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Content and satisfied, she willed herself not to think. She reined in any imaginings of before or after, of what could or couldn’t be. There was only right now.
“I don’t want to move ever again.” His breath tickled her neck.
Claire empathized completely. “Eventually, you’ll have to.”
He rose up onto his forearms. “Why? Am I squashing you? I don’t want to hurt you.”
True, her stomach and ribs still ached a bit from the Voice of Doom’s kick by the train tracks and her wrist remained stiff, but that wasn’t the hurt she worried about. She didn’t see any way Jake could avoid making her heart ache. It stung already. She sucked at the whole not-thinking thing.
“What is it?” Concern shone in his eyes.
Talking about him leaving would only make it seem more real. She wasn’t ready to push open the curtains of reality. “I need to go freshen up.”
“Hurry back.” He nipped her earlobe. Kissed it better.
In the doorway she paused and looked back. Jake lay on his back. An arm rested across his forehead. He was so tall, he barely fit on the couch. Tears sprung to her eyes. She blinked them back. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.
She scooped up her bra from the hallway and grabbed her dress off the kitchen floor. Slipping it on, she trudged to the dining room bathroom, her heavy heart making every step an effort.
The toilet wouldn’t stop running as she washed her hands. She walked into the stall and jiggled the handle. The water continued to rush inside the porcelain tank.
Great. Like I don’t have enough falling apart in my life right now.
Claire lifted the heavy tank lid to adjust the flush valve.
She gasped. Her heart stopped beating for a moment.
A plastic sandwich bag lay at the bottom of the tank. It had sunk so far down, it forced the valve to stay open. A phone and flash drive were visible inside the clear plastic Baggie.
Holy crap. I’ve found it.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire twirled around and performed her happy dance in the claustrophobic bathroom stall. It was part hip shimmy, part ass shake and all celebration. She’d found it. Giggling, she added some shoulder bounces to the soundtrack playing in her head. Sure, she’d discovered it by fluke, but still she’d found it!
“Jake, come in here! You won’t believe what I found!”
The phone and flash drive were wedged in the valve so that water continuously rushed into the tank but didn’t accumulate. Even though the tank held only an inch of water, plucking the plastic Baggie from its depths skeeved her out. Grimacing, she dipped her hand into the tank, grabbed it with the tips of her fingers and pulled it above the water line. The information hidden away on the phone and flash drive had caused so much misery. Her heart skipped a beat.
Bad vibes hovered in the air. Goose bumps dotted her bare arms and she flicked her gaze around the bathroom, looking for the source of her discomfort. She half expected to find Darcy tucked away in the corner, ready to pounce. But he was in police custody. No one lurked in the shadows ready to kill her for the information on the devices. Still, anxiety buzzed in the back of her mind like a tiny mosquito.
She stared at the plastic sandwich bag, unable to rip it open. A person died because of this phone and flash drive, the information they held could still pose a danger. Her logical side urged her to stop being so namby-pamby and open the damn thing.
Legally, she needed to get the phone and flash drive to Hank. She knew that. But there was no way she’d give it to him before finding out what information was worth Kendall’s life. Too much had happened to ignore the answers in her lap. She shrugged; she’d find a way to explain it to Hank.
She unsnapped the bag and yanked out the pink phone. Without pausing, she pushed the button to power it up. Kendall’s smiling face stared up at her. The dead girl’s arms hung around a frat boy’s neck, her eyelids at half-mast. They wore New Year’s Eve hats. An extended party blower jutted from Kendall’s mouth. It pointed at Claire like an accusing finger.
“Jake, where are you?”
A pan clanked against the kitchen floor.
“You okay? Do you need help?”
Another small crash sounded. “I’ve got it.”
Judging by his gruff tone, Claire figured her offer must have offended his testosterone-required pride. Men.
Intent on her discovery, she shook the canary-yellow flash drive onto her palm. What if it really did hold the key to three million dollars? The thought blew her away. She needed to get to her laptop. Clutching the evidence, she hightailed it out of the bathroom.
