An hour later, after recalling everything I could that Peyton had ever said around me, I came back to creepy Frankie.
Harmless, had been her description. But how accurate was that?
While Grace talked with a customer in her office, I slipped back into the small conference room.
“Hey, Zane, what’s up?” Jordy asked without even a hello. “I’m bored. You got any field work I can help with?”
“What?” I asked. “You want a break from all your screens?” His office looked like it belonged to NASA with all the computers and jumbo monitors he had.
“Hey, sometimes good work takes good equipment. But I think I need some vitamin D.”
“I give you pills for that,” I heard Lucas say in the background.
“It’s just that Zane gets to hang out in an office full of women, and there aren’t any around here,” Jordy complained.
“Try saying that around Constance,” I told him. “She’ll kick your butt all the way to Cleveland.”
“Yeah, she could try.”
“I do have a project for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not field work.”
He sighed into the phone.
“I need a background check on a neighbor of Peyton’s.” I gave him her address. “He lives on the same floor. First name Frankie or Frank. I need the full workup. He seems like a possible threat.”Possiblewas putting my feelings about the guy lightly.
“Last name?” Jordy asked lazily.
“I don’t know. That’s why I came to you instead of trying it myself. This takes your kind of super talent.”
“You called the right guy.” His voice filled with pride.
“I’m counting on it. Everybody tells me you’re the best. I mean, like nobody even comes close.”
“That’s right. Not within a light year. I’ll get going on it.”
“Thanks, man.”
CHAPTER 8
Peyton
I sat nextto Grace in her office, listening to the latest clients to come through the door. I rolled my head on my neck. My shoulder soreness hadn’t gone away.
“I’m thinking a modern Mediterranean treatment to the whole house,” Mrs. Barnard droned on. “And it has to start in the bedroom and the closet and move out from there. Don’t you think, Andre?”
“Certainly, my love.”
I watched Grace nod along.
I had no idea what the wife really wanted, and I guessed Grace didn’t either, but was too diplomatic to say so. This lady changed her mind faster than a butterfly flapped its wings. And Andre Barnard had said yes to every single nonsensical thing his wife had proposed. Was that love? Or was he just a complete pussy?
Pussy? That wasn’t a word I normally used. It had been Serena who told me there were no pussies in the SEAL teams, only real men.
“Peach,” Mrs. Barnard said. “The color palette should be based on peach, with maybe a touch of mauve added. Don’t you think, Andre?”
