I shift again in my chair, casually moving my left hand an inch lower on the armrest. “I don’t allow secrets in this room, Rose. Tell me why you’re here or this session is over.”
My index finger finds the smooth button on the underside of my chair’s armrest, but I don’t push it. Not yet. Rose’s clothing doesn’t contain any visible pockets, and her hands are clasped on her lap. Her purse is down by her feet. Her posture is unthreatening.
Still, I don’t take my eyes off her for an instant.
Despite the thermostat in my home being set at seventy degrees, another bead of perspiration rolls down her cheek, leaving a faint glistening trail.
I wonder what her real hair color is, beneath the wig that is making her head sweat.
If I passed her on the street, I wouldn’t give her a second glance. She blends in: medium height, medium weight; there’s nothing striking about her. Which is probably exactly why she was chosen to come see me.
“I didn’t come here under false pretenses. I’m being straight with you.” Rose’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “Like I told you, I experienced a huge betrayal by a colleague. This person has caused a lot of trouble for me … and my company. You know who it is. So how about it, Avery? Can we work together?”
Her words are so deliberate. To an outsider, they’d probably appear strange but innocuous. I force myself to smile. “I don’t think my methods are a good fit for you, Rose. Why don’t you see yourself out.”
This is it; the moment when everything could shift.
But Rose merely gets to her feet, reaching for her coat and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “If you change your mind, you’ve got my number and email address.”
Which are connected to a burner phone and untraceable electronic address, I’m certain.
I don’t reply. She cocks her head and gazes at me. “You’ve got such a pretty face.” She looks around my office. “And such a nice house. Sometimes we don’t realize how grateful we should be until we lose everything.”
She smiles and slips on her coat.
Despite her implicit threat, I’m certain Rose came here not to harm me, but to try to strike a deal—money in exchange for the name of who gave me the information. Still, it’s difficult to remain seated while she disappears into the hallway.
A moment later, I hear the sound of my front door shutting and her footsteps going down the outside stairs. Only then do I take my finger off the panic button that alerts police and my alarm company I’m in danger.
I walk to the window and watch Rose disappear down the sidewalk, blending into the dark shadows.
I wonder what she really looks like beneath her plain disguise. She must resemble the real Rose DeMarco, who probably has no idea that her identity was borrowed for tonight. Acelia must have searched for an innocuous-seeming local woman who wouldn’t raise any suspicion in me, creating a copy of her driver’s license and sending a fake “client” who looked enough like Rose that I’d open my door.
But as with everything else Acelia has done, no real harm resulted and the details are murky enough that I can’t report this incident to the police without appearing paranoid.
What I can do is to implement a new policy: I’ll only meet new clients in public places.
I walk into my hallway and activate my alarm system, staring at the logo on the code box. It’s the same logo Derrick had on his work shirts.
Derrick protected me well, I think. It was he who suggested installing the panic button on my work chair.
I’m gripped with the urge to call him, but even as I’m pulling out my phone, I realize how unfair that would be.
Derrick would provide me with comfort. I’d repay him with pain.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and go upstairs to let Romeo out of his crate.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARISSA
MARISSA LIES ON THE massage table, willing herself to relax, while a woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun works on the knots in Marissa’s lower back. Beneath the notes of the classical music through the salon’s speakers, she hears the incessant thudding of her heart. The padded cushion against her face makes it hard to breathe.
“How is the pressure?” the masseuse asks.
“Fine,” Marissa manages to whisper.
But surely her rigid body tells a different story.
What is she doing here? She should have trusted her instincts and skipped the treatment and gone home. Or better yet, driven straight to Candy Cane City to meet Matthew and Bennett. She berates herself for letting down her guard. Someone is trying to hurt them. Matthew has already been hurt. They aren’t safe.