Page 80 of Torched

“That’s okay, Mrs. Almos doesn’t always respond well to new company.”

I glance at the woman who Frank Reyes mentioned as the love of his life, seeing the sadness in the love story when I peer into her hollow eyes.

“Thank you for the offer.” The girl smiles.

“You’re welcome. I hope you have a great day.” I softly rub her arm, then signal to Cristina to get her ass up. She does so with a glare, and a roll of her eyes, though they’re covered by sunglasses.

“You too!” The girl strolls off with Loranne, and I look up at Liam. “If I ever turn into a vegetable, you better kill me. That’s just awful.”

“You got what we need?” Cristina approaches us with swaying hips and an attitude that has everyone she passes rearing their heads to follow her every move.

I snort. “What do you think? Let’s go.”

“You stay out here and keep watch. Gen and I will go in,” Liam says as we’re standing in front of the house. It’s small and cute, and I imagine it to be a pretty home while in its glory. But now, the front yard is covered in tropical bushes that barely make it possible to look through the windows and the paint seems in need of a new lick years ago.

“¿Que te pasa?” Cristina sneers. “I’m not staying out here! Who says you two won’t get out through the backyard when you find the diamond?’

I turn my head to look past Liam to see the displeasure on her face, but he blocks my view when he turns his body, crowding her space. A few days ago, I’d probably be jealous, hating their proximity. But now, I just smile, feeling a bit sorry for her when his energy radiates nothing more than contempt.

That’s a lie; I couldn’t feel sorry for the bitch if I wanted to.

Not anymore.

“You wanted me to trust you, right?” Liam thunders, though he doesn’t raise his voice at her. “That goes both ways, sweetheart. Consider this a way to show your loyalty. You stay out and let us know if Loranne and her caretaker come home early, got it?”

When Cristina doesn’t reply, a stare-off takes place for longer than a few heartbeats until I roll my eyes. “No offense, but we don’t have time for this.”

“Fine.” Cristina folds her arms in front of her chest.

“Great,” I clip, beaming. “Let’s go.” Pulling Liam’s arm, we walk toward the front door and easily access the house with the keyset I’ve stolen. I wait for a few seconds, listening for any reply with my ears prick up.

“What are you doing?” Liam whispers.

“Checking if she has a dog or something, duh! Breaking and entering 101, baby, they didn’t teach you that in felon high school?”

“Nah, I majored in distributing weapons and drugs; everyone knows that’s where the money is.”

“Right, I forgot about that.” When I’m convinced there will be no Bingo to snap our ankles, I push the door fully open, and we enter the house. A soft smell of summer patchouli attacks my nose as I scan the living room. The house is small, and a little messy, but it still feels homey, like someone’s safe haven. Reign told us she’s been living here since she was eighteen, which means that Frank Reyes has been in this house as well. It’s hard to picture him in a cozy setting like this when I only know the man as cunning and focused on luxury.

“Where do we start?” I ask, Liam walking past me.

“Let’s start with the bedroom.” We let our feet carry us to the bedroom and then get to work. We don’t want to alarm Loranne’s caretaker in any way, so we try to put everything back the way we found it, going through every inch of the room with precision. Closet, under the bed, drawers. Liam ticks every piece of furniture to look for any hidden compartments, but when we can’t find anything, we move to the guest room in the house. We proceed in the same way, but come up empty-handed.

“Come on,” I balk. “We have to find something!” I walk toward the kitchen, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Liam pulls my back against his chest, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“We will. You check the bookcases, and I’ll check in here."

I round the bar that’s connected to the living room before I start looking through every book on the shelf. Most of them are just old books, with the occasional history book about the island, but when I get to the third shelf, I open one of the bigger books. The corner of my lips curl when I see the photos inside, then glance at the shelf when I realize five of them are all the same.

“Photo albums,” I murmur to myself.

One by one, I go through them, looking for any that have pictures of Frank and Loranne together. My gut tells me there is something in here, but I can’t pinpoint it. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place. I want to grab the next book, when the sound of a car door has me peeking out the window.

Cristina’s black hair is shown in front of the yard, and I fixate my gaze on the direction she’s looking at. A man with a thick beard is standing across the street, about thirty yards away, leaning against the door of his SUV. He’s bulky, with tattoos covering both his arms, popping out when he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

That man.

I know him.

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