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Amid her furious keyboard tapping, I hear, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Precious few seconds pass before Birdie declares, “Got it. How far back do you want to go?”
“Just since we returned from Afghanistan.”
“Ok… you should have them… right about… now.”
Right on cue, my email pings with an incoming message containing a link to a company file. “Got it.”
“I copied everything to our servers so you can use our system to review the footage.”
“You’re the best. Thanks, Birdie.”
“You want to fill me in on what this is about?”
“Not yet.”
I ring off with Birdie and dive right into the security footage. The place has several cameras set up, so I scan through the views to find the one aimed at the parking area nearest Aaron’s building.
The day we came back, he didn’t go home until late that night. That would have been after he found me at Mel’s and took me home. That’s several hours that I won’t have, but I have to start somewhere.
Around eleven, I spot Aaron parking and walking to his apartment. He’s backed into a space two spots down from a light. Dark enough for someone to approach but not dark enough for someone to be completely hidden from view.
While I’m speeding through the footage, a new email indication pops up on the screen. Knot got my message. His reply reads. I’m on it. Damn good news.
Returning to my surveillance task, I scroll through the hours of darkness, but no one even comes close to Aaron’s truck. Daylight breaks, but I don’t stop watching, even though logic says no one would attempt to plant evidence in broad daylight.
I’m still skimming the video when my phone dings. It’s a message from Maxen. On my way. Be there in twenty.
“Oh shit!”
I slam the laptop lid closed and jump off the chair, stripping clothes off as I sprint to my bathroom. I pin my hair up and jump in the shower before the water is even warm., scrubbing and shaving as quickly as possible. In my haste, I nick myself twice.
Once I’m dry, I lotion up and apply a modest amount of makeup before tackling my hair. The auburn locks are being bitchy and not cooperating with my attempts to curl them with a flat iron. With less than ten minutes to go, I give in and pin it up in what I hope is an elegant twist.
I brush my teeth and dive naked into my closet, hoping for a miracle. Three seconds later, I realize I’m not getting one. My laundry basket is woefully full, and my lingerie drawer is quite empty. OK. Dress first. Then pick underwear.
Slinging hangers left and right, I work my way to the end of the bar, finding a dark gray halter dress with a split in the front from neck to navel. No bra needed. Ok. I can work with this.
I slip the dress on and notice a few wrinkles. “Dammit!”
Back into the bathroom, I go, dabbing some water on the chiffon and grabbing my hair dryer. A few minutes under the warm air, and the water is dry, leaving no wrinkles behind.
My doorbell rings, letting me know Maxen has arrived, but I still have no shoes or panties. I’m nearly breaking a sweat, racing back to the closet and pulling down shoeboxes for the right pair to go with this dress.
Meanwhile, the doorbell is ringing again. “Oh, for the love of god.”
I grab the first pair of black strappy sandals I come across, thankful I don’t have some complicated harness to secure to keep them on. The doorbell rings one more time, and I groan as I grab a simple black clutch off the top shelf of the closet.
After dumping all my shit out of my regular carry bag, I shove my wallet inside, but my knife won’t fit. Shit. Out of time, I toss the blade on my bed and finally leave my room. I’m feeling less than romantic as I open the door, and a cold blast of air up my skirt reminds me that I’m still not wearing panties.
My mouth opens to let loose an ashamedly unladylike curse, but the sight outside my door fries every working brain cell in my head.
Six feet of male magnificence is decked out in a tailored suit. No tie. Maxen’s wandering eyes are molten as he takes in my appearance, just as mesmerized as I am. The bouquet of pale purple roses in his hand is all but forgotten.
Maxen ogles a moment longer and clears his throat. “Were you about to say something?”
My thoughts return to my incomplete wardrobe, but I no longer care. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”
