Chapter 21
Twenty-One
brISTOL MOVED UPSTAIRS under the guise of finding a book while Miquel and Dalton talked in the office, closing the door behind her. Who knew what horrid things they were discussing?
Thankfully, Dalton had been in his exercise clothes when she arrived, which meant she had time for a quick trip to his closet to plant the bug—so small it was nearly imperceptible to the naked eye—on his buckle.
Checking over her shoulder, she entered the closet, found his belt, placed the bug, and stepped back out.
She gazed at the shut bedroom door and bounced her leg. Something ate at her, but what?
The breeze under the bookcase. She’d stood there once before, picking a John Sandford novel, when a cool breeze had wafted over her then-bare feet.
She’d checked for a vent but found nothing.
At the time, she’d shaken it off and tried to forget about it.
But something about it had always bugged her, though she’d assured herself some cold air was nothing but a weird fluke of the AC unit. But now . . .
She bounced her leg more as her gaze shifted to that section of the bookcase.
She glanced back at the bedroom door. No sound from Dalton.
His business always took time. She probably had plenty of it, though the realization of what his true “business” was tossed her stomach.
She ignored the swish of her stomach and the odd sensation of fear prickling down her neck.
She never experienced fear. The day she’d left the seedy motel her family was crowded in she’d vowed never to be afraid again, and she really hadn’t been until now.
Reaching that section of the bookcase, she pulled off her socks and planted her bare feet in the same spot as before and waited. Nothing.
Her shoulders dropped. She could have sworn . . .
She shifted to turn and step away when a hum sounded behind the wall, nearly imperceptible, but she heard it.
She had the best ears. A con needed to heighten all their senses to pull off the jobs, and it appeared it would pay off today as well.
A moment later, cool air trickled over her feet, tickling them as the breeze wafted along her skin.
Something was back there. No one built an AC unit behind a wall with no vent in sight. She should have seen it before, but she’d flat-out only seen the good in Dalton, or what she’d so deeply believed was the good, and convinced herself it had to be nothing.
Not now.
She ran her fingers along the framing of the shelves, up and down the beveled board between the sections and, planting her palm firmly on it, pushed.
The bookcase moved inward. She swallowed, her curiosity rankling. Pushing it far enough open to slip inside, she left it cracked so she could hear Dalton coming, hoping she’d have enough time to slip out. She swallowed. What would he do if he caught her?
Aubry was listening from the van up the street, but would he make it in time if Dalton tried to do away with her for snooping?
She waited while her eyes adjusted to the dark—no window in sight. There was a desk in the center of the room. A second office. A hidden one. She moved for the laptop, the thick carpet squishing between her toes.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs. Shoot!
She jetted out of the room, pulled the bookcase back into place, and hopped in front of another section of the shelves. The bedroom door creaked open. Her fingers danced along the book spines, the tingle scratching her neck as she pulled an Agatha Christie novel off the shelf.
“There you are, honey,” Dalton said, his gaze scanning the room. “I should have known you’d still be up here.”
Or was he checking up on her? Already suspicious? That didn’t bode well.
“Found it,” she said, holding up And Then There Were None.
“Ah. One of your favorites.” His gaze shot down to her socks balled up on the carpet, and he arched a brow.
She shrugged. “You know my propensity for bare feet.”
He strode over and wrapped her in his arms.
“Even in the winter?” He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.
“I figured I’d wrap up in a blanket on the couch so they wouldn’t be needed, but I’ll grab them.” She slipped out of his arms and retrieved her fluffy socks.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” He tugged her back into his arms and pressed a long kiss to her lips. She forced her body not to stiffen. She needed to allay suspicion, not give him reason for it.
“Come,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm. “I’ve got the fire stoked for you.”
“Perfect.” She smiled, aching to return to the secret room, but she kept her gaze forward.
They stepped through the doorway, and Dalton turned to shut the door behind him. He noted the door and frowned. “Why’d you have the door closed?”
“Hmm?” She widened her eyes in that doe-like expression she’d mastered.
“The door. You had it shut.”
“Just added privacy.” She started down the stairs. “I suppose the bathroom door was privacy enough, but when you’re dealing with female issues—”
“Say no more.”
She bit back a smirk. Worked every time.
A hundred pages into the book later, Dalton and Miquel reappeared. Her thoughts were still on the secret room, but Bristol hadn’t tempted fate with a second foray to the bedroom.
“I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” Miquel said with a wave.
Great. Miquel was the overseeing manager of Dalton’s restaurants—all six of them.
But he spent the majority of his time at Spatina and kept his main office there.
That was now one of two places she wouldn’t mind rifling through—though the chances of that were slim.
However, slim had never held her back. It’d been a while since she’d been at her old ways, but once a con, always a con.
She’d hoped, when she met Dalton, that it wasn’t true.
But now that she knew the truth about him, she’d slip right back into that skin.
He’d conned her.
She’d con him back, and she’d start with the secret room and the laptop in it.