Chapter 2 #2
“One more thing,” I said. “Someone needs to sweep her townhouse. Given they broke in and planted a device, there could be surveillance hardware in there—cameras, audio, GPS, anything transmitting to whoever’s running this.”
“Agreed,” Atticus said. “What do you need to make that happen?”
“Whatever I need is here. I’ll go before we head to Treasury.”
“Document everything,” Alice added. “What they planted—or didn’t—tells us who we’re dealing with.”
“Would it be possible to get some of my things?” Emma asked. “I can’t keep borrowing Brenna’s clothes.”
“I’ll pick up what you need while I’m there.”
“Oh, and there’s a photo on my nightstand. And one of my parents on the bookshelf.”
“Got it. Anything else to cover?”
When no one replied, the call ended.
I grabbed my keys. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
I pulled up in front of Emma’s Georgetown townhouse, with the countersurveillance kit on the passenger seat.
The neighborhood was quiet, with rowhouses, old trees, and a woman two doors down watering plants on her stoop.
There was no one sitting in parked cars and no vans with tinted windows.
That didn’t mean they weren’t there, but it was worth noting that they weren’t obvious.
Her Audi was in the driveway. I started by checking its undercarriage, wheel wells, and the engine compartment, then did an RF and GPS sweep of the frame. The car was clean. No trackers, no transmitters, no indication anyone had touched it.
The front door lock showed no signs of forced entry. There were no scratches on the plate or tool marks on the frame. I didn’t know how they’d gotten in, but it wasn’t through here.
The damage was worse inside than it had seemed in the dark. Last night, I’d been focused on getting in, confirming the device was fake, and returning to Emma.
I’d seen enough crime scenes to know that the damage done should tell us something about the person who’d executed it.
This didn’t. The objectives were straightforward.
Take whatever evidence she had and send a strong message to get her to abandon her investigation.
They’d achieved objective one. They’d taken what they came for.
That required five minutes. Maybe the bomb was intended to satisfy their second objective, but in under a minute, I’d determined it was fake.
Slashing every sofa cushion, emptying the cabinets in the kitchen, and destroying her belongings was a personal attack. But for what reason? Again, if it was to scare her, why go to the trouble of manufacturing a fake explosive?
Most crime made sense. This one didn’t. At least not that I could see.
I began the interior sweep in the kitchen, working the RF detector along the walls, behind the outlets, and under the lip of the counters. The pipe under the sink had been cut with a tool, but it was rough and angled. Another thing that made no sense.
The side entrance off the kitchen showed signs of forced entry. The frame was splintered near the latch, and the deadbolt hadn’t been thrown or didn’t latch right. That’s how they got in.
I continued working the frequency detector along the kitchen, living room, dining area, hallway, and coat closet, but they were all clean. Again, I was baffled. Why go to all this trouble without leaving behind the means to find out what else she knew? It was another thing that didn’t add up.
Last night, I’d done a quick sweep of the second level and determined no one had been up here. Today, I’d take my time and confirm it.
The RF sweep on the primary bed and bathroom came back clean, as did the closet. When I saw a suitcase sitting in the rear, hidden by Emma’s clothes, I grabbed it.
When I opened the top drawer of her dresser, I froze. It was full of silk and lace in deep red, black, and a pale blue that I pictured against her skin.
My hands hovered over fabric I had no business touching.
The pale blue was the softest. I ran my thumb across the silk and lost my damn mind. I pictured Emma wearing the lace that would barely cover anything.
Her blonde hair would be fanned out on my pillow, she’d hold my gaze, and her tongue would peek out between her parted lips.
I’d trace the edge of the material with my fingers and feel the warmth of her skin underneath.
Her breath would catch when my hands found the curve of her hip, her waist, then went lower.
And when I eased my hand beneath the panties, she’d be so wet, so ready—Jesus. What was I doing?
I shoved the contents into the suitcase and slammed that drawer shut.
I’d worked hard not to picture her like this. What she’d do if I peeled her clothes off her body with my teeth. One drawer full of lace, and all that discipline went straight to hell.
I braced myself on the dresser until my breathing steadied, then added more clothes from there and the closet.
On the top shelf of a bookshelf on the far wall was a photo of people who had to be her parents. The woman had Emma’s smile, and the man had her blue eyes. They were on a beach somewhere, with their arms around each other.
The next shelf down held mystery and thriller novels written by authors like Lee French and Tana Child. I chuckled when I picked up a worn copy of the Silence of the Lambs. By the looks of it, she’d read it multiple times.
A few romance novels sat on a lower shelf, and their cracked spines told me she’d also read them more than once.
There was a photo on the cover of the first one I picked up, of a man and woman wrapped around each other.
He was looking at her the same way I would look at Emma if our naked bodies were tangled like theirs.
Visions of her blue silk panties returned, and my cock responded like it had before—rock-fucking-hard.
I returned the book to the shelf and touched the marathon medal hung from a hook.
The engraving read Marine Corps Marathon, and it was from three years ago.
The twenty-six-mile race that wound through DC in fall required months of discipline and early-morning training sessions.
That she’d done it didn’t surprise me at all.
A pair of dog tags hung from the same hook.
I didn’t look closely enough to read the name.
I had to draw the line at invading her privacy somewhere.
I was almost to the hallway when I remembered the photo on her nightstand. I returned and picked it up. It was of Emma and Brenna at what had to be a graduation ceremony. They were both grinning at the camera.
A sweep of the rest of the rooms upstairs yielded the same result in terms of surveillance devices. Nothing.
I took one last look around upstairs and down, then left through the side door.
On the return trip to my place, I reported the break-in as a burglary with property and water damage from a burst pipe.
I added that the door on the north side was the point of entry and currently unsecured since the homeowner was staying with friends out of the area.
MPD—Metropolitan Police Department—said they’d send someone to take a report.
They’d document what I intended them to find and leave.
Emma was at my kitchen table when I came in from the garage. Her laptop was open, and she was scribbling on a notepad. She glanced at the suitcase when I set it on the floor in the hallway.
“Your things,” I said.
“Thanks.” She rose and crossed over to the bag and crouched to unzip it.
She pulled the photo of her and Emma out and set it on the counter, then noticed the second one beneath it. Her face changed as she studied it.
“Thank you for bringing this one too.”
“You’re welcome.”
“My dad always said to be fully present with the people you love.” A ghost of a smile passed over her face. “He didn’t only say it; he practiced it.”
“He sounds like a smart man.”
“He was.”
She’d said was. I almost asked what happened, but it wasn’t my place.
“The house was clean,” I said instead. “No surveillance devices. Whoever was in your place didn’t make it to the second floor. But as you know, the water damage is significant. The first floor is in rough shape. You’re looking at weeks of repair.”
Her expression changed, and my guess was that she wondered, like I had, if she’d interrupted them.
She reached for her phone. “I have to call my mother regarding the break-in. If Darla finds out and tells her before I do, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She moved to the far side of the kitchen, but I heard enough to follow the conversation.
“Hey, Mom. No, everything’s fine. Well, mostly fine.
” She leaned against the counter and crossed one arm over her stomach.
“Someone broke into the townhouse yesterday. They came in through the side door and trashed the first floor. A pipe got damaged too, so water leaked throughout the whole downstairs.”
Her mother’s reaction was so loud that Emma held the phone a few inches from her ear.
“I wasn’t home when it happened. It’s been reported to the police, and I’ll call the insurance company as soon as they release the scene.
” She paused. “Because I didn’t find out until I got home last night, and by then, it was late, and I didn’t want to scare you with a phone call at midnight. I stayed at Brenna’s.”
That answer didn’t satisfy her mother. I could hear the tone, if not the words.
“I know. You’re right. I should have called first thing this morning.” She rubbed her forehead. “The damage is bad, Mom. It’s going to be weeks before the first floor is livable.”
She paused again and listened.
“No, you don’t need to come. There’s nothing to see right now except a mess, and we can’t even get inside until the police are finished.” She softened her voice. “I promise I’m okay. I’ll keep you posted on everything. I love you too.”
She set the phone on the counter and was quiet for a moment.
“She took it as well as I expected,” she said. “By the way, I appreciate you going over there for me.”
I’d tell her it was my pleasure. That I hoped she’d model the pale-blue panties I’d packed for her, but I’d left that version of myself—the one who flirted with her relentlessly while never making it clear whether I meant any of it or all of it—behind when I left that dance floor.
The thought of those panties, though, made me open my mouth before my brain caught up.
“The pale-blue silk was a good choice, by the way.”
Her head snapped up.