Chapter Twenty-Eight
Come noon, I find I’m alone in the house. Everyone is off doing something or other. I always take advantage of times like these. Either to sneak across to Brooklyn and have chats with my homeless pal, or to dig a little deeper in Jaxon’s room—because there has to be something I’m missing.
Something obvious that I just can’t see…maybe because I’m looking too closely.
After an hour of digging deeper, I’m proven right. I realize there must be something behind the back wall in the closet. It’s too hollow, considering the wall is made up of bricks.
I’ve got no clue how to get behind it, though. There’s no hidden switch or lever or button. Nothing. So, unfortunately, unless I plan to cock up everything by taking a sledgehammer to the bricks, I’m going to have to suck on a patience mint and dig even deeper to uncover the way to get behind that wall.
Of course, Jaxon King would never make a thief’s job easy.
Were I 100 percent certain the music box is behind that wall, I wouldn’t hesitate to take a sledgehammer to it, snag the box, and get the hell out of Dodge. Especially now that all chances of Jaxon deflowering me are gone. There’s really no other reason for me to linger here.
Alas, that would be taking a humongous risk, now, wouldn’t it? I could break down that wall and find nothing but rats and dead sparrows.
I put the search to rest and decide to discuss it with Melanie when she gets back. Raphael, the life-size ninja turtle, glares at me in disapproval. He’s been a witness to my ongoing snooping, day after day, but has yet to rat me out to his master, so I throw him a conspiratorial wink and thumbs up as I exit the room, only to bump right into Jaxon’s chest.
Holy crap. Where did he come from?
Apprehensive, I bite my tongue, waiting for him to rip my throat out, wondering how long he’s been back and whether he’s seen me digging through his things. But he just looks impatient as he takes me by my shoulders and removes me from his path.
He disappears into his closet, and while he rummages around in there, I scurry out of the room, feeling both guilty and pissy.
Don’t ask me why I’m surprised to find Nadine seated in one of the armchairs in the living area, dicking with her phone, but I am.
I want to scream. Why is she still here?!
Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Can’t stand it when I’m around, can you?”
How does she know it’s me? It could’ve been anyone approaching. Anyone in the house. Do I have a particular scent, or something?
“It’s your energy,” she answers my unspoken question as if she’s some kind of psychic while still texting away on her phone. “I have a cursed gift of feeling people’s energy, against my will. And yours is strong. Stronger than you can control. You reek of loneliness and naïveté. You stink of desire for your captor. It’s depressing, and pathetic.”
What the frack?
Detouring behind the big couch, I make a sharp careen and head for the stairs, hoping for a clean escape to Collin’s room. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re around or not. I don’t live here. I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Oh, I think it bothers you. I think it bothers you a whole lot.” Her head lifts. “But if you wanna keep getting that D, for however temporary, then you better get used to it. Pucker up and kiss my ass whenever you see me, because I’ve been around before he had a name, and I’m not going anywhere. I give approval for all his flings, and if I tell him I dislike you, you won’t be getting the D. It always comes back to me.”
She’s his best friend, since childhood. I’ve witnessed them together. So I believe her. I stop moving and ask, irritated, “What does D mean?”
She smirks, almost a grin. “It means dick, clueless Brit. That long, hard piece of meat you long to choke on?”
Judging from the heat I feel in my cheeks, I bet I’m scarlet. Jeez, did she have to say it like that?
Her smirk deepens as she openly takes pleasure in my discomfort. “You haven’t taken it down your throat yet, right?”
Biting my lip, I start for the stairs. Two steps up, I pause. “Did he sleep with you last night?”
For a brief second, she looks bewildered, then her face clears. “What do you think?”
Naturally, he strides into the room just then. If he overheard our conversation, he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t even glance in my direction, as a matter of fact.
A black duffel in hand, he walks by Nadine’s armchair, touching his fingers to her throat. Like a silent, “Come on, babe.”
Tossing me a triumphant smile, she gets to her feet, straightens her jacket, winks at me, and follows him out the door.