“Alright, you want to know? Yes, Kieren did something he shouldn’t have. He took some important information before he left. There’s a concern that he might… release it.”
I let that sink in. Dad keeps watching me, and he knows what I know. I work the books, more closely than almost any other CPA at the company. I’ve got more access and trust than other employees at my level, thanks to my name, and my ability to keep my mouth shut.
“What… what did he take?”
Dad swivels to his computer and turns on the monitor. “Frankly, we aren’t sure yet, but it’s being handled. That’s all you need to know, Regan. Please go back to your desk.”
“But wait?—“
“I said, this conversation is over. I told you more than I should have, but maybe it will help, knowing Kieren was always an untrustworthy man.”
Another flick of his eyes. Like I should have known from the start.
“Alright, Dad. Thanks for telling me.” I wilt under the stress and slip out of the chair. My head’s pulsing, half from hangover, and half from confusion. Kieren stole from the firm? He took something important… and cheated on me with Vera Baranov?
As I head back to my desk, I feel a sense of vertigo wash over me.
Something big is happening here. Liam in the parking garage… Kieren cheating, Kieren stealing… and the way Dad said it’s being handled.
Oh, shit, what did you do, you stupid asshole?
I shouldn’t be worried about my ex. Whatever happens to him, he deserves it.
But we were together for years. I thought I loved him. No, I definitely did, at least for a while. My life was planned around him, and even though he broke my heart and betrayed me in the worst way possible, I still feel a strange protectiveness toward him.
Because if it’s as bad as I think…
He’s not going to survive the week.
CHAPTER 6
LIAM
Iheft open the window with a jerk and topple backwards. My arms windmill and I manage to grab onto the frame to steady myself.
A rock slips and tumbles six stories down to the sidewalk below.
Fuck, that was close. I bite back a laugh. What a beautiful night to fall to my death. The breeze, the stars, the stink of the city. It’s nice up here in the cool air as car horns and voices drift up from the world below. I ease the window further open and slip inside.
I take a moment for my eyes to adjust.
The apartment is nicely furnished. Splashes of color, paintings and art on the walls. Lots of soft, feminine touches. Though there are a few ugly eyesores: sports memorabilia is shoved onto a shelf, prominently displayed. Mets stuff mostly, a few signed bats, some graded cards in plastic cases. Nothing makes me roll my eyes harder than a god damn collectible. What’s the purpose of this shit hanging around? Some kind of replacement for an actual personality?
Anyone who collects cards is a cretin.
I prowl into the apartment, pausing to run my fingers over the soft back of the couch. I lift up a pillow and sniff it, trying to smell her. My dick twitches when I catch a whiff of her shampoo. Ah, that’s my fucking girl. I pick up one long hair, her color, and run it over my tongue.
I’m about the biggest sicko cretin of them all.
But I’m not here for Regan.
I search methodically, starting in the living room. Under cushions, in drawers, behind the TV. I run my fingers around the baseboards and knock the floor searching for anything hollow. Under couches, chairs, behind pillows, anywhere that might reasonably hide a thumb drive.
Kitchen comes next. Clean, almost obsessively. I have a feeling that’s the product of my sweet girl. Though the cabinets are empty and the refrigerator is depression: takeout cartons, protein powder, frozen chicken breasts, and whole milk. She hasn’t been gone that long, but already the place is turning to shit. I swear to the sweet holy Lord, Kieren is the modern American Psycho, except so much more boring. I almost wish he’d kill people in here. At least then it’d be interesting. Why she stuck around, I’ll never understand it.
Home office-slash-gym is next. I don’t find anything useful. Photos of the two of them on the desk, one knocked over face-down. The weights look well-used.
Lastly, I slip into the bedroom.
