The place was empty.
At the back door, far from prying eyes, Tyson worked his magic. He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, then took a small lock-picking kit from his wallet, slipped the tools into the slot, and fiddled around. Within a minute, he had unlocked the door. He twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
The alarm didn’t sound.
We crept into the house.
Tyson shouted, “Coconut County. Anyone here?”
There was no reply.
I pulled the door shut behind me. A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the kitchen.
“Are you alright?” Tyson asked.
I nodded.
It was the one memory I didn’t particularly enjoy reliving. So far, I was making a bunch of bad memories. I hoped that would change. Brighter days were surely ahead, weren’t they?
I moved across the living room to the foyer while Tyson began to search the house.
Someone had cleaned the tile, but there were still bloodstains in the crevices. The events of that night came rushing back to me in a vision. It stood the hairs on the back of my neck tall.
I helped Tyson search the house.
We didn’t find any tablets, laptops, or cell phones. The desktop computer in Grayson’s office was gone—an empty space remained where the all-in-one monitor had once been.
It was possible Grayson’s sister took the items and any other valuables from the home. But the possibility that someone else had been in here lingered in my mind.
We rummaged through the papers on his desk and looked through drawers and file cabinets. Tyson found a small leather-bound notebook in a locked desk drawer. He flipped through the pages. A sly grin curled his lips, drawing my curiosity.
“What did you find?”
He showed me the page. Grayson had kept notes on usernames and passwords for several sites, among them, his cloud login. All we had to do was pick up a burner and sync the device. We’d have all of Grayson’s photos, messages, and applications.
We locked up when we left and tried to look inconspicuous as we walked back to the Porsche. We hopped in, and Tyson cranked up the engine and pulled away from the curb.
A trip to the mall got us another device. Within half an hour, the data was synced. Tyson started sifting through Grayson’s private life.
53
"Grayson was a hematologist, right?" Tyson asked, his face full of concern as he sifted through Grayson's text messages.
I nodded.
"I don't know if you want to read all these texts. Some of them get pretty steamy. I don't know how you feel about Grayson, but you might not want to look through his pictures, either.”
I gave him a pointed look.
"Sorry, but it looks like he was an aspiring filmmaker. There are some pretty explicit scenes with Sierra.”
It really didn't affect me, but it did kinda piss me off. Mainly because it seemed like he did nothing but lie to me from the moment I regained consciousness. Was it all just an act? Did he really ever care about me? Why go through the motions when he had Sierra on the side? Maybe their relationshipwas falling apart. Maybe he knew she would never leave her husband.
"She's not even that attractive," I said, dismissing her entirely.
Tyson knew better. "If you say so.”
Sierra was hot as hell. There was no denying it.
