Page 17 of No Longer Mine
“She did.”
“You’re too calm about this.”
I smirked as I sipped my coffee. “I could’ve called the cops. Could’ve made a massive spectacle out of the whole thing.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Because I don’t care about the jewelry.” I leaned back in my chair again and stretched lazily. “And, honestly? I’m more curious than anything else.”
Benson let out a sharp breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I saw her.”
That was the part that made this whole thing interesting.
Because for the life of me, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The way she moved. The way she didn’t panic when I grabbed her. The way her eyes locked onto mine before she disappeared into the night, like she had all the time in the world.
She’d made a mistake, though. One I was willing to bet she hadn’t made before.
She’d let me see her.
And I wasn’t the type to let something like that go.
Benson sighed, his fingers flying across his keyboard on the other end of the call. “I’ll dig deeper, see if I can track her movements from last night.”
“You won’t find anything.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She’s good.” I tapped a finger against the desk. “But we both know she’s not perfect.”
Silence.
Then, Benson cursed under his breath. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I grinned to myself. “Most excitement I’ve had in months.”
Before Benson could argue, my phone dinged—the familiar chime of my security system finally kicking back in. Someone was at my front door.
I rolled my head on my shoulders and stood, stretching the tension from my spine as I made my way toward the stairs. I ended the call with Benson. We would catch up later.
Don got to the door before I even made it halfway.
It was still strange having someone underfoot at all times, but I couldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Don wasn’t like most people—I didn’t have to entertain him and didn’t have to make small talk. He wasn’t here to impress me, and that made him more tolerable than most.
He was good company in the way a sharp blade was—silent, efficient, and deadly when necessary.
Don liked his job. And I respected that.
More than that—he was useful.
He was like me—calculated, with little tolerance for bullshit.
I descended the stairs at an easy pace, my fingers tapping absently against the railing.
Whoever was at my door had shit timing.
