“I don’t have time for this,” she growled, slamming the door behind her. “Follow me.”
In the dim light, Jack could just make out her olive-toned skin, silk top, lavender skirt, matching high heels. He followed her somewhat aimlessly, irrationally concerned that she hadn’t locked the door after him.
Or washesupposed to do that? With a flood of guilt, he realized he had no idea how a guest should act in a home like this.
He belonged here no more than a flea-bitten street mongrel. The seashell-pink wallpaper in the entryway was fucking gilded. The sconces on the wall cast the hallway in moody, dramatic lighting. An expensive-looking vase held fragrant red roses, sitting atop a side table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a high-end furniture store—the kind Jack wouldn’t even bother to enter. Even the umbrellas in the stand were sophisticated and sleek.
An emerald green runner shielded white marble floors from whatever dirt he might track inside, stretching from the doormat to the end of the long hallway.
The woman paused outside a mahogany door and whirled to face him. Light from the wall sconces revealed the planes of her face—a delicately arched nose, plucked eyebrows, full lips, dark eyes framed by thick lashes. “Don’t try anything,” she warned, assessing him carefully, as if half-expecting him to whip out a gun.
“I won’t,” Jack assured her, gesturing to himself. As if he could afford a gun, let alone use one with ease.
“Good,” said the woman. Her voice was nasally, maybe a little hoarse. “You don’t look like you’d be very successful, anyway. What’s your name? I’m tired of asking for you by description.”
Should he lie? Possibly, but his mouth had already betrayed him. “Uh, Jack. Who are you?”
“You can call me Claudia,” said the woman, pushing the door open. Jack followed her into a room with floor to ceiling bookcases, a blood-red rug, a desk the size of a twin bed, and a worn leather chair studded with bronze grommets.
The shelves behind the desk held carved statues—a horse, a dragon, a Corvette. A silver-inlaid fountain pen lay atop a sleek legal pad. Its cap bore some sort of white snowflake. Claudia followed his gaze and quickly shoved the pen into a drawer.
Jack held his hands open in front of him to show that he had no interest in stealing, but she had already moved on. She dropped into the great leather chair and gestured to the cushioned chairs on the opposite side of the desk. For the first time, he noticed the pendant at her throat, the studs glittering in her ears.
She was very shiny for someone who wanted to seem intimidating, Jack thought. But very scary. Appropriately, respectably scary. Unlike him, she probablydidhave a gun hidden somewhere on her.
He could admit that he was more than a little curious.
“So, uh, Claudia,” said Jack, sitting on the edge of the chair, afraid that he’d somehow scuff it and spend the rest of his life indebted to the mob. “Why am I here?”
She laced her fingers together and rested them beneath her chin. For a long time, she said nothing. Jack fought the urge to squirm, then eventually gave in. The tapping of his foot cracked the silence like shattered glass.
Claudia sat back, her gaze no less scrutinizing. “Tell me. What brings you to Hidden Cove?”
Be careful how you answer, said the little voice in the back of Jack’s head.How would Buck and Nora handle this?
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee, hoping to exude anything other than anxiety. “Work,” he said, as casually as he could.
“And how long have you been here?”
“Overnight.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
Fear lanced through him like lightning. Shit.Thatwas the problem. He was here for the factory audit. Did the mob own the factory? Were they afraid he was going to find something? Were they willing to kill to keep their secrets?
“Uh, I work for Grover, Rowell, and Thursday,” Jack admitted. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck. “I just got a promotion.”
“Uh-huh,” said Claudia, watching him with dark, fathomless eyes. Long, black lashes fluttered. “To what, exactly?”
“Uhhh,” said Jack, glancing from the door to the window. Which one would be easier to escape through?
The door, he decided. The window might be locked, but Claudia probably couldn’t chase him very far in those heels.
“What did they promote you to, Jack?” she demanded, all but glaring at him.
“Um, well, I guess I’m…” He scratched the back of his neck, grimaced. “…an auditor now?”
“Auditor of what?”
