Most men might feel conflicted about presenting two faces to the world.
I relish in it.
“Oh, you don’t have to help with the bags.”
“Isn’t he such a gentleman?” The women coo over me when the limo arrives at Winnie’s house.
All except for Winnie, who clutches her bag of seafood and is giving me a look of suspicion with maybe atwinge of desire.
Knox’s girlfriend, who looks like she’s sixteen or something, gives me a starry-eyed smile when I set the bags into the foyer.
And they say that I’m the one like my father?
My opinion of Knox has gone way down. I might need to move him to a different team just on principle. Despite what Crawford thinks, there are lines I won’t cross.
Unless it’s Winnie. She’s not a line. She’s a full-grown adult woman. She’s nothing like Knox’s girlfriend or any of the young women my father would go after.
He’d hate Winnie.
Fidget barks at Knox’s mother when she sweeps into Winnie’s house.
“You know,” I whisper to Winnie, “we could sneak off. Nice hotel. Hot bath. Big soft bed. I can see you’re tempted.” I nod to the chaos of her houseguests.
“Is this why you offered to drive us home?”
“You’re a businesswoman. It’s a good deal. Free place to stay. Breakfast in bed. I’ll suck on your toes.” I snort as she elbows me.
“Winnie, show Shelby to her room,” April orders.
I dutifully carry the suitcases up the stairs after the women.
Knox’s mother makes a big show of sweeping a finger on a dresser and rubbing it against another finger. It’s clean. I know it is. I made sure to have cleaners come into her house right after I whisked her parents away.
Even Fidget is freshly groomed.
Winnie cups one of the dahlias in the massive bouquet on the dresser, delicately, like she’d cup the face of a lover.
Insane jealousy floods through me.
Winnie’s fallen for him.
The stalker.
Me.
I see it in her eyes as she carefully adjusts the vase on the dresser and palms the note the stalker wrote her. That I wrote her.
Well. And here I was feeling mildly guilty about the kiss.
“Shall I take the stolen shellfish to the fridge? Can’t imagine it’s going to keep in your purse much longer.” There’s some bite in my words.
She guiltily twists the note—my note—in her hands and nods.
“Are there heated floors in this bathroom?” Shelby demands.
“Like there were heated floors in the trailer where you raised your children,” Frances hollers.
“Now, where is Brinley sleeping?” Shelby says, mouth screwed up like she tastes something sour.
