“Update me,” Rebel said.
“All the paintings were taken to the lab. We’ve got tests set up on all three levels of the home. They’re reading negative for fentanyl dust, so we’re finishing up here.”
Ten minutes later, Rebel parked in front of the Krause house. The house stood dark, the tech team gone. He attached a small tracker to the underside of Krause’s car, hopped in his SUV and headed toward home.
You’re guilty of something, Krause, and I’m gonna find out what.
Once in the parking garage of his building, he attached a second tracker to Liliana’s car, the one Honor had driven over.
His condo was dark, save for the light over the stovetop. As he walked in, he heard what sounded like talk radio. Brit was asleep on the sofa, no sign of Honor. As he moved into the cavernous space, the mumblings got louder. They were coming from the corner, next to the window, behind the oversized chair.
It’s Honor.
She was babbling incoherently.
He crouched down to get a better look at her. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket, her forehead pressed against the cold window, her eyes open, but unseeing.
She was mumbling something over and over, like a mantra.
“Wrath,” Honor murmured, then garbled speech… “repay, saith the Lord.”
That’s a bible verse.
“Hey,” Brit whispered. “You okay?”
He sat next to her on the sofa, collected her hands in his.
This is it, babe. You and me, forever.
Leaning close, he kissed her. “Honor’s on the floor in the corner by the window.”
Brit furrowed her brows. “I was dreaming that someone was talking nonstop.”
“It’s her. Sounds like she’s got a bible verse on repeat.”
Brit kissed him, letting her warm lips linger on his. He missed her, wanted her. Despite the constant barrage of mayhem they’d been dealing with, he wanted to lock them away and get lost in everything Britain.
“Computer, lights in living room on low,” Rebel said.
As the recessed lights brightened, Brit walked over to Honor. The need to keep her safe had him pushing off the sofa.
Brit knelt down, laid a hand on the blanket. “Hey, Honor, it’s Brit.”
Honor startled, her eyes wild with fear. “What? What do you want? No, don’t hurt me.”
Jesus, she’s got PTSD.
“You were dreaming.”
Honor’s eyes cleared. She studied Brit for a long moment, then slid her gaze to Rebel. “Where’s Jordan?”
“In a holding cell,” Rebel said.
“I need a lawyer. I need to go to the police station.” Honor pushed off the floor, dropped the blanket on the chair and slid into her shoes. “Can I go home now?”
“It’s safe,” he replied.
“Of course, it’s safe.” Then, Honor glared at him. “How do I know you or Brit didn’t plant those drugs?”
