Without a word, she turns and walks out of the kitchen, to where her new laptop—the one I bought for her after she informed us that hers was taken away—is sitting in the living room. She opens it, types in her password, and passes it to me.
“Here. I’ll go get my phone.”
“Natasha—”
“I’ll be right back. If you need to watch me to make sure I don’t delete anything, I understand.”
Without a word, I follow her, and she unplugs her phone, which was sitting next to her side of the bed, and passes it to me.
“Do you need my Kindle too?”
“No.”
She presses her lips together and crosses her arms over her chest, and I want to pull her against me and kiss her until we’re both calmed the hell down. Reassure her that this is just a formality.
“Do what you have to do,” she says, nodding to the electronics in my hands.
“Follow me.” Grimly, I walk down to my office, and Natasha walks next to me. First, I quickly scan her incoming andoutgoing emails and texts, but there’s not much here, and nothing that catches my eye as suspicious.
Next, I open a drawer in my desk and pull out the device that scans for tracking and listening bugs.
Powering it on, I run it over both the laptop and the phone, but the red light stays lit. If there was anything here, it would change to green. I have it programmed not to make any noise, in case I have to search in front of an audience that I don’t want to be privy to the results of a scan.
Standing, I approach Natasha.
“Run it over me,” she says, putting her arms out wide. “I don’t have anything to hide from you.”
Grimly, I do just that. If her father implanted something subdermal, this would pick up on it. I start at the back of her body and scan over her skin, and when I circle to the front, I work my way up from her feet.
Nothing.
Until I get up to her chest and move the device over the pendant hanging around her neck.
Green.
I do it again, just to be sure, and keep my face impassive as I run it over her head and then set the device aside on the desk.
“See?” she says. “Nothing.”
Either she doesn’t know, or she’s averygood liar.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I will my heart to calm down and keep my face neutral. She’s watching me closely.
Are you double-crossing me, Angel?
“Thank you,” I tell her softly. “And I’m sorry?—”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” she replies and pushes her hands into mine, linking our fingers as she boosts up on her toes, offering her plump lips to me for a kiss.
I oblige her, but my mind is whirling.
“Now you can focus on finding the person trying to hurt you,” she says and pats me on the chest. “Is that what you’ll be doing today?”
“It seems so.” She’s never asked me about my plans before.
Is this who I am now? Questioning every word my wife says? Every question? Every smile?
Someone is listening to us through that pendant. She doesn’t wear it every single day, and she doesn’t wear it at night, but most days she has it on her.
