Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Everything was so much more complicated than I’d expected. And while part of me wanted to shift life, Sylvie, and myself back to where we’d been a few days ago, the rest of me wanted to lean in.
Not to the mystery, necessarily. I’d just as soon know exactly what the fuck was going on with Silas, whether he needed an assist or was fine out there on his own. But Sylvie? That was an entirely different story. Because while I would happily rewind to before her van exploded, I couldn’t regret her showing up at our offices. I would unravel so much of the last few days—but not her.
And I had to figure out what to do about that, because I didn’t have my head so far up my own ass that I couldn’t see the pit I was about to fall into.
I wanted her, and I wanted to keep her at arm’s length. I couldn’t have both. Not for long. But that was a problem for later. For now, I just had to get through the rest of the day.
Sylvie came back down the hall wearing a matching set of cotton knit pajamas, the legs loose around her feet. The front of the T-shirt said LET ME SLEEP with a sketch of closed eyes. More sleeping eyes decorated the pants’ legs. Her hair streamed over her shoulders, the cinnamon color dampened to dark brown, clumps of waves curling at the ends.
The pajamas were designed for comfort, but I couldn’t stop staring.
“Smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
“Chicken cordon bleu casserole,” I said, forcing my eyes away, “from a place around the corner.”
“Awesome. Beer?”
I nodded, and she moved past me to pull two bottles out of the fridge, grabbing the opener from the utensil drawer and popping the tops. She handed me one and leaned back against the counter, taking a long drink.
“I needed that,” she said after she swallowed.
“Me too. You ready to eat?”
She was setting the table while I pulled the food from the oven and served it on the plate she handed me. We were halfway through eating before either of us spoke again.
“Are you going to show me that envelope?” she asked.
I’d been thinking about it for hours and hadn’t come to a conclusion.
Fuck it. I didn’t need to tell Sylvie everything, but she might be able to help with the cryptic code.
Before I could question it further, I found myself getting up from the table, grabbing my jacket where I’d tossed it over the back of an armchair, pulling out the envelope, and sliding it across the table.
“Nice stationery,” she said as she pulled the sheet out.
“Yeah, it was,” I agreed. I’d always liked the navy and gold of the Creed Global logo.
Her eyes fixed on the line on the page. “You know what this means?” she asked.
Internal > MP > 102398.delsh.active
“Not exactly sure,” I said. “I think it’s the code to a file—internal, so one of ours. Missing persons.” I tapped the next section of the code. “And the rest of this could be a birthdate, letters from a name. I don’t know. I figured I’d take it down to the office tomorrow, start going through files.”
She didn’t ask any further questions, just nodded. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was something.
I slid the paper back in the envelope.
“I got a message from Emmett and Maddox,” I said. “They cracked some files we’ve been trying to get into. Communication logs with Emily Shaw.”
I left out that the drive had belonged to Silas, not Emily. We’d get to that later. Maybe.
“What does that mean?” Sylvie shoveled another forkful of casserole into her mouth and chewed slowly, her hazel eyes shrewd as they watched me, waiting for my answer.
She hadn’t missed that I was being cagey.
“It means,” I said, “that you and I are going to spend most of tomorrow pounding energy drinks while we go through those files to see if we can find anything that tells us what Emily Shaw was up to before she died, and who may have killed her.”
“Exciting,” Sylvie said, one russet eyebrow raised. “Typical dangerous day in the life of a high-end security consultant?”
Her tone conveyed her sarcasm, and I grinned at her. She had no idea how much of what I did was digging through files. “That’s what most of the job is these days, unless we’re playing bodyguard. Which also gets more boring than you’d think. We spend a lot of time going through data and tracking down clues—whether it’s surveillance footage, files, electronic, paper. Less talking to people in my business than you have in yours, I’d say.”
“Sounds like it,” Sylvie said. “Overall, I think I like my way better.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, remembering how easily she’d connected with the curmudgeonly neighbor and Miss Carmody. “You’re good with people.”