Page 47 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
“No, but I didn’t ask. I can call her…”
I shake my head. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. It’s getting late.”
She glances at the clock on her microwave and her eyes go wide. “Is it really after nine?”
“It is.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have any homework tonight. I couldn’t concentrate. I go to night school,” she clarifies.
I nod. “Too rattled?”
She tries to suppress a smile but can’t. It’s damn cute. “And too tipsy.”
We finish dinner in relative silence, except the moaning I can’t quite seem to check. Once we both push our plates away, I see she’s consumed a second glass of wine. I fill her up one more time. I suspect she’ll need it—along with a couple of aspirin—before bed.
When she starts clearing the table, I wrap my fingers around her arm. “I’ll get the dishes. Why don’t you take a shower and get ready for bed?”
“It’s a lot of dishes. I hate to leave you to?—”
“I’m fine. Trust me, being one of the younger kids in my family, I did a lot of dishes. Only my younger brother, Ridge, had it worse,” I say to see her reaction.
She pales. “O-okay. If you don’t mind. I’ll just go and…”
“Sure. Why don’t you let me sweep your bedroom and bathroom one last time, make sure it’s clear and that your uninvited guest didn’t leave any surveillance gizmos behind.”
“Didn’t think of that. Good call.”
Vanessa resumes clearing while I haul ass down the hall to prowl around her bedroom. It’s obvious the intruder got in through the sliding glass door. It’s old, like the rest of the place. The latch on the door is so rickety, the intruder probably wiggled it loose and slid right in. I’ll fix that tomorrow.
But that doesn’t explain how the dirtbag managed to disengage her alarm.
There are about a dozen phone calls I could make to start getting answers, but I shouldn’t incite panic and jeopardize the larger mission. It would be premature, and I’m equipped to handle this situation. Vanessa’s father knows that or he wouldn’t have put me in St. Augustine to watch his daughter. I need to see what develops.
But for safety’s sake, I’m going to assume the threat is credible—not random—and instigated by a professional.
Fuck.
I don’t have the equipment needed to truly sweep the house free from cameras, bugs, or other crap meant to surveil Vanessa, but I’ve been doing this for years. I can almost guess where anyone with half a brain would hide such devices.
A few minutes later, I’m satisfied. I didn’t find anything, so I assume that if her intruder intended to spy on her, he got interrupted and fled. But she’s a job to him, so he’ll be back.
I’ll be waiting.
After making sure her windows are locked, I manage to find a discarded metal curtain rod at the back of her closet. I would rather have had a broom to break its handle, but I only saw a cordless hand vacuum. At least the rod fits into the track of her sliding glass door. Not a perfect solution, but it will work for a night. I’ll MacGyver something more secure and permanent tomorrow.
A sixth sense has me staring at her bed again with its towering wrought iron headboard. The sloppy way it’s made and the little bump in the middle niggles at me. Quickly, I toss aside the blue and gray throw pillows and yank down the white comforter. In the middle of the flat sheet lies her missing kitchen knife and the pink shreds of some lacy fabric. I fit the pieces back together and realize he sliced up a pair of soft shorts and a matching tank top.
Her pajamas.
6
Shit. If the intruder wanted to scare her right before she went to bed, that would have done it.
My hunch? He meant it as a warning. Whoever he is, he’s threatening her with harm.
He’ll have to go through me first.
I strip the sheets from her bed. The bastard made himself cozy here, too, and I won’t have Vanessa sleeping on these linens.
