Page 49 of Bound By Love

“Yes, it’s not far from her work.”

“It doesn’t look like much.” I frowned at the rundown cottage. She deserved so much better than a home with overgrown bushes. “What do you know about the house?”

“It’s a rental. Two bedrooms, one bath, laundry in the basement.”

“Basement? That sucks. I can’t believe she’d rent a place without a laundry room on the main floor. And only one bathroom?” I shook my head.

“There aren’t many homes to rent, just apartments in the South Hill area. That side of town is more expensive. It’s a desirable location. And it’s safe.”

“I don’t care how desirable the location is. She shouldn’t be living in a dump like that.” My blood pressure was rising as I thought of her living in poverty. Okay, so it wasn’t poverty, but our lifestyle was a million times better than what was in the pictures.

“Calm down! She’s not sleeping on the streets,” my father said, frustration in his voice.

“Is there anything else?” I directed my question to York, not wanting to engage my dad further.

“There’s a man. Well, two men,” York said.

My eyes cut to his. “What men?”

“One named Alastair Adams. He’s twenty and seems to hang out at the boutique every day. He’s the boss’s son. The other is Derek Watson, an architect and co-owner of a construction business. His brother Owen is his partner. They’re Brea’s older brothers—Anna’s friend, Brea.”

“Her name is Miranda!”

“William!” my father yelled in a reprimanding tone.

“Why didn’t you get pictures of them?” I inhaled deeply to calm myself.

“I did.” York tossed another folder onto the coffee table between us.

I snatched it and filed through the pictures. The nerdy guy with glasses gawked at Miranda like a starstruck teenager. “He looks like a lovestruck puppy.” I laughed. I didn’t give a shit about him.

York snorted. “He pretty much looks like that all the time.”

I studied the other guy. Blond hair, chiseled jawline, “sexy scruff,” as Miranda called it. I wanted to kill him for looking at her like he wanted to devour her.

“What about him… Derek, right?” I turned the photo toward York.

“Yes, Derek Watson.” He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. The sight put me on edge. “Yesterday he was waiting for her at her house after work. See the last photo.”

I hadn’t seen the last one. All the others made me want to vomit, so I’d stopped looking. In the image, he opened Miranda’s car door. She was smiling at him. Smiling with the sparkle in her eyes she’d always had with me.

“And what happened after this photo?”

“He went into the cottage with her,” York said plainly.

“What did they do? Was he there long? Why didn’t you take more pictures? You’re a fucking PI—where are the bloody pictures!”

“Enough, William,” my dad reprimanded again. “I had York destroy the rest of the pictures.”

“You what? Why?” I was out of the chair, gripping the back of my neck. This couldn’t be good. My stomach churned. Fuck, this was bad.

“Because they were pointless. Miranda isn’t doing anything wrong.”

I cut my gaze to York. He didn’t flinch, meeting my death stare. “Are they a couple? Did you see him kiss her?”

“Yes.”

The one word was like a vice around my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

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