Page 27 of Selling Innocence

Or pink.

If Char had been here, he no doubt would have said it looked like a unicorn had thrown up in here.

I forced myself to step into the room. I had a job to do, and my personal feelings would only get in the way. I first checked the bathroom, finding similar décor there.

A smile tugged at my lips when I spotted a unicorn toothbrush holder and matching rainbow soap dish beside it. Any eight-year-old girl would have been proud of a room like this.

For a moment, I tried to picture her here, brushing her teeth, smiling, going through life without a care.

That wasn’t her anymore, though. It couldn’t be. I shouldn’t feel bad about it. I hadn’t targeted her, hadn’t torn her old life away. Lorien had done that.

We might have stepped in, but she was better off than she would have been in his care. Lorien did not have the reputation as a kind man, after all.

Still, no matter how much I tried to justify it all, that kernel of guilt ate away at me.

I checked the cabinets in the bathroom, finding the normal things a woman her age would need. On the counter, a single orange pill bottle sat. I picked it up and read a name I didn’t recognize on it. She had no roommate, and I didn’t recognize the name as an acquaintance of hers. I slid it into my pocket before moving on.

After the bathroom, I went to her closet. Clothes packed it full, despite how large the walk-in closet was. In fact, it was a closet so huge, it had a bench at the center, as though someone might tire themselves out from changing.

Talk about a world I know nothing about.

Shoes lined one area, the shelves lit up as soon as I’d opened the door. I knew nothing about clothing, but even I could tell that every item in this room had cost a small fortune.

A locked case sat along one of the walls, and inside? Jewelry shone, bright and tempting. It all appeared real, with silver, gold, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and gems I couldn’t even hope to name.

I wasn’t a thief, though, so I’d never cared much about things like jewelry. Beside the lit-up case, however, was an actual safe.

If she kept such nice items in the locked showcase, I could only imagine the worth of whatever remained in the safe.

This girl is so far outside of my league.

Which was fine by me. This was a temporary alliance—nothing more. What did I care if just one of her necklaces could buy every home that I’d lived in growing up? None of that would matter once we finished this.

“You find anything?” Hayden walked into the room, a notebook in his hands.

I reached into my pocket, fished out the pill bottle, then tossed it to him.

Hayden caught it, lifting it so he could read the small, printed words. “Anti-anxiety meds.”

I pressed my lips together. She hadn’t struck me as overly anxious, but who knew if that was true? Maybe she just hid it well.

“They say to use during panic attacks, flashbacks or when struggling to sleep.” Hayden frowned, staring at the bottle for an answer. “Has she had trouble sleeping?”

I thought back to the first night, the only night I’d watched her sleep. After that, we’d gotten another room for her set up and properly secured.

I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a response. She slept the first night she was with us.

Hayden nodded. “Maybe she doesn’t really need these. A lot of people get prescriptions and abuse them. She doesn’t strike me as an addict, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t one. Lots of kids her age, especially rich ones, end up depressed or looking for an escape from the pressure. We’ll bring these back, but I don’t think I’m going to give them to her. We’ll see how it goes.” He tucked them into his pocket, then held up the journal he’d found. “This was on the kitchen counter. Looks like she uses it as a planner.”

Which was likely a lot more useful than whatever was in her bedroom.

I held my hand out, then opened the book when Hayden gave it to me. Her writing was amazingly neat, and it seemed she drew all the pages herself. Perfectly done squares and doodles of vines and flowers dotted most pages, along with her daily plans and to do lists.

It was far more organized than I would have expected. Most people her age—especially rich art majors—weren’t known for being on top of things. I pictured flighty kids, those who missed classes and assignments and never knew what day it was. Instead, this journal showed each day of her life mapped out, each thing that needed to get done.

I skimmed through the pages, surprised by just how good her art was. Even though these were hastily done, the attention to detail on the petals and leaves proved her skill.

She seemed to have little social life. Her daily schedule had things in it like school, work, grocery shopping, cleaning and going to the gym in her apartment building. Her days were scheduled full, yet none of it seemed like free time. She didn’t include dates or meeting with friends or anything of that sort.

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