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My blanket and pillow are still on the couch. There’s a wide gap between the couch and the end table she’s bracing herself on.
I wrap an arm around her waist and help her to the couch. She drops into the corner and kicks her hurt leg onto the cushions. “That was more painful than I thought it would be.”
I dig out a remote and set it on the end table. “I have Wi-Fi, so you can find whatever you want. If you want a tablet to read on, just let me know. I can make an account that’s not tied to either of us.”
She shakes her head like she can’t believe we have to consider hiding our electronic trail. My internet service goes through another name. Cannon Lannister is my name, but Cannon isn’t my given first name, and Lannister might be my legal last name, but it’s not attached to this house.
Spreading the blanket over her, she says, “I haven’t sat around and watched TV in forever.”
“You’re healing.”
“And what work, exactly, are you doing?” Her solemn expression convinces me to sit in the other corner. She doesn’t want to be brushed off or lied to. In this case, I don’t need to do either one.
“We have to find out why Roman was pretending to be a stalker. I’ll tell Jacobi about your life insurance. We have to know if that’s what Roman’s after—and why.”
“Why would a man as rich and successful as my husband need a life insurance policy?” She chews on her ripe lower lip. “I’ve been wondering that. I know nothing about his business or our finances, which is sad.”
“A divorce might unearth some financial troubles he wants to keep hidden.”
Her shrug is casual. “Or it might uncover some financial successes he wants to keep hidden.”
Her words are like a sheet getting whipped off a fully set table. “What do you mean?”
She spreads her hands over the fabric. It’s nothing but a gray flannel blanket that’s larger than a throw so I can cover myself from toes to chin if I want. “Oh, nothing. I just remember hearing my parents talk about acquaintances of theirs. One guy left his wife and learned she had a shitload of investments—way more than she made directing indie films. Turned out her lucrative side hustle included a black book and hourly hotel reservations.”
She chews on her lips again as she looks over the remote and presses a few buttons. I can do nothing but stare. I’d been coming at the problem from one angle. Jacobi assumed Roman must be in financial trouble. Kase thought the same.
But what if he’s not? What if he’s ridiculously successful in some hidden endeavor and the life insurance policy would be a nice way to fund an expansion? A nice way to justify where a ton of money came from?
I have to talk to Jacobi. He and Kase will have good insight into some of the seedier pursuits rich assholes get involved in.
She gave me excellent insight, and she did it so casually she didn’t even notice she might’ve swung the advantage back in our direction.
“I know you think you don’t know much, but I want you there when I update Jake and Kase.”
Surprise crosses her expression. “I’d be glad to. So…why do you call him Jake?”
“It’s shorter.”
“But you call me Penelope instead of Penni.”
I used to give everyone nicknames, but then it got exhausting to remember who they all were when I’m not even using my real name. When I saw Penelope, I just wanted to be real. “Which do you prefer?”
A hint of pink touches her cheeks. “I like when you call me Penelope.”
“Exactly.” I like saying it.
“And swan,” she adds quietly.
We share a smile before I find the phone that my friends set up for me two days ago. I hit Jacobi’s number and put the speaker on.
My friend answers with “About time you checked in, asshole.”
I’d sent a message that we’d made it to the cabin when I grabbed the bags. “I’ve got Penelope here.”
“That was the plan.”
I scowl at the phone. “She’s listening in, jackass.”
