Page 40 of Three Steps Behind

“That’s my guess,” Susan said.

And it was why Harper needed to read through Tay’s journal. See if she could garner any clues from it.

Nick had done too much and moved too fast to wrap things up. Like he was rushing to avoid discovery. . . . Had he killed his wife? And if so, how?

She glanced at Deck, and he expressed a world of consolation through his kind gaze. They’d find the truth. She wouldn’t stop digging until they did, and Tay’s journal was the place to start.

Seventeen

DECKED OUT in a pair of dark skinny jeans, a black silk blouse, a black leather jacket, black Louboutins she’d grabbed at the store next to Anthropologie, and a small black sequined crossbody bag, Bristol hung at the outer edge of Dalton’s house, her back against the brick wall—scratchy and coarse despite her jacket. Why wouldn’t her heart stop racing? She swiped her palms against her jeans to wick away the cold sweat. Why did she feel like a schoolgirl headed out on her first date?

This was Dalton. He was already hers, and they were already “they.” Energy bounced inside her veins. She was being foolish. Of course he was going to be happy to see her. It’d been months apart, and being together . . . She smiled.

Now, walk up to that door and kiss the man.

No. Not the front door. She’d head to his side door, sneak inside, and really surprise him.

Moving around the right side of his house, she stepped through the garden he’d let her plant. Overgrown flowers crunched beneath her feet, but it was either that or the icy patch of walkway. Working her way across the garden, she made it to the side porch. Taking a steadying breath, she attempted to calm her giddiness over being back with Dalton again.

She peeked through the kitchen curtain. Voices carried, but Dalton and whomever he was conversing with were out of her line of sight.

She turned the knob. Locked. She bent, retrieving the key from under the garden gnome—the first in a row of ten he’d bought her. He wasn’t a fan of them, but she adored them. He was so thoughtful like that. It made Aubry’s allegations against him laughable.

Slipping the key into the lock, she turned the knob ever so quietly and stepped inside, easing the door shut behind her.

Soft jazz pumped over the living room speakers, and the kitchen, always fresh-smelling—like it’d just been cleaned but without harsh chemicals—welcomed her. An orchid blooming beautifully in its marble pot sat in the center of the island. Aww. Her favorite flower. So maybe he hadn’t totally forgotten about her. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She exuded confidence, so why was she acting like a nervous Nellie? Or was it Nancy? Whatever the saying was, it was accurate. She blamed Aubry—the man uneased her, and his allegations infuriated her.

She took a step toward the voices coming from another room, but they paused as soon as she moved forward. Darn heels. She slipped the things off, dangling them from the fingers of her left hand.

Reaching the edge of the kitchen tile floor, she poked her head around the corner. Dalton’s office door was cracked, a slit of light spilling out. Always working—building his restaurant business from the ground up. She’d never thought she’d say this, but she was proud of his work ethic. She had been proud of her ability to con, to work every angle, but it most certainly wasn’t the same thing, and it took meeting Dalton to realize that. Thankfully, he saw the good in her, if there really was good. But he assured her there was, and she’d been trying to soak that up ever since.

She tiptoed down the marble-floored hall toward the office.

“What do you want me to do?” a familiar male voice asked.

Hmm. Company. She’d half thought Dalton had simply been on speakerphone.

Maybe this wasn’t the best time for a surprise after all. Perhaps it was best to surprise him upstairs. But just to see him again really quick, she pressed her eye up to the slit and peered inside his office.

Miquel. Five-foot-eight, dark hair, and equally dark eyes.

And Dalton. She smiled. Was she seriously going to swoon? She shook herself out of the love bubble. Okay, she was still in it, but she didn’t have to be so sappy.

Dalton sat behind his desk, arms raised behind his head, hands interlocked.

“The girls are getting too bold,” another man said over speakerphone. A man’s voice she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps Tony? The assistant manager under Miquel at Dalton’s restaurants.

“Ask Miquel,” the man continued.

Miquel nodded, taking a seat on the corner of Dalton’s desk. “Tony’s right. We nearly had an escape last night.”

Escape? She frowned. What were they talking about? She instinctively inched forward, though she had a feeling this was one of those business meetings she wasn’t supposed to be privy to. Dalton was nothing if not private. But what on earth were they referring to?

“I assume you took care of it?” Dalton said, reclining further in his chair.

“I got her back, drugged her up,” Tony said.

What? Her muscles tensed. They couldn’t be saying what it sounded like. Her stomach sloshed. Please don’t let Agent Marshall be right. There must be some misunderstanding.