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Serena
Now Duke’scautious approach to entering the house didn’t seem so out of place. The room turned cold. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Are you just going to leave it there?”
“I’ll have Winston dust it and get a full forensic workup.”
I imagined scenes fromCSIwith dusting powder and UV lights.
“But first…” Duke pointed. “Get in the kitchen and stay there. I’m going to sweep the house again.”
“The note is on the outside. Doesn’t that mean he didn’t get in?”
“You can’t trust anything he says or does. He’s playing with us, telling you you had a week on the phone and this…” He pointed at the note. “It’s to throw us off balance. We don’t know for sure that he didn’t get inside and leave you a present.”
His words chilled me to the bone. “Do you mean a bomb?”
“More likely a surprise. He wants the information on the drive, so you’re no good to him dead.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told him to fuck off?”
“It doesn’t matter. I would have done the same.”
Did a surprise mean a dead rat in my underwear drawer or something worse? An equally good question was why, when I thought of Duke, did I always come back to my underwear drawer?
After Duke finished downstairs and went upstairs, I drifted back to the family room and the note, reading the words over and over.
All was quiet in the house, save the ticking of the grandfather clock.
The red bush the note mentioned was in my front yard—out of range of the motion sensor and the doorbell camera. If the guy knew that, did that mean he’d been here before, or he worked for someone who had? My dipshit ex came quickly to mind.
“Serena?” Duke’s yell echoed through the house. “Serena.”
“In here,” I responded.
Duke charged through the doorway, gun at the ready. “I told you to stay in the kitchen, goddammit.”
“Sorry. You’d already cleared the downstairs, and I needed to look at this note again.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he bellowed. “You needed to do exactly what I told you. Stay in the kitchen.”
“Stop yelling at me.”
He growled, but lowered his voice. “When I tell you to jump, you ask how high. You don’t argue.”
“Well, I’m not like all your other bimbos.” I had no idea where that insult came from.
“You insolent woman.” He stomped closer. “It’s my job to decide what to do to keep you safe. It’s your job to stay safe by doing what I tell you.”
“I’m paying the bills, so I get a say.”
“No. I’m the professional here, and I’m the only one who gets a say.”
“Typical man,” I huffed out.
“Typical entitled princess,” he shot back. “Do I have to tie you down to get you to stay put?”
“Tie me down?” I joked. “Is that what you do with all your female clients, or only your bimbos?”
A beastly glint shone in his eye. It scared me. “The question is, since you mentioned being tied down, is that what you’d like?”
