Page 33 of One Last Rainy Day
He holds my inquisitive gaze a millisecond before recovering. “Clocks ticking. I’ve got the first floor.”
Making my way upstairs and into her room, I head straightfor the laptop on her bed, plug in the flash drive I filled with spyware, and start the download.
Glancing around, I spot a bag of books from a major retailer. Unable to help my grin, I unload it on her bed. She hasn’t been back to the library since I told her it was off-limits. She’s avoiding me when and where she can, as I have her. A receipt floats out—landing on top of the pile—and on the back of it is a handwritten list of books she wants to read.
Allof them romance.
Lucky for her, Sean’s just her type.
It strikes me then—as it often has over the years—that most of the population craves that type of connection. By now, I should have felt some deep-seeded need inside of me that longs for a spiritual bond to go with the sexual. Maybe by allowing myself to remain stunted, I inadvertently got rid of that urge.
Tyler’s voice jogs me out of my thoughts. “All good up here?”
Shoving the books back into the bag, I situate it the way I found it and pocket the receipt before pulling the flash drive from her computer. “It is now. Got three mics in.”
“Downstairs is good to go, and I got the rest of this floor while you were sniffing through her panty drawer.”
“Fuck off with that,” I say as he flicks my ear playfully when I push past him and head toward the stairs.
“Tell that to your dick,” he mutters.
“He’s a big, big boy but even with his ego, he makes good decisions.”
“Time will tell,” he taunts, trailing me as I start to take the stairs two at a time and stop on a dime just a few stepsdown—the hairs on the back of my neck spiking in awareness while an uneasy feeling spreads through me.
“What?” Tyler asks, all traces of animation in his tone gone as I glance up to where he stands at the top of the stairs.
“Sure Roman is on a plane?” I ask, unease running from my soaked head to my bare feet.
“Fucking positive.” His brows pinch in confusion. “What’s happening right now?”
“I don’t know,” I say, scanning the foyer. The feeling starts to dissipate as I start back down the stairs. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” Tyler prods.
No.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“All grown-ups were once children...but only few of them remember it.”
—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Chapter Sixteen
AKNOCK ONmy door jars me as I eye the clock on my monitor and know the only person it could be at this hour. The only bird whose nights are as restless as my own. Tyler enters a second later, hands filled with a solid black box.
“Delivery,” he chimes, a glint in his eyes.
“From?”
“France.” He sets the box in front of me. “Mind if I stay?”
“Yeah, but stay anyway,” I jest. I go to look for my letter opener as Tyler produces a pocketknife. It’s unique but severely dated. “How fucking old is this thing?”
“Ancient, but it still gets the job done,” he states, his interest in the contents of the box rather than relaying the backstory of the knife. Placing his expression as excitement, my interest sparks. Carefully, I slice the taped bottom and release the inch-thick protective cardboard. Pulling away the bubble wrap, I unveil a large black mailer sitting atop the contents with a small note taped to it, handwritten by my brother.
For your list.
