Page 13 of Stripped

Chapter 8

Pim pulled her hair back into a loose, low bun and adjusted the bow on the neck of the long-sleeved, black crepe dress she wore. She slipped her feet into her Louboutin black pumps and made her way to the kitchen. She shouldn't have agreed to Wraith's plan. What kind of name was Wraith, anyway? But if someone did murder her grandfather and if it was someone close to him, she needed to find out. She took a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the wine refrigerator and opened it, pouring herself a small glass to bolster her nerves. She had no idea how she was going to make it through all the pleasantries this afternoon. Her grief was personal; it wasn't something she wanted to share with anyone. She was fine with keeping it locked away tight in her heart.

There was a knock on the door. She set her glass down and went to answer it. Wraith stood on the other side, dressed in a dark blue suit and tie with a starched white shirt.

"You shouldn't answer the door without checking who it is first," he said.

She rolled her eyes and, picking up her glass, drained it. "I'll remember that," she said sarcastically.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" He pointed to the wine.

"Yes, I think it's a good idea or I wouldn't be having a glass." She shouldn't have agreed to this, she thought, taking her coat from the hall closet. Fucking cocky wanker. She didn't know a thing about this man. But the idea that her grandfather was murdered resonated within her and she couldn't stop thinking of it. She knew he wouldn't have just fallen.

"Can you help me?" She turned around so her back faced him. The dress had a gold zipper up the back that she couldn't manage on her own. His hand brushed her neck briefly, sending an unexpected shiver up her spine. He finished zipping it up the remainder of the way and fastened the tiny clasp at the top. She was used to being touched by men—she couldn't avoid it in ballet—but her body never reacted this way. She took a deep breath before turning around. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He helped her with her coat and followed her out the door and down the stairs to where his car was parked, a black Mercedes-AMG GT. He definitely had money.

She smiled up at him, giving him a smug look as he opened the door for her and saw her safely seated. "Nice car."

"Fasten your seat belt, Primrose," he said, shutting her door.

* * *

It was the first time Wraith had seen her smile. He took his jacket off, laying it down in the back, and sat down in the driver's seat. It suited her, and he was glad to see her wall come down a bit. It would make his job easier.

"Can I drive it?" she asked, running her hand over the dashboard.

"No."

"But I'm helping you," she countered. "You owe me."

"Do you even know how to drive?" He doubted it since he had only seen her take the subway and bus.

"Technically, yes, but I don't have my license."

"Then that would be a definite no. It would be illegal." He turned down Great Western, shifting gears and flooring it as the car accelerated up to speed in a few seconds.

"I always thought private investigators were supposed to be fearless and daring. I didn't realize you were going to be such a goody-goody."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Hardly. But I am into safety." He pulled into the car park at the funeral home. "What can we expect today?"

"I told you I wasn't involved in the planning. His solicitor, Graham Rankin, handled it. He did say he only invited close friends to the viewing, so it shouldn't be too crowded." Gone, was the smile, the prickly tone in her voice returned.

He turned the car off and got out to open her door, but she was already standing, smoothing the skirt of her dress. "You should have waited for me to get the door," he said, putting his jacket back on and fastening the button.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Why?"

"Because I'm supposed to be your boyfriend."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She walked ahead of him toward the red brick building.

He caught up to her and held the door open. "People will be watching. We need this cover to work. And I'm warning you, Primrose, watch your language. Your grandfather wouldn't want to hear those words from your mouth."

"You're warning me?" She laughed. "Or what?" She turned on him, putting her finger in his face. "Don't you tell me how to act or be, or I'll kick your arse out of here faster than you can count. And it's Pim, not Primrose."

Wraith clenched his jaw to prevent saying something he would regret. He softened his tone, remembering where they were. Of course, she would be upset; she was about to go to the viewing of her dead grandfather. He took her hand. "Come."

A bald man with a head so shiny, it looked like he polished it, stood at the entrance to the chapel, greeting guests as they arrived. He saw Pim and walked toward them. "Sweetheart," he said, giving her a kiss on her cheek. "I'm glad you're here. There are refreshments in the room to the right. Your grandfather is in the chapel."

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