Page 48 of Boneyard HEA

We are done before the cleaner arrives, and I’m in the shower. Everything would be great if not for what I overhear as the water sluices over me.

“Are we doing this right? I’ve never tried this before.”

“I’m not a fortune teller. I don’t know.”

Mr. Loxland is doing the asking.

His words echo in my head, adding a pebble of uncertainty to my thoughts.

17

Juniper

Mr. Loxland sets up his laptop. It’s not connected to the internet, he explains, as I lie on my stomach across the front of him on the large bed, while he types in instructions. He’s using me as a pillow, kinda. I’m tucked under him, and he lies over me like the cross of a T, except I’m surely the top section of the letter. It’s heaven being cuddled. I twist so I can see the screen and prop my head on my hand.

Tomás comes over to sit on the edge of the bed, then starts to play with my hair. I smile up at him, reach over, and lay my hand on his bare thigh.

No internet. Or not for this laptop. Another one stands beside the suitcase on the floor. Apparently, he’s worried he might get hacked, and our possession of that video could be discovered by people who shouldn’t know.

Because the only people who should have a copy are those Karsten authorized, and we still have no idea how Riley came by it. She didn’t hack into anyone’s phone to do it—her doing that is as likely as a wombat being elected Prime Minister of Australia. So, was it leaked or was it sent to her as some sort of threat?

It’s now that I recall the audio file I sent to Rebecca. I grimace. How do I tell them? I should tell them. What if she’s looked already? It’s not the video, but it does incriminate all of us in a murder. I admitted it in that conversation, I think? I think I did? I scramble to remember and curse myself because I can’t remember the precise words anyone said.

So much has happened since then, and I was quick, under duress, and was being screwed around with by two alarmingly dominant men.

Dammit.

What if I tell them? It might break apart this whole relationship, when I only just decided I want to be here, with them.

And I have Mr. Loxland camped on top of my waist, tapping away diligently, and unaware I may have doomed us.

I want to be with them. This feels like we’re a team. A very kinky team.

Shit, shit, shit.

If she has listened to it already, she might be going to the cops, and that would be an absolute disaster. What do I do?

I am so fucked, and sadly I’m not talking about how sore I am below.

“Here is the video and the things that were picked up as possible clues that might ID someone. I ruled out a couple. The AI doesn’t really understand our needs or when things are being seen incorrectly.”

Our needs. My stomach sinks. When do I tell them?

“Here is a button it thought was from someone’s clothing, thought it had a skull emblem on it.” He freezes a frame. “I checked and it’s just a river-worn pebble with odd coloring. This is more interesting. This gesture. Where the man in the balaclava puts his thumb to his mouth and flicks it out. It’s highly probable that’s a gesture known to only a few countries—give a tooth is how it comes up on search. Russian if the drone shot is accurate. We don’t know what was being said, but it’s supposed to be a promise or guarantee.”

From above, the camera pans in on that man’s head as he arrives next to Riley where she lies in the creek being held down by Nathan. Another figure walks beside him. Trees get in the way. All I really see is tragedy.

“A guarantee?” I murmur. A chill runs down my spine. Considering what they were doing to Riley, it was probably an awful promise. Promising to kill her?

“Russian…” Tomás says quietly. “There are some. As in members.”

“I have checked. And cross-checked with who was in Australia at the time. There is only one.”

Only one. “This is it?” I squeak out. “Has to be? Who?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. We need more to be sure. Zasha Morosov. He’s here, at this party.”

Oh my.