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Zelda hunched one shoulder. “I don’t think they are. I mean it’s weird that they’d come all the way down here to jack you up after one drunken phone call. They don’t know you from Adam and it’s not like Tristan hung out with them all the time anymore.” Zel tucked her hair behind her ears. “As far as I know, he hadn’t talked to them for three years. Either he’s wrong about their involvement or he’s lying about everything.”
Aithan exhaled a slow breath. “Let’s hope for wrong.”
“I dunno. If he’s right, then the case will be closed this week and you can stop looking over your shoulder,” Drew said.
Aithan scowled. “I’m not.”
Zel’s hand squeezed his. “Yeah, you are, lover.”
12
THE WINNER
“The end.”
I stopped recording and saved the file, then took off my headphones, turned off my mic, and leaned back in my chair. “Thank. Fucking. God.” I’d completed recordingWhite Eagle, Red Poppyand only the last twelve chapters — out of fifty-eight, OMG — needed editing. I’d powered through the nightmare and was on track to finish it early. “Merry early Christmas to you, Zel.” I hung up my headphones and shut down the workstation, turned in my seat to step from the booth, and jumped out of my skin. “Shit!”
Drew stood outside, peering through the small window set into the booth’s door, a questioning expression on his face. He raised his thumb then turned it upside down, asking if all was good or not.
I stood and opened the door. “Dammit, Drew! You just scared the crap outta me! Again!”
He smiled, looking only a little contrite. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. And how are you so fucking stealthy? The mic didn’t even pick up the office door opening.” I took a long swig of water, draining the Blue Water Fitness bottle.
He shrugged. “Learned it as a kid.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the loveseat. “Come look at this house Mayliss just sent over. I think it might be a winner.”
I sat beside him. He opened his laptop and showed me the listing.
“What neighborhood?”
“West Queen Anne.”
“Is it new?”
He shook his head. “Built in 1906. Fully restored this year from the studs up. Mayliss said the paint was still drying when they listed it. All the beauty of the old homes with the conveniences of new construction.”
“Meaning it’s not cold as fuck?” I asked as he enlarged the pictures.
“Bingo. And wait ’til you see the kitchen.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a gorgeous house.” It was a four-story craftsman. Gray stone on the lower levels gave way to dark-blue wood siding and cream-colored trim. Inside, the owners had restored the beautiful wood millwork and wainscoting around every window, every doorframe, on the wide stairs and coffered ceilings. The chef’s kitchen sported pure white cabinetry with baby blue accent walls, white marble counters, and an elaborately carved wooden breakfast bar.
“Seven bedrooms, eight baths, and seven fireplaces,” he read, “with views from the Space Needle to Bainbridge Island.”
“Lots of natural light, too,” I remarked, “which is unusual for the older craftsman homes.”
“Yeah, I think they added more windows and the decks across the back.” He moved to the next picture and the entire backside of the house offered windows, doors, and decks.
“To take advantage of that view.” The house sat above its neighbors and had an unobstructed sweep of Elliott Bay.
“Not bad, eh?”
“Not at all.” Like the kitchen, the master bathroom was blue and white, with a clawfoot tub in the center and an added walk-in shower. “Nice, big shower,” I remarked.
“Oh, yes. Daddy likes.”
“Looks like they kept all the old chandeliers and lights but added recessed lighting in most of the rooms. That’s definitely a plus.”
