Page 41 of The Woman in the Garage

What if he had more units full of heavy garage totes?

The only reason I knew about the one was because a bill for it had arrived when I’d first moved to Navesink Bank.

Could there be others? Ones I didn’t have the bills for yet? Ones that were maybe paid for through autopay or paid up front for the year?

If so, where could I find the information for them?

Before I even finished thinking the thought, though, I knew my answer.

The mess of the house, that’s where.

The basement wasn’t only full of busted furniture and old junk he hadn’t gotten around to throwing out; there were boxes upon boxes of paperwork. It seemed as though Uncle Phil had never heard of a shredder or recycling bin.

Which sucked for me as the one to deal with it all.

But it also worked in my favor if my suspicions were right and there were other units to track down.

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get the workday done.

Not because I was afraid of the mechanics—though, yeah, that was a factor—but because I had a mystery to solve.

It was the first time in days that I wasn’t obsessively thinking about Santo.

Until, as I went through the mindless task of sorting through endless piles of paperwork, the thoughts came back.

Namely of him coming to the units with me.

Each and every one of those thoughts ended with him or me on my knees. Sometimes, both of us, him behind me, hands on my breasts, hard length settled deep inside me.

I was heavily into one of those fantasies when I finally found one.

A contract for a damn storage unit.

Two towns away.

“Gotcha.”

CHAPTER TEN

Dasha

I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

There was no way I was going to be careless enough to go to the storage unit straight from work or from my house. Where anyone could, you know, track me.

Was that borderline crazy?

Yep.

But so was having twelve storage units.

So I went from work, driving around until I was sure no one was following me, then took myself two towns over, going into the office, showing them the death certificate and proof that I’d inherited my uncle’s estate, being given the code for the gate, then taking myself in.

This town was a little seedier than Navesink Bank. And after the incident at the last unit, my nerves were all jangly as I drove up to the appropriate building.

I grabbed the keychain and the golf club I’d found in the garage, figuring it would work as a solid weapon if that became necessary.

This storage facility had neon green doors but the same frustrating motion-activated overhead lighting.

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