“Yeah, about that…” I tilted my head toward the dining room. “It might be a bit before I’m able to come home because I’m going undercover.”
“What?”
At his booming voice, there was a concerned ruckus from the other room, but I ignored both as I moved for the table. “Let’s eat.”
This can’t be right.
Slowing the car to a stop at the curb, I looked out the window to confirm the address on the brick townhouse. It was the narrowest of the attached ranch-style units, but in that neighborhood, it still likely cost a fortune.
I scanned up and down the street to make sure nothing looked out of place.
Something did.
My car.
The loaner from the department had been chosen specifically because the gray sedan would blend in. Usually. But in the block of luxury cars—and one impressively shiny motorcycle—the budget option stuck out like a plastic spork amongst gleaming silver.
Maybe I can talk my way into a seized upgrade.
It doesn’t have to be a Lambo or anything wild.
I would settle for a Benz. Or maybe an angular muscle car like that blue beauty up there.
It wasn’t worth the risk of garnering attention by drastically changing out the basic model, so I pushed my car daydreams aside and grabbed a box from the passenger’s seat. Since the place was furnished earlier by the undercover team disguised as a moving company, I only had my personal items to worry about. I moved up to the landing, pausing long enough to disengage the electronic lock and push open the door.
If I had the ability to whistle, I would have.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect. Rye seemed like a popular place, but overhead in that industry was high. It was surprising that Rhys could afford a home in such a pricey neighborhood.
Unless, of course, he had a load of disposable income thanks to whatever secret he was keeping to himself.
That was a big leap, and I wasn’t one to jump to conclusions. I was more about possibilities. Variables. Planning for everything I could think of so I was prepared for it all.
There were no second floors on the block, but for all I knew, Rhys lived in his mama’s basement just to keep the bar afloat.Or maybe he rented a singular room in the townhouse two doors over.
But even if that was the case, it was still probably a nice setup.
Because the house I stood in was beautiful. It was small, though still much larger than my apartment. There were no stark white walls with a landlord’s special paint job that sloppily went over outlets and sealed windows shut. The warm neutrals were welcoming, and the open space seemed downright cavernous with only a small couch and coffee table occupying the living room.
Well, that and a camera with a telescopic lens positioned on a tripod near the curtained front window. It was the only interior surveillance. Discreetly positioned outdoor cameras covered the rest of the perimeter.
I set the box down on the table before returning outside to make quick work of unloading the rest of my things. Armed with my TV, I used my foot to slam the backdoor of the car closed with a little more force than I’d meant.
Oops.
A nearby door opened, and I braced for small talk and questions from new neighbors. But when I turned, it was Rhys who stood on his small landing.
His t-shirt wasn’t as tight as the shrunken one, but it still stretched across his broad chest. I’d always been of the belief that gray sweatpants were the sluttiest lingerie a man could wear, but there was something to be said about a good pair of low-slung basketball shorts.
Objectively speaking, of course.
Rhys looked from my car to me. I wasn’t sure if he was judging it or wondering if there was more to grab, but it didn’t matter.
I ignored him as I carried the television inside, otherwise I risked accidentally dropping it.
Leaning it carefully against the wall—and hoping I packed the stand since I wouldn’t put holes in the wall for a mount—I flopped down onto the couch.
And instantly regretted it.
