The side of her mouth curved up. “I’ll be good, boss.”
“I don’t believe that for a fucking second,” I said as I let myself out, locking the door behind me.
Sylvie Calloway wasn’t justintrouble. Sylvie Callowaywastrouble. Sooner or later, I’d have to decide what I was going to do about that.
Chapter Seven
SYLVIE
Eli left abruptly, shutting the door a little too hard behind him. It was pretty clear that I was the reason he was irritated, but I was too tired to care. The deadbolt turned with a click, and I wondered if he thought he was locking me in. If he was, I wasn’t sure I cared, at least not right now. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I didn’t have anywhere to go.
It had hit me in the shower, when I’d finally stopped moving long enough for the last twenty-four hours to settle. I was damn lucky I’d had that lead to Sinclair Security. If I’d shown up in Atlanta just following the trail of that Peach Pass, I would have found nothing. And I’d be completely, utterly on my own.
Or dead.
So many ifs. So many different paths I could have taken. Like not investigating Emily Shaw’s murder. It was sad to say the world was chock-full of unsolved cases of murdered women. I could have picked any one of them, but that car bomb had intrigued me. So here I was, living on sufferance, my life shut down and a target on my back.
Sinclair Security was the only thing standing between me and whoever had blown up my van and cut off my credit cards and bank account. That meant I needed them a lot more than they needed me, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out.
Eli came back a few minutes later, as promised, his dark brows pulled tight. He dropped a brown paper bag with string handles on the counter, looking past me rather than at me. Clearly, he was still in a mood. Whatever. I was too tired and hungry to stress about it.
“Lunch,” he said, pulling out a stack of napkins and plastic-wrapped silverware. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back later.” He left again, the deadbolt clunking into place a second after the door shut behind him.
Lunch turned out to be a gooey, cheesy, humongous serving of lasagna. I would have made do with chips or something, but I could get used to this. I’d have to thank Alice later. Between two meals’ worth of lasagna and the necessities she’d stocked in the kitchen, I was set for food.
I wandered the apartment after I finished eating and stored my leftovers in the fridge. There wasn’t much to see—an elegantly planned living room with an oversized flat-screen TV that flowed into a dining area and from there to the kitchen. On the other side of the apartment, there was a short hall, at the end of which were two decently sized bedrooms, both with king beds and ensuite baths. I’d dumped my shopping bags in one of them before my shower and spent a few minutes unpacking and tearing off tags before I made use of the washer and dryer.
When that was done, still alone and getting bored, I curled up on the couch with my tablet and a cup of tea. I was locked out of my bank account. Ditto for credit cards. Clearly, someone had their fingers in mybusiness, and it didn’t take a genius to guess it was the same person who wanted me dead.
I needed to talk to Eli about my accounts, but since he hadn’t reappeared, I’d have to let the whole issue of my frozen funds sit for the moment. I hadn’t been sure what I was getting into, investigating Emily Shaw’s death, but now I knew whatever this was, it was way bigger than anything I’d seen before.
I scrolled social media, checking in on listener responses to the latest episode I’d dropped on my podcast. So far, so good—everyone was eager for the season finale. My stomach knotted as I thought about that. I should be so much further into season five than I was. I should have walked away, found another case, another victim. Now I was in too deep to get out. If something didn’t shake loose soon, my career would be on the line.
Let it go, Sylvie, I told myself.There’s not a damn thing you can do about any of this until Eli comes back.
I could see the door to the apartment from the couch, and it remained stubbornly closed, still locked. I wasn’t stuck here. I could flip the deadbolt and let myself out at any time, but this being Sinclair Security, it was safe to assume everything was under surveillance. I glanced up at the ceiling of the apartment. I didn’t see any cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I’d ask Eli later, but wherever the cameras were, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave the apartment unseen. And that brought me right back around to the real question. If I left, where would I go?
I didn’t know. The only safe place was my parents’ home, but that was states away, and the last thing I wanted was to lead whoever was after me to their doorstep.
I set my tablet on the coffee table and rolledover to my side, pulling up a video I’d been meaning to watch about modern forensic techniques. My eyes drifted shut as I listened to theories on chemical solvents and blood splatter, the technician’s voice sliding into a monotonous drone as fatigue dragged me under.
I jerked awake to the sound of my name, sitting up before I was fully conscious. Eli stood in front of me, hands on his hips, annoyance on his face.
“What?” I asked, blinking.
Somehow, I’d forgotten how hot he was since I’d seen him last. Those cheekbones, that lower lip, the way his thick, dark hair tumbled over his forehead. The black T-shirt stretched over his shoulders.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I did not need to be ogling Eli Bishop. I was an irritation he was putting up with. Mostly, I thought, so I wouldn’t get in his way. And while I needed to stay on his good side, I wasn’t putting sex on the table as a bargaining chip. Not that he’d asked. Drooling over his shoulders wasn’t going to get me anywhere but in more trouble.
Shut it down, I ordered my hormones. I’d made it to almost thirty without a traumatic romantic fuckup. I wasn’t going to break my streak now when there was so much more at stake, no matter how attractive my guard/partner was.
“Get up,” he said. “I brought food.”
“I just ate lunch.”
He let out a snort of laughter. “That was four hours ago. It’s dinnertime.”
“I slept for four hours?” I tapped the screen of my phone on the coffee table and realized I had, in fact, slept for four hours, and it was actually dinnertime. “Huh. Okay.”
