CHAPTER SEVEN WHACK-AN-ELF #2
“Yeah, about that…” I tilted my head toward the dining room. “It might be a bit before I’m able to come home because I’m going undercover.”
“What?”
At his booming voice, there was a concerned ruckus from the other room, but I ignored both as I moved for the table. “Let’s eat.”
This can’t be right.
Slowing the car to a stop at the curb, I looked out the window to confirm the address on the brick townhouse. It was the narrowest of the attached ranch-style units, but in that neighborhood, it still likely cost a fortune.
I scanned up and down the street to make sure nothing looked out of place.
Something did.
My car.
The loaner from the department had been chosen specifically because the gray sedan would blend in. Usually. But in the block of luxury cars—and one impressively shiny motorcycle—the budget option stuck out like a plastic spork amongst gleaming silver.
Maybe I can talk my way into a seized upgrade.
It doesn’t have to be a Lambo or anything wild.
I would settle for a Benz. Or maybe an angular muscle car like that blue beauty up there.
It wasn’t worth the risk of garnering attention by drastically changing out the basic model, so I pushed my car daydreams aside and grabbed a box from the passenger’s seat.
Since the place was furnished earlier by the undercover team disguised as a moving company, I only had my personal items to worry about.
I moved up to the landing, pausing long enough to disengage the electronic lock and push open the door.
If I had the ability to whistle, I would have.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect. Rye seemed like a popular place, but overhead in that industry was high. It was surprising that Rhys could afford a home in such a pricey neighborhood.
Unless, of course, he had a load of disposable income thanks to whatever secret he was keeping to himself.
That was a big leap, and I wasn’t one to jump to conclusions. I was more about possibilities. Variables. Planning for everything I could think of so I was prepared for it all.
There were no second floors on the block, but for all I knew, Rhys lived in his mama’s basement just to keep the bar afloat. Or maybe he rented a singular room in the townhouse two doors over.
But even if that was the case, it was still probably a nice setup.
Because the house I stood in was beautiful.
It was small, though still much larger than my apartment.
There were no stark white walls with a landlord’s special paint job that sloppily went over outlets and sealed windows shut.
The warm neutrals were welcoming, and the open space seemed downright cavernous with only a small couch and coffee table occupying the living room.
Well, that and a camera with a telescopic lens positioned on a tripod near the curtained front window. It was the only interior surveillance. Discreetly positioned outdoor cameras covered the rest of the perimeter.
I set the box down on the table before returning outside to make quick work of unloading the rest of my things. Armed with my TV, I used my foot to slam the backdoor of the car closed with a little more force than I’d meant.
Oops.
A nearby door opened, and I braced for small talk and questions from new neighbors. But when I turned, it was Rhys who stood on his small landing.
His t-shirt wasn’t as tight as the shrunken one, but it still stretched across his broad chest. I’d always been of the belief that gray sweatpants were the sluttiest lingerie a man could wear, but there was something to be said about a good pair of low-slung basketball shorts.
Objectively speaking, of course.
Rhys looked from my car to me. I wasn’t sure if he was judging it or wondering if there was more to grab, but it didn’t matter.
I ignored him as I carried the television inside, otherwise I risked accidentally dropping it.
Leaning it carefully against the wall—and hoping I packed the stand since I wouldn’t put holes in the wall for a mount—I flopped down onto the couch.
And instantly regretted it.
“What the hell?” I stood and lifted a cushion, honestly expecting concrete bricks. There were none, but there was also no padding. The couch must’ve been older than me and used to death because it was awful.
It doesn’t matter. I need to get to bed anyway.
I grabbed the preprogramed cell that was waiting for me on the coffee table before doing a quick sweep of the rest of my temporary home.
The bathroom in the hall was… a bathroom.
There wasn’t much to it, though I’d really been hoping for a tub rather than a shower—even if it was a nice one.
The dining room and walk-in pantry were both empty and would likely remain that way.
The kitchen at the back of the house was modern and nicely updated, and it seemed to include everything but food.
And dishes for said food.
That also didn’t matter much since the lovely space would mostly go to waste.
I backtracked into the narrow hallway between the living room and dining room to open the door opposite the bathroom. Using my sharp intellect and powers of deduction—or basic process of elimination—I’d figured it was the bedroom. I just hadn’t expected it to be so large.
Or maybe, like the living room, it appeared that way because the only thing in it was a twin-size mattress on a metal frame.
I’m so falling off that.
I might’ve been small, but I liked big comfort. My dressers at home were in my living room because my lush queen-sized bed dominated my room.
The narrow abomination in front of me was far from the worst thing I’d slept on, though, so I would survive the temporary arrangement. Especially since I was exhausted, and it was already haphazardly made up with a comforter and a few pillows.
After grabbing my toiletries, I did my routine in the bathroom before padding across the hall. I didn’t have the energy or desire to dig into my boxes for pajamas, so I stripped off my pants and did woman magic to remove my bra without taking off my shirt.
I should’ve learned my lesson from the couch, but I didn’t. I collapsed face-first onto the bed.
And instantly regretted it when pain radiated from my smashed boobs.
The couch is made with concrete bricks, but the mattress is stuffed with flattened cardboard boxes. It has to be.
And why do I have the sneaking suspicion that Murdoch had a hand in the hurried preparations?
Rolling onto my back—with zero bounce from the mattress under me—I checked my phone to see if there was anything.
My luck improved when I saw the tech guys had come through on my request for some pre-installed apps. It got even better when I saw there wasn’t a message waiting to say the whole plan was scrapped.
But there was a message waiting from one of the few pre-saved contacts.
Rhys:
Next time, tell me when you need a hand.
Me:
Why?
Rhys:
So I can help.
Me:
Why?
Rhys:
Because it’s neighborly.
We didn’t need to be neighborly yet since we were supposed to be slow playing it. The captain had ordered an increase of patrol units near Rye and the house to give me time to lay the groundwork so my sudden—and constant—presence didn’t sound any alarm bells.
Me:
Does an interview tomorrow afternoon work?
Rhys:
You already got the job.
Me:
Fine. A fake interview.
Rhys:
Plan to stay for some training, too.
I had experience, but every place did things differently, so training made sense. More importantly, it presented the perfect opportunity.
Me:
We should split it up so I have an excuse to be in the building for multiple days without raising questions.
Rhys:
Doubt anyone will question anything.
He was probably right, but it was my first time undercover, and I was trying to be cautious and methodical. If nothing else, it was good practice.
Me:
Can you do me a favor?
I watched the three bubbles pop up, disappear, and reappear as he typed out a message.
Rhys:
Name it.
Me:
Can you pass my number to Mrs. Hyde so I can see if she’s willing to help with the pictures my captain wants.
Rhys:
She will. Think it’s impossible for her not to help.
But I’m sending it now. Expect a text with a shit-ton of !!!
Me:
Thanks for the warning.
While I waited for a response from him or an exclamation point laden message from her, I situated myself under the thankfully soft blanket. The pillows offered the same lush comfort, and my heavy lids closed within seconds.
I guess it doesn’t matter if I fall out of bed. As long as I drag the blanket and pillows with me, the floor may be more comfortable than this mattress.