remote to him.
This one was a garage door opener for Emit Petit’s vacation home. To his wife’s dismay, the place had been converted into a safe house since Emit didn’t take vacations anymore. Like everything Emit owned, it was tricked out with the latest technology and security system. The man was paranoid, but in this business, you had to be in order to be successful.
“Wow,” Charlotte said. “What is this place?”
Outside lighting spotlighted the walkway and landscaped areas around the front of the modern multi-story beach house. An American flag was on the south side, also spotlighted, the red, white, and blue fluttering gently in the breeze. A large wraparound porch extended to the back, where a lap pool, an infinity pool, and a wide beach with sand dunes led to the ocean. A dock and a boat in a boat slip were waiting for them if they needed to escape land.
The garage door glided up and Miles drove in, waiting until the garage door shut again before turning off the key and popping the locks. Charlotte carried his pistol as he exited the truck, her eyes scanning the three-car interior where two other vehicles—a Land Rover and a Mercedes SUV—silently waited.
Miles punched in the security code and opened the interior door that led to the expensive, modern house.
“Welcome to the West Coast Division of Rock Star Security,” he said to Charlotte as she walked by him, her eyes going wide as she took in the commercial kitchen and open living room filled with vintage art and antiques that cost more than a year’s worth of Miles’ salary.
She gravitated to the glass doors at the other side of the living room. Come morning, there would be a beautiful ocean view.
“A safe house?” she said, tapping the gun in the palm of her hand as she sauntered back to him.
“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you home to meet Momma.”
“Funny.”
He checked the house alarm and held out his hand for his pistol. “Lose the clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to burn them in case there’s a tracker on you. You’ll find a closet of clothes with a variety of sizes and styles in the master bedroom on the top floor.”
“I only bought these clothes two days ago. They’re all I have left.”
“Can’t take chances.”
With a testy sigh, she relinquished his pistol. “When do I get my gun back?”
Removing it from his waistband where it had dug into his back on the ride, he set it on the kitchen island. “All yours.”
She held out a hand. “Bullets?”
He grinned, then rooted them out of his front pocket and handed them to her.
“Privy?” she asked.
“Guest bath is around the corner, under the stairs.” He opened the fridge, surveyed the contents. “Master bath is upstairs where you’ll find the clothes. Wanna a drink?”
“I’d love whiskey, but I’d better stay sober.”
Because of Bourean or because of him? “Water, soda, sports drink?”
“How about coffee?” She headed for the guest bath. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Was it? Was she going to tell him all her secrets? Entertain him with a new round of fake stories?
Fuck his brains out?
He could only hope.
The coffee in the walk-in pantry was imported and came in a fancy bag with a picture of rainforest birds. It was labeled fair trade, organic, and bird friendly, whatever the hell that meant.
The coffee maker was a fancy Italian espresso machine that he never used. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but Charlotte was and she liked hers strong. He poured in water. dumped in a few scoops of the ground beans, then hit the button.
The machine made noise, chugging as it started brewing. Charlotte returned, wrapped in a robe with her clothes in hand. “Here you go.”
“Coffee’s on.” He sorted through the pile of clothes and found no trackers, but he left her at the breakfast bar and headed outside. A few yards from the house lay a large fire ring and a pile of charred wood. He burned her clothes.
Once he was
This one was a garage door opener for Emit Petit’s vacation home. To his wife’s dismay, the place had been converted into a safe house since Emit didn’t take vacations anymore. Like everything Emit owned, it was tricked out with the latest technology and security system. The man was paranoid, but in this business, you had to be in order to be successful.
“Wow,” Charlotte said. “What is this place?”
Outside lighting spotlighted the walkway and landscaped areas around the front of the modern multi-story beach house. An American flag was on the south side, also spotlighted, the red, white, and blue fluttering gently in the breeze. A large wraparound porch extended to the back, where a lap pool, an infinity pool, and a wide beach with sand dunes led to the ocean. A dock and a boat in a boat slip were waiting for them if they needed to escape land.
The garage door glided up and Miles drove in, waiting until the garage door shut again before turning off the key and popping the locks. Charlotte carried his pistol as he exited the truck, her eyes scanning the three-car interior where two other vehicles—a Land Rover and a Mercedes SUV—silently waited.
Miles punched in the security code and opened the interior door that led to the expensive, modern house.
“Welcome to the West Coast Division of Rock Star Security,” he said to Charlotte as she walked by him, her eyes going wide as she took in the commercial kitchen and open living room filled with vintage art and antiques that cost more than a year’s worth of Miles’ salary.
She gravitated to the glass doors at the other side of the living room. Come morning, there would be a beautiful ocean view.
“A safe house?” she said, tapping the gun in the palm of her hand as she sauntered back to him.
“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you home to meet Momma.”
“Funny.”
He checked the house alarm and held out his hand for his pistol. “Lose the clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to burn them in case there’s a tracker on you. You’ll find a closet of clothes with a variety of sizes and styles in the master bedroom on the top floor.”
“I only bought these clothes two days ago. They’re all I have left.”
“Can’t take chances.”
With a testy sigh, she relinquished his pistol. “When do I get my gun back?”
Removing it from his waistband where it had dug into his back on the ride, he set it on the kitchen island. “All yours.”
She held out a hand. “Bullets?”
He grinned, then rooted them out of his front pocket and handed them to her.
“Privy?” she asked.
“Guest bath is around the corner, under the stairs.” He opened the fridge, surveyed the contents. “Master bath is upstairs where you’ll find the clothes. Wanna a drink?”
“I’d love whiskey, but I’d better stay sober.”
Because of Bourean or because of him? “Water, soda, sports drink?”
“How about coffee?” She headed for the guest bath. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Was it? Was she going to tell him all her secrets? Entertain him with a new round of fake stories?
Fuck his brains out?
He could only hope.
The coffee in the walk-in pantry was imported and came in a fancy bag with a picture of rainforest birds. It was labeled fair trade, organic, and bird friendly, whatever the hell that meant.
The coffee maker was a fancy Italian espresso machine that he never used. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but Charlotte was and she liked hers strong. He poured in water. dumped in a few scoops of the ground beans, then hit the button.
The machine made noise, chugging as it started brewing. Charlotte returned, wrapped in a robe with her clothes in hand. “Here you go.”
“Coffee’s on.” He sorted through the pile of clothes and found no trackers, but he left her at the breakfast bar and headed outside. A few yards from the house lay a large fire ring and a pile of charred wood. He burned her clothes.
Once he was
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