Page 92 of Imogen

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Yes,” she replies.

Thankfully, Paul isn’t sitting at his desk when she moves down, so I lean in. “I had a visitor this morning.”

Her brows pinch together as she spares me a glance. “Why are you telling me? Was I meant to greet them or something?”

“It was Zach,” I tell her.

Her cheeks lose their colour. After making sure no one is paying attention, she steps closer. “Zach was at yours this morning?”

“Yes, and we need to talk,” I answer and grab her wrist. “We need privacy.”

I head towards the back to take the side door, but as we reach the hall, Evan steps out of his office. “Going somewhere so soon?”

I drop Imogen’s arm as fast as humanly possible. “Um…”

Imogen’s soft laughter has the hairs on the nape of my neck standing on end. “No need to get embarrassed, Ben. Dad will understand. He often asks me for advice on what to get Mum for Christmas.” She moves to stand next to her dad, leaning into him. “Is it okay if Ben and I step outside? He wants to show me some potential gifts he got for his sisters.”

Realisation dawns on his expression and he places his hand on my shoulder. “Been there, son. I always left Kennedy in charge of my sister’s gifts. I always messed up.”

“Yeah, but I bet she didn’t throw it back at you when you messed up,” I partially lie to keep up the pretence.

“Uh, no, she didn’t. Don’t be long ‘cause we need you on the fraud case stat. The client needs us to speed it up before the guy catches on to the fact we’re looking into him.”

“We won’t be long,” I promise him.

Imogen takes the lead, grabbing her coat off the hook by the door before stepping outside. I watch as she scans the car park before her gaze falls on my car and she makes her way over.

“Where are you going?” I call. “Are we leaving?”

“I just lied to my dad in there,” she snaps. “The least we can do is make it look like we’re looking at presents. Open your boot.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. Okay.”

I do, flipping the switch on my keys. As she reaches the back, her eyes widen at whatever she sees. I glance down, unable to see what has her stepping back.

“Are you a serial killer?”

“What?” I ask, not expecting that to come out of her mouth.

“You’ve got tarp, rope, and a shovel. And I’m pretty sure that sheet has blood on it.” I lean against the wall, laughing hard. “It’s not funny.”

“Imogen, the tarp is for my mum’s garden,” I splutter out. “I was helping her with it before the ground freezes. The blood is because I cut myself cutting up some wood. And it’s still in my car because, if you’ve forgotten, I did get stabbed.”

“Right.”

“Zach was waiting for me by my car this morning,” I reveal. “How he knew which one was mine is worrying.”

She sits on the edge of my boot with a sigh. “What did he want?”

“That’s why I wanted to speak to you. He is under the impression there’s a video circulating of us, and I was hoping you could explain that?”

“It’s not what you think. And it’s sorted. I’ve deleted it so you don’t have to worry about it.”

My jaw drops because I hadn’t expected that. I feel like I’m standing in front of a stranger, because the Imogen I know wouldn’t have done that. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl.

“We’ve sorted it. You don’t have to worry about it.”

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