Page 52 of A Secret and a Lie
“Itisthree forty-five in the morning,” I mumble, kneeling as I make speedy work of picking the lock on her front door.
I have a reputation with the Bureau for doing things by the book, keeping things above board. I’ve never entertained anything like this before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
If this works out, and I’m praying it does, I’m going to have to scramble to try to pass this very illegal action off as legal, but that’sdoable. It’s not as though there aren’t corrupt judges who I could get to backdate a warrant.
“Security system disabled,” Drake announces in my ear. “Notification of front door entry on her phone has been erased.”
Probably the same way I declined Henry’s calls the other day and deleted Julien’s email about having her attend a cocktail party with him.
“Nick says he’ll wipe the footage as soon as you’re out.” Drake doesn’t seem to have the same qualms with doing things the sketchy way, so I wasn’t all that surprised when he jumped at this opportunity. If anything, I suspect he’s enjoying this.
“Copy,” I whisper, carefully turning the doorknob and slipping inside.
Your confidences are nothing compared to the others in my vault.That’s what she’d said to me when I’d asked about them, and something tells me she’s referring to a real vault, not a metaphorical one.
Even through my black mask, Genevieve’s floral scent swarms me, filtering through the fabric covering my face and seeping into my skin.
As I step into her modern kitchen, designed with sleek, clean lines, curiosity leads me to open her refrigerator, noticing that she has several pre-made meals stacked in glass Tupperware as well as seemingly endless bowls of fresh berries. There’re also three white boxes featuring the logo for Morton’s Bakery. Cracking open the lid of the one on the middle shelf, I smile to myself when I find cake inside. Everything is perfectly organized, and even the eggs are in those glass containers, not the cardboard cartons from the store.
She must have a chef, or perhaps a housekeeper. Or both.
“According to the floor plan, her office is that first room to your left,” Drake tells me as I leave the kitchen.
Stepping into the office, I find it oddly impersonal, and it takes me about five seconds to assess that the vault isn’t here. It doesn’t look like Gen actually uses this space much, if at all. There’s not even a computer. I shake my head, knowing Drake’s watching.
He guides me through the rest of the house, and I rule out all the rooms except her bedroom—the most likely candidate. “There’s no camera in her bedroom, but the one in the hallway indicates that she’s asleep on the side of the bed farthest from the door.”
My black boots are silent as I stalk across the pale hardwoods, entering her dark room. Her curtains are open, casting the room in a moonlit glow that makes my night vision practically unnecessary.
I find Genevieve instantly. She’s nestled in her bed, her right hand resting by her chin. Her lips appear even poutier than usual, her lashes fanned across her cheeks, her short hair splashed about her face like spilled milk. She looks undeniably gorgeous, and I have to fist my gloved hands at my sides to keep myself from touching her.
She’d look even better inmybed.
Forcing my legs into action, I enter the bathroom and start poking around. When I don’t feel or see any hidden doors, I move to the closet.
I slide my hands along the seams of the wood behind the long racks of blouses, dresses, pants and suits, coming up empty.
There’s a vault somewhere. I fucking know it.
I’m just about to resign myself to having to break into her office downtown when I catch sight of her shoe rack. Tilting my head to the side, I study the floor-to-ceiling display of shoes—everything from boots to stilettos and sneakers—and step toward it as if it calls to me.
“Are you exploring a somnophilia kink? What’s taking so long? You’re pushing nearly half an hour in this house. Tick, tick, motherfucker.”
Rolling my eyes, I glide my hand up the side, and my glove catches on something. Looking closer, I find a hidden hinge. Adrenaline sizzles in my veins as I open the hidden door that is the shoe rack, revealing a large, black vault.
Genevieve
“What the hell is wrong with your phone?” Corinne asks, and I reach for the item in question on my desk. “Clients are calling me like crazy. I’ve tried calling you twice to test it, and it doesn’t even ring.”
I open the phone and don’t see anything out of place as I scroll through. “I’ll get Marcus to take a look at it. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
But the longer I stare at the handheld computer in my palm, I think through where I’ve been and when it started acting up. The gears in my mind whirr so fast that my brain nearly combusts when the answer shoves its way to the forefront, slamming my mind to an abrupt stop.
No…
Reaching for my bag, I round my desk and shove my phone into Corinne’s hand. She startles, but I hold her attention. “Take this to Marcusimmediately. I think it’s been bugged, tapped, or whatever the techy adjective would be. I need to take care of something.”
By something, I meansomeone.
