Page 63 of Flame
Chapter Sixteen
Unsurprisingly, we wind up in the same rundown area as his warehouse. Given the instructions he gave me the day Gino’s men attacked him, this place must mean a lot to him.
“Is this your safe house?” I ask though I don’t even know if that’s the right term.
Apparently not because he laughs as he exits the car. When I copy him, he’s still laughing, his eyes gleaming with a hint of something that could be amusement in another setting.
“You’ve been watching too many cop dramas, bunny,” he says. “Come on.”
He leads the way inside and switches on a lamp before venturing deeper into the space. From the assembled chaos in the far corner, he withdraws a red toolbox, and I’m reminded of something he told me once before.“You get there, and you wait for me. If I don’t show, you look for a red case. I already changed the combination to something you’ll be able to guess…”
“Here’s your trial run,” he declares as if sensing my train of thought. He approaches a wooden table in the center of the room and beckons me closer with a crooked finger. Then he slams the case down before me. “If I weren’t here, how would you open it? Don’t look at me for any hints, either. Use that bunny brain.”
I wordlessly accept the challenge and observe the lock in question. It’s similar to the kind I used on my high school locker, though instead of numbers, five letters make up the combination.
“Most people use their birthday,” I point out, running my finger across the width of the device. “But I don’t know yours, and it’s not numbers, so…”
“And I’m not most people.” He grazes my lower lip with the tip of his thumb, catching me off guard. “Be serious for a minute. If I didn’t show the other day and you found this, what would you try?”
I think for a long moment before I finally make my attempt. As I turn to the lock, he pulls away, and I sense his gaze with every move I make. Knowing that, I’m deliberately slow, allowing him to see each symbol I land on before moving on to the next. Finally, as I near the very last letter, the lock clicks open.
“You used bunny,” I say softly, eyeing him through my lashes. In a sense, it’s humorously cliché, but the seriousness of his gaze belies another reason for the password, other than a joke. The thought ignites a heat that blazes beneath my skin, growing hotter the longer he maintains eye contact.
“I think I have a soft spot for them,” he says in a tone that makes me shiver. He’s disarming like this, and my body reacts to him in ways I can’t deny. Or ignore. More fire creeps into my cheeks, and I glance down, hunting for a distraction. I find one instantly in the form of a slim, pink item resting on the bottom of the box.
Faith’s phone.
Rafe starts to power it on, but I grab his hand before he can.
“Won’t the police be able to track the GPS?”
He shrugs. “I doubt they know about this one. She only recently got it before she died, and she gave it to me not long after.”
Supposedly to give him whatever information she knew—only she never got the chance to provide him with a way to access it.
Could the key really be what I think it is?
My thoughts are still swirling as the phone comes on with a musical jingle. It opens onto a bright pink screen that houses a demand for a password, and I grit my teeth in grim anticipation.
“So let’s see it,” Rafe says, handing it to me. “Show me how that bunny brain works.”
Carefully, I press my fingers against the screen. Even as I type out the series letters, I’m praying that I’m wrong. Every clue leading to this conclusion is just an awful coincidence. I’ve been wrong all along…
But with a musical ping, the phone unlocks, opening onto an even pinker home screen.
“Shit,” Rafe snaps, snatching the phone from me. “How did you—”
“Not yet,” I plead, blinking back any tears that might form. “Let’s just find out what she was hiding. Please.”
He turns his attention to navigating to the sole icon visible on the screen. Once tapped, it opens onto a list of various numbers and letters.
“Are they dates?” I guess attempting to make sense of the data.
“I think so,” Rafe says, his eyes narrowing. “Or… GPS coordinates? God damnit, Faith. What were you trying to tell me?”
“Why GPS coordinates?” I ask, seizing on that possibility rather than focusing on the obvious—Branden was DW.
“Could be to stash houses,” Rafe suspects, his head cocked. “For whatever Gino isreallyserving at his club.”
