Page 91 of Three Steps Behind

Swallowing, she tried Spatina. No. She tried her name. Nada. Sweat beaded on her brow. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get him locked out. One more guess, and she’d have to try another time. But who knew how often the opportunity would present itself? Okay, girl. You’ve got this. She ran through his past pets’ names he’d shared, his mom’s name, and then it hit her. Sunshine. She typed in the eight-letter word and held her breath.

Bingo.

Look for the money.

It’s what always came first. Dalton made his money in a vile way. He didn’t deserve to have it. What she’d do with it, she didn’t know, but she refused to leave it in Dalton’s murderous hands.

It didn’t take long to find the bank login. Caymans. Nice. This time she didn’t have to guess a password. The fool was logged in. Come on, Dalt. You’re smarter than that.

She glanced to the stillness of the bedroom through the cracked bookcase door, but she didn’t trust Dalton to be gone long. Getting up, she searched for a safe. No way he’d have a hidden office without one, and before long she found it behind the oh-so-obvious mirror on the wall. But she couldn’t take time to open it now.

She moved for the main bedroom door and, cracking it, listened. Dalton’s voice still murmured from his office below. She returned to the secret office, passing the bed and her necklace on the way. How would she explain the prolonged silence to Aubry?

She bit her lip. She couldn’t worry about that now. She had a task at hand and a brilliant con to launch.

Setting up a secondary bank account just one number off in the same bank took no time, transferring the money a little longer. Her heart thumped faster as she watched the money drain from one account and fill the other. She impatiently tapped the desktop with her rose-colored nails until the deed was done. Now she just hoped it would work.

She shut the laptop and the bookcase, then grabbed the first swimsuit she came to and bolted to the bathroom. When she stepped back out, she found Dalton sitting on the edge of the bed by the pillbox and necklace, waiting for her.

Her heart drummed in her throat.

Thirty-Seven

BRISTOL IMMEDIATELY SHIFTED into character. “So,” she said, twirling around. “What do you think?” She held her breath.

He strode toward her, the pillbox tumbling to the floor as he stood.

She tried not to gape as the pills came tumbling out.

“You look stunning,” he said.

“Thank you.” She gazed back at him, then shifted to grab the pillbox contents.

“Let me help.” He knelt beside her.

Keep your cool, Bri. You’ve got this. Apparently, she could even lie to herself, though not convincingly.

She scrambled for the bug, but it wasn’t there. Oh no. Did Dalton have it? She swallowed and looked up at him.

“Here you go.” He slipped the two vitamins and one pill into the case. No bug.

Thanks, she thought half to herself and half to a God she didn’t believe in, but who’d been on her mind more and more since Aubry Marshall returned to her life. She didn’t want to ponder why. Besides, now was not the time. She had a bug to find and a killer kneeling beside her.

“I didn’t know you took vitamins,” Dalt said.

“Trying to be healthier.”

“Good. Stay nice and well for me for years to come.” He stood and reached out his hand.

She took it, catching a glimpse of the tiny silver bug under the bed before he pulled her to her feet.

Great. She’d just have to hope he had no to reason to look under the bed.

Aubry leaned his elbows on the back of his chair, waiting for Bristol. The apartment—his new office until this was over—lay shrouded in shadows. Only the dim lamp by the sofa remained on.

He raked a hand through his hair and stood, bumping the chair out from under him with a tap of his foot. The legs screeched along the wood floor. The comms had gone silent for twelve minutes this morning. Twelve minutes he’d feared the worst. They, thankfully, picked up again, but his throat had nearly squeezed the air from his lungs first. And now she was far later than anticipated. Panic sifted through him. Where was she?

The clock read 10:59 p.m. They’d left the restaurant forty-five minutes ago. Dalton said he’d take her home, so Aubry had hurried to beat them there. He didn’t want Dalton seeing him rush in. Couldn’t let Dalton see him, period. Dalton had been present when he’d arrested Bristol. Maybe he wouldn’t remember him—it all happened so fast—but maybe he would and then they’d both be sunk.