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A perfect place to have an affair. No one would question why he was here—not even his wife.
I accessed my file on Monroe and flipped through the photos on this property. The best access point was in the rear—the west-facing front had small covered windows that would be difficult to open and also make it easy for a passerby to see me, but the rear had large picture windows with the mountain as the primary view. Plus, the master bedroom was in the rear.
Maybe Monroe and his lover would be having sex in the pool. That would make my job a lot easier.
Stepping out of my Jeep, I headed toward the property with unwavering determination. Despite the isolated spread of the houses, I kept a careful eye out for any nosy neighbors. A black truck was parked up the road. Short-term rentals in the area meant an influx of unfamiliar faces, making my presence seem like nothing out of the ordinary. But best to be cautious.
I halted at a locked side gate. Dammit. Irritation simmered as I weighed my options. As easy as it was to scale the fence, I hesitated. But it wasn’t the first time I’d trespassed, and I doubted it would be my last.
With a deep breath, I hoisted myself up, bending my knees to absorb the impact of my landing. Muscle memory from basic training kicked in, making the jump effortless.
The house was cloaked in secrecy, every window covered. Breaking in was not an option, not when the occupants could be armed. Brittney had warned me about Monroe’s 9mm, and I couldn’t afford to take that risk. All I needed was a small opening, and the bedroom was the perfect target. A gap in the blinds, a quick snapshot, and I’d be out of here before anyone noticed.
I carefully navigated around the rocky terrain, avoiding the ankle-biting cacti. The only sound was the constant hum of the AC unit. I eyed the sparkling pool. It hadn’t topped one hundred degrees yet, but I was hot and that water looked so inviting. Instead, I focused on my job.
Off the master suite was a semi-private patio. The blinds were drawn, so I braved the enclosed space and tried to see around the edge. No luck. Even with my ear to the glass, I heard nothing. No voices, no sounds of passionate sex, no shower. Maybe they were having foreplay in the kitchen with chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne...
Where the hell had that thought come from?
It had been far too long since I’d had a regular guy to enjoy sex with, no wonder I embellished adultery with sexy, fun romantic gestures.
Sometimes, adultery wasn’t solely about the sex. Sometimes, it was about the personal connection, talking to a person who understood you better than your spouse. Rarely ended well, but people lied to each other all the time.
Stealth wasn’t going to cut it. Time to be bold.
The covered back patio, which ran almost the entire length of the house, was complete with fans and misters, both turned off. Classy but functional outdoor furniture filled the space. The patio alone was twice the size of my house.
There was no place to hide, so I assessed the area quickly. The blinds were drawn across the large picture windows. The kitchen had two sets of French doors with sheer blinds, easy to see through. The primary kitchen window, however, was bare. If I approached it at the right angle, I should be able to see inside without anyone seeing me.
I squatted and awkwardly waddled to the window in case someone was standing at the sink doing dishes—or having sex on the counter. Then slowly I stood next to the window, back to the wall, and peered inside.
It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer indoors. A laptop was open on the long counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area, but I couldn’t read the tiny spreadsheet that covered the screen.
Who brought a laptop for sex games?
Next to the laptop was a messenger bag, flap open. A couple water bottles. Water—not wine, not champagne, and no chocolate-covered strawberries.
Plus, no people.
Where was Logan Monroe? Was he here alone? Had he spotted me lurking around? Damn, I felt like a Peeping Tom.
I headed to the French doors. Curtains blocked the window squares, but they were pinched in the middle, enabling me to see part of the interior. This would give me a clearer view, but it would be easy for someone to spot me.
Prepared to bolt, I looked inside.
Logan Monroe and a brunette woman were lying on the floor, unmoving. I stared for a good five seconds, wondering if this was a game, if they were looking for a lost contact lens, anything but what I immediately thought.
They didn’t move.
“Shit!” I tried the door. Locked. I could break a window, but that seemed like overkill. Maybe Monroe hadn’t locked the front door when he entered.
I dropped my small Canon EOS into the carrying case on my left hip, pulled out my cell phone and called 9-1-1 while running around to the front of the house.
“9-1-1 what is your name and your emergency?”
“Margo Angelhart. I’m a licensed private investigator currently at 9980 Thorny Rose Lane in Paradise Valley. Two individuals are unconscious inside the house. I’m trying to find a way inside.”
“Are they injured? Bleeding?”
