Neither of us is good at “techy” stuff like Beckett is. However, it’s crucial that we shut down all cameras in the immediate vicinity. There can be no record that we were here.
Here…at Aria Buckingham’s apartment. At least, that’s the name on the lease, and it’s different from her actual one. Or maybe this is her true name, and the one she gave Ellie is false. Who the fuck knows with the psycho bitch? All we know is that she has a whole other life that she kept hidden from the rest of the world. There are no ties connecting this Aria to the one that rules the Paragons of Prosperity. No ties…except for Jane.
A lucky coincidence?
A plant?
I don’t fucking know or care. All I can focus on is uncovering everything we can while we have the chance.
“Done!” Ryker declares triumphantly. “All cameras in the area should be shut down.” A frown tugs at his lips. “Probably.”
I scoff and shoulder past him, moving to crouch before the door and ignoring the tugging sensation in my stomach. Fuck, will the pain ever abate? I don’t even know if I would classify it as “pain” any longer. It’s more like an irritation. The skin surrounding the scar feels too tight and itchy. A part of me almost wishes I had brought the cane, especially when the skin goes taut and a wheezy exhale escapes my lips, partway between a hiss and a curse.
Fuck.
“You good?” Concern laces Ryker’s tone.
“Fuck off,” I tell him as I begin the painstaking task of picking the lock.
Easy peasy.
It’s evident that Aria doesn’t expect anyone to break into this particular home of hers. After all, not even the goddamn FBI was able to connect this Aria to the twisted bitch holding my girl hostage.
The door swings open on silent hinges, and Ryker and I hurry inside before any curious neighbors can spot us.
I’m moderately surprised to find the apartment clean. I wonder if Aria has hired cleaners to attend to it regularly. I doubt she spends much time here.
We enter into a living room, which has beige carpeting that’s a bit worn but clean. A sliding glass door leads to a narrow balcony just wide enough for a folding chair and a potted plant.
The living room flows into a compact kitchen separated by a waist-high counter. The cabinets are older laminate with wood-grain patterns painted a bright white. The appliances—a fridge and an electric stove—are functional, though not new. A small window over the sink lets in midday light.
Ryker makes a beeline toward the kitchen counter—and the pile of mail resting on top of it. He doesn’t bother with subtlety as he rips open each envelope and pores over the contents inside.
Hopefully, Aria believes that the maids got curious.
While Ryker pursues the mail, I move into the living room and sweep my eyes over it. Nothing stands out as important, so I move down the hallway instead.
The first door leads to a bathroom, which has basic white tile, a shower-tub combination, and a medicine cabinet with a mirror that squeaks when opened. All the medicine is generic, over-the-counter crap that tells me absolutely nothing about Aria. I don’t know what I expected to find—maybe something to treat a psychological condition—but there’s nothing of the sort.
The bedroom itself is modest but cozy, easily fitting a full-size bed and a small dresser. There’s a small door on the opposite side of the room that probably leads to a closet.
I check the dresser first, pulling open drawers at random.
My heart just about jumps out of my body when I accidentally touch the bitch’s lacy underwear. Disgust curdles in my stomach, but I force myself to keep pilfering through her belongings. Nothing.
“You find anything?” Ryker materializes in the doorway, his blue eyes icy chips beneath the darkness of his hood.
I shudder. “She owns thongs, Ryker.Thongs. There are some things I can never unsee.”
If I have to suffer, then I’ll be damned if I don’t bring him down with me.
Ryker’s face distorts with disgust. “I don’t need to visualize that shit.”
“Anything in the mail?”
His scowl deepens further, etching harsh lines onto either side of his lips. “The bitch has an entire fucking life as Aria Buckingham. A college degree. Debt. A goddamn remote job she’s probably paying one of her lackeys to do for her. It’s fucking insane.”
“This is her escape plan,” I reason, the cogs in my head turning. “If things go to shit, The Divine One will disappear, and Aria Buckingham will take her place.” I jab my finger toward the bathroom. “I found unopened hair dye boxes in there.”
