Chapter 11
Genevieve paced the kitchen floor.
She hadn’t been able to sleep for two nights. The first night she watched Finn from the breezeway while he cuddled Butterbean and allowed the cat to climb all over him. When he set the cat down and flew away, she called Butterbean and locked him in with her.
Last night she worked up her nerve to talk with Finn again, but he disappeared as soon as he changed, and then suddenly appeared on the stone platform as soon as the sun rose.
If not for that, she would have thought she’d dreamed the entire thing. But she wasn’t asleep in her bed or on the couch when she watched him appear on the stone block as though his molecules were drawn there against his will.
The gargoyle’s desperation, the resolve in his expression as he said “I would ask them t’ help me die” had almost broken her heart. He was suffering. Had suffered for more than six hundred years. No matter what he’d done, his punishment needed to end. She already read the brief history provided by the owners, but she needed details.
She needed to call Juliet and Miranda and see what their thoughts were. How they would feel about meeting him.
She needed to run some errands and buy groceries. Maybe she could go by the library or Juliet’s house so they could discuss it.
* * *
Simon opened the app on his phone to see Genevieve hurrying through the kitchen to retrieve her purse from the pantry. Why on earth did she put it there? Perhaps she felt it would be the last place a burglar would look. When she walked out of the frame, he switched the screen to the garage, where he watched her get into her vehicle and open the garage door to back out.
She always ran errands and shopped on Saturdays, so she’d be gone long enough for him to slip in and install the camera. He rose from behind his desk and strode out to the showroom. Keith Cramer, his assistant, was circling an instillation he just set up. His unceasing, nervous energy kept the man string-bean thin. Black, pencil-thin pants hugged his long legs like a layer of skin. He looked a little like Prince, with his fine bones, close-trimmed beard, and shoulder-length, curly hair, and Simon wasn’t certain Superstition was ready for him, but Keith suited the gallery, and he knew art.
“I need to pick something up at my house, Keith. I won’t be long.”
“Okay. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Fifteen minutes later, Simon parked in Genevieve’s driveway. The house lay quiet before him. The hideous gargoyle squatted on the patio, his rage-filled grimace uglier than ever. Why did she buy that monstrosity? It just didn’t make sense to him.
Camera in hand, he exited the car and got out his keys. Would Genevieve be angry if she found out he had a key to her house? Probably, since she hadn’t offered him one.
He let himself in through the front door, meandering through the quiet foyer and living room, and entering the kitchen. Pausing beside a basket of unfolded laundry on the kitchen table, he hooked a finger through a pair of lacy panties, an electric thrill surging through him as he hardened. He couldn’t have Genevieve yet, but these panties had been in intimate contact with her body, so he’d use them later to take care of his growing need. He tucked the trophy into his pocket and moved on to the bedroom.
He paused by the bed. Genevieve slept on the right side. The comforter had been neatly spread over the pillows, with others covered by shams propped over them. He flipped the pillows with shams out of the way and reached beneath the covers to get the pillow she slept on. He raised it to his face and breathed in the scent of her shampoo and her while his arousal went rampant, and he groaned. He rubbed his cheek against the fabric, mingling his own scent with hers. Would she notice? He hoped so.
The bedside clock caught his attention. Time to install the camera and get out. He replaced the pillow and smoothed the comforter into place, propping the pillow with a sham next to one like it.
He strode to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The new subway tile gleamed. The claw-footed tub and the shower next to it were where he wanted to aim the camera.
He looked up at the light overhead. She wouldn’t notice the bulb camera at all. No one really paid attention to overhead fixtures, and she probably used the lights over the sink most often. It took him only a moment to screw in the device and test it with his phone. The tiny camera gave him a view of the bathtub and part of the shower. It would have to do. There was nowhere else to conceal a camera in this room.
He made one more stop in the studio, and slipped into the office where Genevieve kept her business checkbook, receipts, and bills. He put on a pair of the rubber gloves from a handy box on a shelf above the desk. He’d seen Genevieve wear them when she used corrosive chemicals.
He thumbed through the last few pages of checks until he found the name he was looking for. He wrote the information on a Post-it note, then went through Genevieve’s address book for a number and street address, wrote that down, too, and stashed the Post-it in a pocket. Even though he had gloves on, he rubbed the address book down with the rag hanging on the back of the chair and carefully replaced it in its original spot. He looked around the room to make certain nothing was out of place.
He sauntered back down the hall to the front door. Butterbean jumped down from his perch on the hall table. The cat darted out the door as soon as he opened it. He rushed to catch him, but the feline was too quick, and leapt from the porch and sauntered away.
Would she remember whether the cat was in or out? Surely not. He came and went as he pleased.
Simon shrugged, locked the door, and strode down the steps to his car. His gaze snagged on Butterbean as he backed out of the concrete driveway. The cat was perched on the gargoyle’s shoulder, and blinked at him as he drove away.