Chapter Eleven
ELEVEN
Annie
It’s annoying how easy it is for six-foot-tall Cal to get into his massive SUV compared to me, who at five-three has to ascend strategically like a rock climber. “Why is your vehicle so unnecessarily large?” I ask when I’m finally buckled into the passenger seat. “Overcompensating for something?”
He ignores this provocation and turns the key in the ignition.
“I admit it wouldn’t have been my first choice.
It isn’t particularly easy to park, especially in a city, and it costs me a fortune in gas.
But it’s helpful for smaller local pickups and deliveries, rather than having to work with an outside company.
” Cal pulls out of the alley and onto the street, the somewhat dated center display providing directions to the address Genevieve texted him.
“It was Graham’s, originally. He left it to me, along with the apartment and his half of Virtu. ”
“That was kind of him,” I say.
“Yeah. We were close. Graham and I considered each other family since neither of us had much of it otherwise. He did have a partner—a romantic one, I mean. He and Francis were together for ten years. But Fran has his own car and career and place to live, so Graham decided to bequeath those things to me.”
I wonder, not for the first time, whether Cal wants his entire life to revolve around the antique shop or if it’s something he sort of fell into.
Maybe something he feels he owes Graham in exchange for his years of mentorship.
But this truce between us is too nascent to ask such personal and probing questions.
Besides, the lightness I sensed this morning has disappeared since we discovered the goose missing, and he is understandably all tension and anxiety once again.
Thankfully, he’s continued being nice to me, but I’m sure there’s a limit to how much he’s willing to let me poke and prod before he snaps. (Kind of rude leopard and all that.)
We don’t converse much more for the rest of the twentyish-minute drive.
I pretend I’m listening intently to the classical music playing on the radio, but in reality, I’m mentally looping the melody of the last piece that played and trying not to let Cal’s proximity get to me.
Ever since he helped me with my injury, I’ve become a bit too aware of his physical presence.
I blame all the touching involved in first aid.
Because if that hadn’t happened, I probably wouldn’t have the knowledge of how warm and strong his hands are.
How they’re just a bit rough in a way that makes me wonder how they’d feel elsewhere on my body.
I watch said hands as they grip the steering wheel and wish they were gripping me instead.
Which is a problem! Sure, I had a crush on Cal when I got to Virtu, but the reality is that this is all much more complicated than I expected, what with the blackmail and now a lost goose that could get traced back to us any minute and ruin his career.
Both of our careers, really, since I’m now probably an accomplice to…
whatever the hell this is. There’s no room for a dalliance, even if I am starting to find his personality less repulsive than I did before.
The Suburban eventually comes to a stop beside a keypad placed in front of a large metal gate.
Cal enters a code, which Genevieve must have provided along with the address, and the gate slowly opens inward, allowing us entrance to the driveway that curves in front of an absolutely massive mansion.
This place looks like it should be a hotel or something, not a single-family home.
Presumably noticing the slightly horrified awe that’s written all over my face, Cal says, “Welcome to the northern suburbs.”
We get out of the car (or rather, I practically fall out as I try to slide off the seat without exposing my entire undercarriage to the world) and approach the oversized wooden front door.
Cal presses the doorbell. It takes so long for Makayla to answer that we exchange a concerned look.
Is it possible she finished up early and left?
Finally the door swings open. “Hey, sorry, I was on the other side of the house,” Makayla says, slightly out of breath. “Genevieve said I’m supposed to let you come in and look around for some missing item?”
“Yeah, we shouldn’t be long,” Cal says. “As soon as we find it, we’ll be out of your way.”
“Do you want to tell me what it is? I’ve been around the place a few times since the moving guys left. I have a pretty good idea of where everything—”
“No,” Cal interrupts. “No, but thank you.”
“It’s…sensitive,” I stage-whisper. “Something that wasn’t supposed to be there when you picked up the stuff but got mixed in by accident.
” I press my lips together hard and raise my eyebrows, trying to communicate to Makayla the only thing that I think might make even a tiny amount of sense that wouldn’t land us in legal trouble: something sexual in nature.
Cal glances at me, his mouth drooped into a disapproving frown.
“Ummm, all right, then,” she says with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Well, I’m finishing up in the pool house around back if you need anything.”
The specificity of “the pool house around back” makes me briefly consider if there is another pool house elsewhere.
I wouldn’t be surprised; according to a stack of flyers sitting on a console table by the front door, this place is over twelve thousand square feet with eight bedrooms and ten and a half baths.
The only people I can imagine this suiting perfectly would be a very large family that frequently suffers from food poisoning.
Makayla hurries off, her sky-high heels from this morning now replaced by more practical running shoes.
“Great,” Cal says once she’s gone. “Now Makayla thinks we inadvertently rented her a dildo.”
I try not to burst into laughter at the exasperation in his voice while saying the word. “Well, I would rather her think that, which is just sort of embarrassing, than her know the truth, which could potentially ruin our lives.”
Cal sighs heavily. “I guess.”
“And if she does believe it’s a sex toy, she probably thinks it’s mine. Let her assume I’m a little freak, getting off in Virtu’s storeroom.”
“Is that what she’d think?” he asks, an endearing blush overtaking his pale face.
“Either that or we were using it together,” I say, wanting to see how much redder Cal’s cheeks can get. The answer is quite a bit. “Anyway, we should split up,” I suggest, trying not to linger on the mental image too long myself since my skin is starting to feel hot too. “Cover more area quickly.”
“Good idea,” he says, the lightest catch in his voice. “I’ll take everything in, uh, this wing—” He gestures to the left. “You take everything in that one?” He shifts his arms to the opposite side. “And we’ll text the other with the location once it’s found.”
I nod once, agreeing to the plan, and rush off to search for the goose and the long-lost part of my brain that is supposed to think before I speak.
This house is oddly disorienting. Maybe because it’s so damn big, or because of all the random nooks and crannies the architect decided to throw in for who knows what reason.
I swear it stretches on endlessly. Like, the listing said eight bedrooms, but I’m sure that I’ve come across ten upstairs by the time I reach the last one (the master, I assume based on how gigantic it is) and find Cal already inside.
He looks over his shoulder as I enter, as if he senses my presence.
“Nothing?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he confirms.
“Same here. Where could it be?”
“Maybe it flew away,” he says, completely deadpan.
“Ha. Ha. Aren’t you hilarious.”
I stare up at the tray ceiling, a rather ugly chandelier hanging from its center. “I guess we should go find Makayla and ask if it’s possible it was left on the truck.” I move toward the door, but Cal’s hand clutches my shoulder and pulls me backward before I can leave.
“The security panel,” he explains before I can register my annoyance at being manhandled. “The light on it was glowing green when I came in. Now it’s red.”
“What?” I follow Cal’s gaze to a small, dark screen mounted on the wall beside the door. It does indeed have a red light glowing beside the word Status.
He goes over and taps the screen with his finger, forcing it to awaken from its sleeping state. “System armed,” he reads.
“Shit. How did that happen?”
“Maybe Makayla forgot we were here since it took an actual eternity for us to get through this place.” Cal pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call Genevieve.”
I wait, breath held as the call goes straight to voicemail. Cal tries again and again with the same result. He leaves her a message that requests she call him back as soon as possible.
“Well. That’s not ideal,” he says, pocketing his phone.
“What about the police?” I suggest.
“Yeah, great idea, Annie.” His tone tells me this is sarcasm even before he continues, “ ‘Good evening, officer. Thanks for coming out. We promise we’re supposed to be here even though the person responsible for the property isn’t answering her phone.
No, we don’t know her assistant’s last name.
What were we doing here in the first place?
Looking for something. Can’t tell you what, though!
Because it would probably implicate us in a felony! ’ ”
“Okay, fine. What are we going to do, then?”
“I guess we keep trying to get in touch with Genevieve.” Cal leans against the bedpost and shoves his hands in his pockets. “And in the meantime, we’ll just have to wait.”