Page 72 of Reckless Devotion

I can’t believe I was wrapped around this man last night.

“Bert Lancaster. Your security guard.”

The balding man had seemed innocent enough when we visited the plant. The dad type who takes his grown teenage daughters to softball practice every week and washes his truck in the driveway on Sundays. But if there is anything my line of work has taught me, it’s that the ones who look innocent warrant another look.

His brows flatten into a hard line, and he leans forward to rest his elbow on his knees. “What about him?”

“I compiled the staff who have access to the control room to manually override the shipments.” I fold my legs and fidget in my seat, trying and failing not to see flashbacks of the last time he looked at me so intently. “I also pulled all of the camera footage I could and cross checked the people who were in the building at the time of each override.”

The skin on the back of my neck tingles as he leans in a touch closer.

“The strange thing is that one person never appeared coming out of the building after their shift each time, even though the system shows him clocking out.”

“Go on,” Chase urges, all thought of our little sexcapade seemingly banished.

“The footage was looped around the time Bert left each day, so I can’t visually confirm what time he left the site, and he’s the only staff member who was working during all of the shipment overrides in the past six months.”

Rapid-fire calculations happen behind that silky gaze. “But why would looping the footage help him if he were theculprit? We know he works there, it would only be natural for him to be on camera leaving the building as well as entering.”

“I imagine to create some ambiguity as to the exact times he was on site, versus not?” I offer as I mesh my hands together in my lap.

The soft ocean breeze tickles the tendrils that have fallen out of my ponytail into my face, the faint swishing of long grass spiraling up from ground level.

He falls silent, linking his hands together. I tilt my head, waiting.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he says finally.

“Why?”

“Don’t you think it’s too obvious? These people, whoever they are, they know we will be checking all of our systems. Why would they leave a glaring clue as to who one of their contacts is?”

“Okay,” I reply slowly, conceding his point. “But this is the only lead we have for now, so we have to follow it to rule it out at least.”

He lets out a beleaguered sigh, pressing a forefinger and thumb into his eyes. Moonlight catches on the thick web of veins that snakes up the back of them, and Isquirm. I’ve always had a thing for big hands.

Oh, get a fucking grip, Pepper.

I clear my throat, averting my eyes. “I tried to locate his address, but you’ve ring-fenced that part of your system pretty heavily, so…”

He snorts, lifting his head to look at me. “Have we finally found something you can’t hack into?”

Heat paints my cheeks. “Or maybe I just care about your staff’s privacy.”

“Yeah, and I’m the king of Nigeria, since we’re playing make believe. But he lives in Queens, if you were wondering.”

“How do you know that?” I blink at him, utterly perplexed at how he would know this off the top of his head given how many employees he has.

He taps the side of his temple, offering me the ghost of a smirk. “Photographic memory, which is how I know the kids in your building switched yours and Mr. Clay’s apartment numbers on the intercom directory.”

My mouth pops open. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

That explains all of the packages being rerouted, and my infernally irritated neighbor.

“Woman, I did! You were too stubborn to listen.” He sighs exasperatedly, shaking his head in a way that could almost be considered affectionate.

I roll my eyes and fold my arms, my gaze tumbling to his pocket in search of a subject change. “What were you looking at?”

The atmosphere changes, and his eyes snap away from mine, exploring the dark horizon and the silver-tipped texture that coats the ocean. “Nothing important.”