Undone: The Untangled Series, Book Two

by Layne, Ivy

  “Dave. Trey's friend. The Deputy. He thinks I'm exaggerating. The rest of the police agree.”

  “That's why you called us instead of the police last night?”

  I nodded. It was enough that Knox knew I was afraid we had an intruder. He didn't have to know my other fears.

  That the police would decide that I was unstable. That they would take Adam. That I wouldn’t be able to stop them.

  Knox flipped open the manila folder on the coffee table. “Your alarm was deactivated last night at 3:28 AM by the main code. That wasn't you?”

  I shook my head, sinking my teeth into my lower lip as panic surged through me, driving me to stand, to pace, to run. I stayed put, my teeth in my lip anchoring me in place, and shook my head for a second time, afraid if I spoke, my voice would shake.

  I hadn't imagined it.

  Someone had deactivated the alarm while I slept using my own code.

  Filling in the blanks, Knox went on, “The alarm was reactivated at 4:18 AM. Was that you?”

  I nodded. Knox closed the folder. Appearing lost in thought, he picked up the slice of coffee cake I'd set in front of him and broke off a corner, popping it into his mouth. He chewed, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, downed a swig, and washed away the coffee cake.

  Had I messed it up again? How could I mess up coffee cake? How could I be so good at cooking and so awful at baking? Aren't they the same thing?

  Distracted, I broke off a corner of my own coffee cake. Dry, too salty, with aluminum notes of baking powder. Ugh. I washed my bite down with coffee as Knox had his own. Another coffee cake, down the tubes.

  Holding his mug in both hands, Knox sipped again, and I wondered if he was washing the taste of the coffee cake out of his mouth. I wouldn't blame him if he were. Looking at me through the steam, he said, “Why would someone try to break into your house?

  “I don't know. I don't know. I don't have anything worth stealing.”

  Knox's eyes drifted around the living room taking in the sculptures, the art on the walls. “Jewelry? Money in a safe? Artwork or valuables easier to move than what's in here?”

  “I don't have much jewelry. A string of pearls my parents gave me when I turned twenty-one. My wedding and engagement rings. A few things here and there, but nothing valuable. Nothing worth driving all the way out here for.”

  “What did your husband do before he died?”

  Wasn't that the million-dollar question. What did Trey do? It was a question I should have asked so many times throughout our marriage. I should have demanded answers. I shouldn't have accepted Trey's easy explanations.

  At first, I'd been too in love to push. Later, I had too much to lose.

  “Lily? Don't you know what your husband did for a living?”

  “I, uh, I don't,” I admitted, heat flooding my cheeks again. What wife didn't know what her husband did for a living? Knox said nothing, just raised that dark eyebrow again in query, clearly expecting more.

  “We moved up here when he got a job working for a company that sold spring water. He was supposed to be in logistics and distribution. He stayed with them for about a year before he went out on his own.”

  “He started his own company?”

  “He called it Spencer Distributors, but he never told me the names of his clients. Said it was confidential.”

  “Did he work normal hours? Have an office? Coworkers or employees?”

  “He worked eight to six, mostly from home, in his office. He had a lot of meetings with clients and he always went to them. He traveled a lot. No employees. I always thought he should hire someone to take the load off so he didn't have to work so much, but he didn't want to. He said he liked running the whole thing himself.”

  “And when he died? Did you inherit the company?”

  “I did, technically.”

  “Technically?”

  “Technically the company is mine, but the attorney didn't have any information other than the LLC filing. No bank accounts, no client lists. If anyone is looking for Trey, they haven't come here.”

  “Bank accounts? His laptop?”

  “I haven't found his banking information.”

  “Do you think it's possible someone who was involved in your husband's business is trying to get into the house?”

  I let out a breath, deflating under the weight of his question. “It's the only thing that makes sense,” I said, “but I don't know where to start trying to figure out who or how to get them to stop.”

  “That's my job. What about your personal finances? Any issues there?”

  I wasn't sure how much information I should give to Knox Sinclair. He said he was here to help me, but I'd gotten the phone number for Sinclair Security from Trey. If the break-ins were related to Trey's business, then everything connected to him was tainted.

  I had to take the chance. If Knox was here to help, I had to trust him. Just a little. A little, but not all the way.

  “Everything seems fine with our personal finances. We didn't have any problems with his life insurance, no money missing from the bank accounts, everything normal with the bills.”

  “He left you comfortable?”

  “Comfortable enough, yes,” I answered, not willing to tell Knox exactly how comfortable Trey had left us.

  Too comfortable. Comfortable enough that my jaw dropped as I stared at the documents from the lawyer. Where had Trey gotten all that money? It was just sitting there in the bank accounts, taxes duly paid, and I had no idea how he'd earned it.

  Knox straightened his chair, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling a frank look in my direction. “This is the part that can be a little uncomfortable. What budget did you have in mind?”

  “Why don't you tell me what you think I need,” I said, “and I'll tell you if I can afford it.”

  “Fair enough,” Knox said, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “I think you need someone on site twenty-four/seven until we find out what's going on. I think if we want to catch whoever's trying to get in the house, we leave the system as it is.”

  “Set a trap?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So how does this work? When will you send someone up?”

  “Someone is here.”

  “You?” Nerves skittered down my spine. Could I handle Knox Sinclair twenty-four/seven? Those dark eyes, the size of him looming over me.

  If he was here to keep me safe, Knox Sinclair would scare away almost any threat.

  And if he wasn't?

  If he wasn't here to keep me safe, I was a lot worse off than I thought.

  Chapter Three

  Knox

  Lily Spencer's brown eyes were cool with shock. She hadn't expected me to stay. Tough luck. This job was too important to trust to anyone else.

  Lily was involved. I could smell it. It was all over her—her tightly wound muscles, her instinct to push me out the door.

  She was involved, but how? Had she been working with her husband and my father? Did she know what Tsepov and the Russian mob were looking for?

  Or was she Trey Spencer's dupe, an innocent victim he used as cover?

  My gut told me Lily Spencer was innocent. Okay, no. That wasn't my gut talking. That was my cock. My cock didn't care what she was guilty of. My cock cared about her smooth, tawny skin, her cloud of soft, brown curls.

  My cock wanted to know more about the curve of her hip, her high, firm breasts, her round, full ass. My cock had priorities, none of which had to do with the case.

  My cock was going to have to stand down. Literally.

  Don't sleep with the client. Even more important, don't sleep with the target. When the woman in question is both…the answer is simple, right?

  Hands off.

 
No matter how much I wanted to bury myself inside her, it wasn't going to happen. Lily was off limits at best.

  At worst?

  At worst she could be a thief.

  She could be a killer.

  Even at my most suspicious, I had to admit that it was more likely Trey Spencer had been killed by Tsepov and the mob than this fairy-sized women with frightened eyes.

  Likely, but anything was possible. I'd learned long ago not to underestimate women, especially the ones who looked the most vulnerable.

  Pushing back my instinct to soothe the fear in her brown eyes, I said, “I'll need to stay on the property.”

  At the idea of me moving in, Lily flinched. Because she was wary of strangers, or because she didn't want me close enough to keep an eye on her?

  “There's a guest house,” she said in her low, sweet voice. “I'll show you. It's close to the house. There's an intercom between. I'll have to check for sheets and towels—”

  Her voice faded as she drifted into thought, planning for an unexpected guest. She started to rise, then sank back into her seat. “We didn't talk about your fee. Onsite security is expensive, I know—”

  “You have a son to protect,” I said mildly, noting the flash of anger in her eyes at the implication that she would leave her son at the mercy of whoever was breaking in.

  “I know that,” she snapped. “That's why you're here. I can afford whatever you're charging, but I should know what that is, shouldn't I?” Her chin raised, challenge sparking in her eyes.

  With a mild shrug, I handed her a folder with our contract and fee schedule. “Look that over while I let the office know the situation. If there are any problems, we'll work them out.”

  I rose and paced away from the sitting area, my phone at my ear. I didn't need to call in, a text would do, but I wanted an excuse to wander the first floor before Lily had a chance to prepare.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her flip through the contents of the folder, wincing only a little when she read the fee breakdown. I couldn't fault her for that. I would have winced, too.

  She'd been right. Twenty-four-hour protection didn't come cheap. Which begged the question—why would a widow living a quiet life in the country need round-the-clock security?

  Lily claimed she didn't know what was going on. I'd been doing this job too long to fall for the innocent client act.

  A voice spoke in my ear. “Sinclair Security, how may I direct your call?”

  “Alice, it's Knox. Let Cooper know I'm staying.”

  “Will do,” Alice replied. “Report?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “But enough that you're staying?”

  “You got it,” I said.

  “Cooper is going to want more than that, Knox. At least give me something to hold him off.”

  “Nothing to say. Just my gut telling me to poke around.”

  Alice let out a sigh, knowing from experience that pushing me would get her nowhere. She could handle Cooper. Anyone else and he'd growl at being put off. For Alice, he'd keep his mouth shut. For a while.

  Ending the call, I shoved my phone into my pocket and strolled down the hall, away from the living room where Lily Spencer waited.

  The house was modern, aggressively so, and not my thing. I like wood, not metal and glass, but I couldn't deny the view of the lake was spectacular.

  Trey Spencer had taste. In his home. In his wife.

  The sound of a children's show drifted down the hall. The kid, banished while the adults talked business. I'd only caught a glimpse as he'd raced past the living room. Enough to see that Lily's kid was a dead ringer for her deceased husband and looked nothing like her.

  Interesting.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched Lily remove the contract from the folder, carefully reading line by line as she toyed with the pen on the coffee table.

  She'd asked for help, but she didn't trust me. She also hadn't thrown me out. She was reading the contract, and when she was finished, she would sign.

  I didn't need her fingers on the pen to tell me that. She was afraid, and she was desperate. If she was mixed up in my father's mess, I'd find out. Either way, I'd keep her safe.

  Taking advantage of her distraction, I strolled down the hall to the right of the front door. Not much there. A powder room, and a closed door at the end. Well-oiled hinges moved in silence as I poked my head through.

  An office. Leather and wood, with an oversized desk chair. The husband's office. I'd only known her for a few minutes, but I could see there was nothing of Lily in this room.

  On my way back to the entry I checked out the kitchen. This room was Lily. Warm and welcoming, from the vanilla scented candle burning on the island to the stoneware crock of spatulas and spoons.

  The country homeyness contrasted with the stark modernity of the rest of the place. If Trey Spencer consulted Lily on the house design, I doubt he'd taken many of her suggestions.

  I passed the living room and headed for the other side of the house, still snooping. A quick glance told me Lily was still occupied by the contract, now several pages in.

  Her shoulders tight, back straight, she twirled the pen on the coffee table. Anxious? Definitely. I just didn't know why.

  A guilty conscience or good old-fashioned fear? If her story was true, she'd woken in the night to find her alarm turned off and her back door open. She thought she'd heard someone in the house. That was enough to scare the daylights out of anyone.

  If her story was true.

  She didn't notice me pass the living room and explore the hall to the left of the front door. Stairs to the second level rose on my right. I'd explore up there when I checked the alarm system.

  Further ahead on the left was a family room complete with a huge television and black leather couches. The kid practically disappeared in the deep cushions, his attention focused on the cartoon playing on the screen. I slipped past without notice. Beyond the family room, I found the laundry room, entrance to the garage, and the back door.

  Most of the square footage on the first floor was in the expansive two-story living room where I'd left Lily.

  When I made my way back to Lily, the contract was folded open to the signature page, her neat flowing script spelling out her name in blue, the date printed beside it.

  Satisfaction warmed my chest. I hadn't really thought she'd turn me away, but her signature on the contract dispelled that small worry. Picking up the paperwork and the pen, I signed and tucked the contract into my briefcase saying, “I'll get you a copy of this later today. Do you want to show me where I'll be staying?”

  “Of course,” she said, standing and rubbing her palms over her hips. I followed her down the hall to the mudroom where she stopped and shoved a pair of hot pink flip-flops on her feet. “It's out here.”

  The smell of pine and summer sunshine, of lake and dirt, hit me all at once. Lily was isolated up here, miles from the small town of Black Rock. I wasn't crazy about the house, but I could see the appeal of the land.

  The sun sparkled on the lake, dappled through the trees. All I needed was a hammock and a beer, and I'd be set.

  Lily shoved her hands into her pockets and headed down a narrow path to the small cottage I'd seen when I'd driven in. Nothing like the main house, the roughhewn logs and tin roof fit the woods and the lake far better than Trey Spencer's metal and glass sculpture of a house.

  “Did you build this when you built the main house?” I asked.

  Lily laughed, the sound light, musical. She took the steps to the porch easily, fingers trailing along the peeled logs that made up the railings.

  “No. Trey wanted to tear it down, but I wouldn't let him. It's been here since the early nineteen hundreds. There used to be a Boy Scout camp on this property. It was sold off years and years ago, but some of the cabins are still around. It's p
art of the town's history. You can't really see it from the house, so Trey let me keep it.”

  She unlocked the door and led me into the small cozy space. A brick fireplace took up almost the entire width of the far wall. The opposite wall was filled with a queen bed, the mattress stripped bare, the frame fashioned from more of those peeled and varnished pine logs. The wood glowed, lacquered until it shone. The side tables, coffee table, and small table by the galley kitchen were all made in the same style.

  Watching me take in the room, Lily said, “The furniture is all local. I saw it at the craft fair the year we moved in and I loved it, but—”

  “It doesn't go with your house,” I finished.

  “It doesn't,” Lily agreed with a faintly embarrassed smile, “but it was so beautiful. I knew it would look perfect in here. As a guest cottage, it hasn't had much use, but it should have everything you need.”

  Pointing as she spoke, she went on, “There's a small kitchen over there. You're welcome, of course, to eat with Adam and me. I promise most of my meals are better than that coffee cake. The bathroom is over there, and there's internet, though it's not very fast.”

  “It looks fine. I'm going to have to check your alarm system, probably install some additional sensors and cameras. You okay with me wandering around? Letting myself into and out of the house?”

  A simple question that should have had a simple answer. She'd hired me to look out for her safety. She should have trusted me, otherwise why hire me in the first place?

  I knew before I asked that the idea of letting myself into and out of Lily's house would make her uncomfortable.

  Too bad. This wasn't going to work if I had to ring the doorbell every time I needed to get inside. Biting her lip, Lily gave an awkward jerk to her shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.

  “Of course, yes, that's okay. Adam doesn't have preschool today, so we'll be around. I'll make sure he doesn't get in your way.”

  “He's fine. I like kids.”

  “Then, uh, I'll let you get settled and go see about making the bed and getting some towels.”