—and her friend had been pretty well convinced Garrett had completely lost interest in her the last few months—this told Hope nothing could be farther from the truth.

But the Shaw estate? That would be quite a feat.

Mr. Shaw had a thing about privacy. The grounds had been fortified like Fort Knox—maybe even better—if Destiny’s description of the place had been accurate. So she had to assume Mr. Shaw would have his immediate, surrounding areas under surveillance as well. But she supposed if anyone could get away with it, it would be Garrett. She’d have to ponder on that later. Right now she had other things to consider.

Hope glanced at the house on the screen. "We’ve both agreed he’s not going to just open the door for me. So," she said, focusing back on Garrett, "how do you propose I do this?"

Garrett’s slow smile should have made her nervous. Eh, who was she kidding. It made her completely nervous. Then even more so when he said, "We’re breaking in."

* * *

Standing in the middle of Declan’s cluttered, dimly-lit kitchen after dark wasn’t anywhere close to where Hope had imagined she’d be just after seven on her Monday night. But here she was.

Garrett had wanted to wait until the sun went down before putting his plan in place. She’d said he was crazy. He’d said it was the only way to get away with it, and also that he couldn’t see Declan decking her like he probably would him.

Of course it hadn’t surprised her at all that Garrett could bypass a lock—even one as high-tech as the one Declan had on his door. "I had the code before the… Well, before," Garrett had grumpily told her as he’d scanned the digital keypad with a piece of equipment he’d brought with him. "But the fu…" His quick glance met hers before he went back to the lock. "He changed it on me."

She hadn’t stated the obvious that Declan had to know good and well Garrett could still get in if he chose to. Just like he had done minutes ago before basically shoving her inside and giving her a thumbs up as he’d quietly shut the door. But it had been the act itself she had a feeling had been what had bothered Garrett the most—knowing his friend had made a statement by purposely locking him out.

She glanced around at the sink full of dishes, counters sporting more dirty plates and cups, and the garbage can overflowing with take-out containers. None of this seemed right to her. Declan had never struck her as the kind of guy to live like this. He struck her as being too orderly—too disciplined. Too—

"If it bothers you that much." She tensed at the deep, raspy, slurred words coming from her right. "And judging by the disgust on your face, it does, rubber gloves are under the sink." She slowly turned to find Declan standing in the darkened hallway just outside the arched kitchen entrance. "When the alarm went off, I figured it was finally Garrett. But gotta hand it to him, cause I did not see this coming." He let out a humorless laugh and turned to head away from her down the hallway with an unsteady gait, throwing, "Be sure to tell him I said, well played," over his shoulder.

She quickstepped after him. "Why don’t you tell him yourself?" She came right up behind him. "I know he’d be glad to talk to you."

Garrett had been right to be concerned. She hadn’t really had time to take all of him in, but what she had seen, she didn’t recognize. Declan’s black hair now reached past his shoulders and the beard he’d been sporting had grown to mountain man proportions. He’d also lost a noticeable amount of weight, considering the way his t-shirt and jeans hung on his tall frame.

"I don’t care to talk to him." He stopped and swayed slightly, then braced his hands against the walls on either side of him. "Just like I don’t care to talk to you. I thought you understood that." The way he refused to turn and look at her, along with his slow, overly-enunciated words cut her, but she wasn’t about to let her own hurt over his dismissiveness keep her from helping him.

And Declan most assuredly needed help. He shoved his right hand through his hair, wobbling slightly, before slamming his hand against the wall again.

"So why are you here, Hope?" He took the few steps needed to enter a room to his left—his bedroom she quickly discovered. She kept close to his back, then stopped short. This room too had seen better days—the bed unmade with the sheet half off and clothes scattered around. "Come to take pity on me again?"

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