Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sixty-five minutes later, I knocked at Trey's door. He opened it in two seconds flat. He'd obviously just gotten in, hadn't even turned the lights on yet. Behind him the evening sky melted orange and gold, deepening, burning.

I came in and closed the door behind myself. "I can explain."

He folded his arms and waited. And I explained. He listened. As I talked, his mouth remained tight, but his eyes unsquinched somewhat.

"You should have called me,” he said.

"I did. You were in a meeting."

"Nonetheless." He looked me right in the eye. "I would have shared the information with you."

I met his gaze. "Landon wouldn't have."

"You're an authorized liaison working on behalf of Phoenix. Unless there had been some specific prohibition—"

"I got fired today."

Trey's head snapped back. "What?"

"Fired. They released Eliza's body to the family, so Janie's headed back to South Carolina. Plus Marisa wasn't happy about our little detour to the strip club last night. So yeah, fired."

I flopped myself on his sofa, throwing my tote bag down beside me. My feet hurt, my shoulders too. My body throbbed in one great big ache.

Trey shook his head. "I didn't see any paperwork about this."

"I'm supposed to pick it up tomorrow."

"But I'm supposed to see it first. I didn't even receive an e-mail."

"I guess you're persona non grata now too. But here's a heads-up—my getting terminated isn't nearly as problematic as that surveillance footage."

I retrieved the demuxed DVD from my tote bag and handed it to him. He slid it into his computer, and we watched as his screen blossomed into a tight shot of someone's bikini-clad derriere. It was soon replaced by another bathing beauty slathering sunscreen on ample breasts.

"What is this?" he said.

"Jake's private collection, I'm guessing. Looks like he positioned the security cameras to catch some interesting footage."

Onscreen, a woman tugged a sweatshirt over her head. The shot was obviously taken through a window, and just as obviously, taken without the woman's knowledge. I didn't recognize her, but I knew the next subject. Trey did too.

"Nikki," he said.

She lay in bed reading a magazine, wearing a thin t-shirt that barely skimmed the top of her thighs. Eliza sat at the foot of the bed, smiling, her mouth stretching, her eyes half-lidded. She leaned forward lazily…

Trey stopped the video. The two women froze on the screen, still shots from a life that didn't exist anymore.

"This isn't the worst of it," I said. "Look in the box."

Trey did. "It's a box of underwear."

"Women's underwear. Bras and panties and things with straps and lace."

Trey picked up a red leather thong. "This was in Jake's desk?"

"Yes. I'm thinking if you ask around, lots of Beau Elan tenants will report missing lingerie."

Trey put the scrap of underwear back in the box. He seemed at a loss for what to do next.

"I am certain this is why Jake was sent packing," I said. "And I am equally certain no one will be pleased that I got my hands on it first."

"A valid assessment."

I leaned forward, elbows to knees. "Listen. I'm not asking you to cover for me or get me off the hook. It wasn't your fault."

"No. It was the fault of the Beaumont employee who released this to you without checking with me or Landon first. But I'll still get in trouble."

He made his way to the kitchen where he pulled a familiar green bottle from the refrigerator. He unscrewed it slowly, then took a deliberate mindful sip. I waited while he finished. It took three minutes, and he didn't say one word the entire time. When he was done, he placed the empty bottle on the counter and retrieved a second one. This one he brought to me.

"Are you mad?" I said.

"No."

I put the bottle on the coffee table. "Why not?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps because we're a team now, as you said. That comes with different rules."

I managed a laugh. "I'm not so good with rules, you know."

"I know. But you have a reason when you break them. I don't always understand the reason, but you seem to, so I trust you."

The thought warmed me. "You do?"

"Of course. That's how partners operate. It's been several years since I've had one, but I remember that much."

He was standing too close again—I had to tilt my head way back to look into his face. I thought of the MRI scans, the puzzle pieces of his identity. I'd seen his cognitive blueprint, and he was still unknown to me, perhaps unknowable. I thought again of bridges, and I decided the hardest part of building one must be deciding where to start.

So I stood up and put my hand to his face, slowly, deliberately. And then—before I could analyze my actions, much less stop myself—I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him.

His mouth was warm and soft, and he responded with easy abandon. And it was good, soooo good, but in the back of my head, I was thinking panicked thoughts—oh, God, I started this, what am I doing, I'm too stupid for words, gotta stop—but the kiss was so lovely and so mind-blowing that I just surrendered to it like an addict.

He drew back suddenly, his expression deeply curious. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

I laughed. "Yes, I think I am."

Without another word, he put his hands on my waist and steered me backwards, then lifted me gently and settled me on his desk. And then he moved closer, and I looked him right in the eye. Something new burned beneath the cool detachment, and it made me feel powerful and reckless. I wanted him so much at that moment, wanted to lose myself in him, just for one moment. I reached for the top button on his shirt—

And his phone rang.

He didn't even look at it, didn't even blink.

I sighed. "You have to get it, you know you do."

He hesitated.

"Trey."

He fished the phone out of his jacket and put it to his ear. "Seaver here."

His voice was calm. I, however, felt like kicking something.

"Yes," he said. "I can do that. Give me twenty, no, thirty minutes."

He slipped the phone back in his pocket. Then he put his hand to the side of my face, just like I’d done minutes before. I closed my eyes, waiting for his mouth, but nothing happened. I opened my eyes.

He was reading me. Like I'd lie to him, like I'd even try it. But still he watched my mouth, once again remote, once again the calculating machine.

"What do you want?" he said.

"I swear I don't know, Trey. I really don't."

He nodded. And then he abruptly pulled away and straightened his jacket, heading for the bathroom. His absence was a vacuum. The inevitable retreat, I thought, and I wasn't expecting it.

But then I thought, oh, sure I was. I'd been expecting it all along.

I pulled myself together and slid down from the desk, knocking over his pencil cup as I did. It created a spot of chaos in the otherwise unbroken neatness, the kind of precise disaster that tornados inflict.

Trey came out of the bathroom, a new tie loose around his neck, a new jacket over his arm. "Your shirt is unbuttoned."

"It doesn't matter, I'm going back to the shop."

"You're welcome to wait here until I return."

I shook my head and picked up my tote bag. “No. I think it’s best if I leave.”

He nodded. "I'll walk you down then."

Shrugging into the jacket, he opened the front door and disappeared into the hallway. I fastened myself up and followed. He locked the door behind us and made straight like an arrow for the elevator, not even bothering to see if I was keeping up.

I joined him inside as the doors slid shut. "What's the emergency?"

He knotted the tie into a neat Windsor. "Dylan Flint's dead. Fish and Game pulled the body from the Chattahoochee thirty minutes ago."

"Wait, what? Are you serious?"

The elevator dinged. Trey stepped out and headed for the parking area. “He'd been shot, three times. Once in the chest, twice in the back of the head. Patrol located his car at the Morgan's Fall boat ramp, keys in the ignition."

I didn't know what news I'd been expecting, but it hadn't been Dylan Flint shot to death and dumped in the Hooch.

I scurried at Trey's heels. "So what are you doing now?"

"Emergency meeting with Landon and Marisa."

"Can I come?"

"No."

"What if—?"

"No." He popped the locks on the Ferrari and turned to face me. "I have my orders—report to Phoenix ASAP. Alone." He paused. "This is not my decision. Please don't think it is."

He'd said "please" again. What was it about that word? It gave me this little frisson of intimacy, and I was suddenly very tired of fighting all the time, shadowboxing the universe.

"Will you at least call me and tell me what you find out?" I said.

"When I can, yes."

He got in the car, but didn't start the engine, didn't shut the door either. He just sat staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other in his lap, his finger tapping.

I took a step closer. "What happened tonight doesn't change anything between us."

He listened. His eyes slanted my way, but stayed somewhere at stomach level.

"Of course you know that," I said. "But I want you to know that I know it too."

He frowned, but still wouldn't look me in the face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?"

"Did I—"

"I heard you. I just…I mean…no, you didn't. Everything you did was right."

He took a beat to digest that, finally sliding his eyes up to meet mine. "Really?"

"Really."

He hesitated, then I saw the quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Okay. That's unexpected. But okay."

I couldn't fight the smile. "You know what, Trey? Maybe I will stay until you get back. That suddenly sounds like a fine idea.”

He handed me the key, all serious now. "There are two deadbolts. Keep them engaged. I have a spare, so don't open the door until I get back. Not for anyone."