Page 67 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

She also had to be careful not to let him know she’d been snooping around her uncle’s house or that she’d made copies of his computer files. Reed would be furious with her, and so, in the hours between taking the files and his return, she’d copied them onto her hard drive and read through as many of them as she could, skimming the text, her heart pounding for fear he would somehow come in and catch her, and jumping every time the phone rang, as she was certain it would be her aunt, who had either seen her or figured out what she’d done.

Thankfully, the only people who’d called were Trina, trying to set up a time they could go out for a drink—she was having boyfriend problems—and Nikki’s mother, with a dozen questions about the seating arrangements for the wedding reception.

She found the camera she’d discovered earlier in the day and carried it back to the bedroom.

“What the hell is this?” Reed asked as she dropped it into his open palm.

“I think someone may have been spying on us. I saw something glinting from the window, and there this was, the lens pointed upward at this apartment.”

“You’re sure?” He was still on the bed, lying naked on the rumpled sheets. The duvet had slid to the floor. As he studied the little spy camera, she hauled the downy coverlet onto the foot of the bed.

She told him the story of retrieving the camera, but left out any mention that she thought she was being followed because it was all just little pieces with no substance. The guy in the park hadn’t chased her down. The car that nearly hit her as she stepped from the curb was most likely just another idiot behind the wheel. She’d had no phone hang-ups, seen no one dogging her as she walked through town, detected no headlights boring down upon her as she drove.

Maybe just your paranoia working overtime.

“I don’t like this,” he said, turning the camera over.

“Me neither.”

“I’ll have the lab look it over, see what they can find,” Reed said and set it on the nightstand before walking to the window and peering into the night. “Good thing you found it or someone would have gotten a show tonight.”

“Maybe they’ve seen others.”

“Maybe.” He stared outside. “But the angle would be tough. From this window to the top of the fence is what? Twenty feet? You’re sure our apartment was the target? From where you said it was mounted, it seems to me it would have been set to view the first or maybe even the second floor.” He squinted. “Now if it was higher on that utility pole, then maybe. But I’d bet it was aimed at the Arbuckles or the Donnigans.”

“Let’s hope.”

His glance moved upward, along the utility pole. “You didn’t find any others.”

“Nothing that I saw.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he said, “I’ll look into it.”

“Because you don’t have anything better to do.” She tried to lighten the mood a little as she saw the muscles tightening in his neck and back.

He glanced over his shoulder. She’d found his boxer shorts, which she now tossed to him. He caught them handily as she said, “Talking about putting on a show, better cover up. These days everyone and their dog has a cell phone or pocket camera and could be snapping us as we speak. I don’t think you want a picture of yourself in your birthday suit splashed all over the media.”

“And here I thought you wanted me to get dressed because the sight of me naked was driving you crazy.”

“The ego of men,” she said, but she did notice the dimples on his buttocks, little indentations she’d always found fascinating.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed. “I don’t need to be dealing with all those women who might see my picture splashed all over the news throwing themselves at me.”

“Man, you’ve got a pretty damned high opinion of yourself, Detective Reed.”

“Just tellin’ it like it is. But don’t worry.” He stepped into his shorts and moved away from the window. “There’s only one woman for me.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

“Glad you know it. Now throw on some clothes and I’ll buy you dinner.”

Glancing at the clock, she said, “It’s nearly nine.”

“Murphy’s serves Irish stew all night.”

Her mouth watered at the thought. “Come to think of it, I missed breakfast, and lunch was a cup of yogurt.”

“Then we’ll get you an extra-large bowl. Get a move on.” He’d been picking up his T-shirt and snapped it at her butt.

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