“Nothing. We were just talking.”
Sloan walked back toward the house, calling over his shoulder, “You said something.”
At least Jackie’s impromptu outing gave them the time they needed to search thePedazo de Cielo, trying to find out why she was attacked and who was after her. They split up, Razorback upstairs and Sloan down, combing through closets, drawers, and boxes as morning turned to afternoon, finally meeting to search Jackie’s bedroom together. It was small, with just enough room for a queen-sized bed beside a flowered sofa and one long, low dresser. A small television hung on the wall, and Razorback imagined this little room was her sanctuary away from her guests and her little girl.
He picked up a silver box, found it was full of earrings, and put it back. He opened each drawer, with plain clothes neatly organized into tidy piles, and wondered if every part of her life was so perfectly organized.
Sloan opened the top drawer of the dresser. “Whoa, hold your horses. I found the sexy underwear box.” He held up a strappy lace thong. “Oh, will you look at that tiny triangle of fabric.”
“Put that down.”
Sloan picked up an even lacier bra, holding it to his chest and shaking his shoulders. “Look, it’s the spy who loved me.”
“Asshole. Put that shit away.” He tried not to imagine Jackie wearing that thing, his mind already fitting it to her body.
Sloan pulled out a corset and held it to his torso. “Now, this is Senator Mason all day.”
Razorback laughed in spite of himself, Senator Mason having just dealt with a very public cross-dressing scandal. “Who wore it better?”
“Oh, I did,” said Sloan. “The Democratic convention is going to be a clusterfuck now that Waller and Mason are both out of the running.”
Razorback grunted. “Don’t talk to me about politics.”
“Why the hell not? I’m not asking your opinion or starting a debate. I’m asking if you saw what happened—”
“Shut the fuck up, Dvorak.”
“It’s entertaining, watching a whole bunch of nobodies try to wrestle their way to the top.”
Razorback turned to him. “Do you know what shut up means?”
“I’m choosing to ignore your moody bitch ass and make reasonably social conversation.”
“Politics are not social. They’re antisocial. The only way political conversations go well is if you think the exact same shit I think, and frankly the chance of that happening is pretty slim.”
Sloan raised a fist over his head. “Better pensions for the military.”
Razorback couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Hell yeah.”
“See? We’re the same.” Sloan winked and cut into another box.
Razorback pulled a flat plastic container out from under the bed. “Romance novels. There must be a hundred of them. Why do women read this shit?”
“I don’t know. Give me a good serial killer any day of the week.”
“Seriously.” He slid the box back under the bed and lifted the mattress. Nothing.
“Old-school accounting books,” said Sloan. He pulled one out and flipped through it. “For the resort.”
Razorback cocked his head, thinking back to the website he’d seen for this place when they booked this trip. It was outdated and poorly done, technologically bereft, without online booking or even a simple email contact given. Just a phone number.
Why would someone shun modern technology that could make life so much easier?
“You checked out the downstairs,” said Razorback. “Did you see an office of some sort?”
“A room with a desk and a bunch of boxes. That’s it.”
“What about a computer or fax machine?”
