Page 63 of Retribution

Hm.

Her dress flows down and cuts off around mid-thigh, showing enough of her silky legs to cause my pulse to race and heat to spread straight to my groin. Those long, flexible, sexy legs.

She stares right back at me, returning the heated gaze, her eyelashes fluttering with every blink.

“INDIE!” Willow barrels right past me and knocks into Indie as she struggles to keep them both upright from the force.

They both wrap their arms around each other, and I watch as they interact, the glimmer in her eyes and the passion behind Willow’s. She really does idolize Indie in every way, and I’m thankful she has someone like her to look up to.

“Let’s get started!” Indie cheers, Willow grabs her hand and pulls her inside of the house whilst I step out of the way.

Being stampeded by a frantic nine-year-old, is not on my list of tasks to complete today. I close the door, walking back into the living space.

Willow has pulled one of the dining room chairs into the lounge, placing it in the center of the room, in front of one of L-shaped couches. She prompts Indie to sit in the chair, hurrying off to her bedroom to grab her notebook full of burning questions.

Indie sits down, smoothing out her dress and keeping her focus on the rug beneath her. Her hair is down, flowing around the base of her shoulders, partially tucked behind her ear.

“We need to talk later.” Her voice is quiet and deeper than her usual tone.

I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the door frame.

“Is that so?” My tone is cocky and unforgiving.

She looks up at me, her emerald eyes piercing mine in some sort of mental warfare. Her lips purse as she tries to remain emotionless, it’s not working.

She’s going to accept my offer, isn’t she?

I lick around my lips, eager for another taste of her.

“Got it!” Willow shouts, running and jumping onto the sofa, drawing both of our attention on her.

Indie smiles at her and sits up straight, cracking her knuckles.

“Bring it on detective.” She winks at Willow.

She giggles and readjusts the notebook, popping the lid from her pen.

“Okay, Miss Thorne. Let’s get started with some easy questions, what is your full name?”

“Indie Margot Thorne.”

She suits it.

“When is your birthday?”

“September 17, 1995.”

“So that makes you… twenty-seven?”

“Twenty-eight.” She smiles.

Their introductory questions carry on whilst I slink away to my office.

I still haven’t opened a file that my new P.I warned me about. The thought of opening it has been eating away at me. I can’t understand what must be so bad, enough for someone in his profession to warn me. He’s seen all kinds of things and dealt with some of the worst criminals in the world, but he warns me about something to do with my wife and Willow?

My mouse hovers over the file, the title of it just being a bunch of encrypted numbers. I grab the bottle of bourbon from my drawer and refill the glass next to my computer that has become a part of the furniture. It stays here, permanently.

If whatever is inside of this file carries a warning, I’m going to need something to take the edge of.

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