Page 111 of Gilt

“Nowhere too far,” I tell him.

“Paris and London are out?”

“Too far. I want to get there as quickly as possible,” I admit.

“What about Mexico? There’s this little resort in Playa del Carmen. We can sleep near the water.”

“Sleep?” I repeat.

“Miss Southerly, what are you suggesting?” He says, in mock horror.

“It’d be easier for me to give you a preview,” I murmur. Then I move my lips to his.

“I should have known you’d be in here.” Waking up to Monroe’s smug voice is not my idea of a good morning. I burrow down into the covers, leaving Jameson to deal with his sister.

“What do you want, Monroe?” he mutters, rolling away from me and then instantly falling back to sleep. For a second, I’m reminded of how things used to be with Becca.

“You two have company.”

“What time is it?” I whisper over his snores.

“Eight.”

Monroe strikes me as the type to get up at the break of dawn to do two hours of cardio. When I sit up, my suspicions are confirmed when I see she’s in a sports bra and shorts.

“Who is it?” I ask, praying it’s not my dad.

There’s no smugness in her tone when she says, “Detective Mackey.”

She might as well have shot me up with espresso. I jump out of bed and shrug on the robe her mom left me.

“Don’t wake him up,” I order her.

She grabs my arm, digging her nails into my skin. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” I yank free of her grip. “In case you missed it, your brother doesn’t always act rationally when he thinks I’m in trouble.”

I take the stairs slowly. I’m not exactly excited about my reunion with my favorite federal investigator. The fact that she’s here as early as is socially acceptable is a pretty good indicator that she’s bringing bad news with her. It occurs to me too late that I should have asked Monroe for more details. Had Mackey come to see both Jameson and me? Or just him?

Or me?

When I reach the sitting room, I can’t help but notice that the slick bob she’d sported when she came to town is a bit too long. She’s been working overtime. I might feel sorry for her except for the fact that she’s trying to put my boyfriend away for murder.

“Can I get you some coffee?” I ask.

Channel your inner hostess much, Emma. I don’t even know where the coffeemaker is.

Mackey raises one eyebrow that’s in serious need of intervention. “Making yourself at home, aren’t you?”

I stopped fidgeting and sit up straighter.

“I’m attempting to be polite, you should try it.”

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction. She leans back and crosses her legs, regarding me for a long moment before she comes to the point. “There’s going to be a press conference today. I felt you should know.”

“I had no idea that interest in the case has waned so much that you have to solicit attention door-to-door,” I say with a shrug. If she’s going to pretend that she doesn’t find me amusing, then I’ll pretend that I don’t find her or her games interesting.

She folds her hands in her lap. “Would you like to know what it’s going to be about?”