Page 89 of Dreadful

My brows hit my hairline. “Why does Coco have the casino chips here? I thought Bishop was sitting on them.”

“He is.” The word comes out flat, like it cost him something to produce it.

My gaze flicks from him to the safe and back again. “Maybe Bishop gave her her cut already?”

He’s already shaking his head. “It’s too much.” He tilts his chin at the shelves. “Look at it. Nah, this—this is something else.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “What are we really doing here, Cruz?”

“Looking.” His eyes move over the safes crammed into the small space—the open doors, the boxes inside them—and I can practically see him trying to make it all fit together.

His hand stays wrapped around the edge of the safe door, knuckles paling beneath the pressure.

My stomach tightens.

Whatever Cruz expected to find in here, it wasn’t this.

“For what?”

I study him for a moment. The jewelry surprised him. The chips definitely did.

But finding out Coco has secrets? That hasn’t surprised him at all.

“Do you think she’s hiding something?”

He slides his gaze to me. “Always, Bells. And the sooner you learn that, the better.”

Chills cascade over my entire body like some kind of premonition. “What’s going to happen when she realizes someone broke into her storage unit—and her safes?”

“She left for Palm Springs today.” He finally releases the door and steps back from it, pulling his sleeves down over his wrists without looking at me. “I’ve got at least a week, maybe two to open the rest.”

TWENTY-NINE

BELLAMY

“It’s a perfect night,” I murmur, wading into the glowing turquoise water behind Gage. The air is still warm from the day, but a soft breeze moves through the yard, rustling the palms and carrying the high, electric thrum of cicadas. Underwater, my bare feet find the familiar rough texture of the pool’s floor.

There’s an ease between us tonight—but isn’t that the thing? It’s always been so fucking easy with Gage. So good. So right.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. It’s an automatic response any time I think about him lately.

“Of course it is,” he says, floating onto his back. The water lifts his dark hair away from his forehead. “Stars are out, heat’s finally bearable, and…” He gestures lazily toward the house where golden light spills from the windows. “…the whole place is quiet for once. And I’m alone with my girl. Literally, what could be better?”

He turns his head just enough for me to see the wide, unguarded grin on his face. “Okay, I can think of one thing.”

His smile turns wicked. I skim my palm over the surface and flick a spray of water toward that stupidly perfect chest of his, shaking my head.

He sinks beneath the water without another word, disappearing into the blue-green glow.

“You’re a terrible flirt, you know,” I mutter when he resurfaces, dripping and grinning.

“Only for you.” He drags a hand down his face, wiping water from his eyes, then smooths it back over his hair.

He’s always been so at home in the water, and with those abs and that chest and those broad shoulders, he reminds me of some kind of demigod or something.

My mind flashes to the last book I saw my sister reading weeks ago. It was romantasy with several demigods and gods, and of course, this human woman they shared. I was going to read it when she was done, but then everything happened, and I haven’t read a thing in weeks.

He comes toward me, slicing through the pool in a few easy strokes and stopping so close our knees knock under the surface. The blue light paints his skin in shifting gradients, a moving watercolor of shadow and glow, and when he grins at me, the whole world tilts a little off its axis.