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“Other than go home? We wait for a—” A delivery truck pulled in front of the apartment building with its hazard lights blinking. “Never mind.”
Their answer had just arrived. A delivery courier jumped out of the truck.
“Last time to change your mind, sweetness.”
“Not going to happen.” She wasn’t sure how often Wes, as an FBI agent, slipped into buildings behind delivery drivers, but she had done her fair share of walking in with the mailman. The key was timing it so it didn’t look as though they were rushing. Just a casual stroll that brought them within arm’s reach and relied on the delivery person’s inclination to hold the door for whoever was right behind them.
They picked up their pace and slipped into the role of a couple entering the building. The delivery driver swiped a fob. They stayed two strides back before Bailey hurried to grab the still-open door. “Thanks.”
She and Wes glided by as if they had done it every day of their lives. They ignored the fob-only elevator and pivoted to the common area, where they sat on a club chair and a couch. She crossed her legs and picked up a magazine. He scrolled on his phone.
She flipped a glossy page. “Should we check to see if the stairs have fob access, too?”
“Nah. I’m sure they do.”
“Then we’re hitching a ride with someone on the elevator?” That wasn’t ideal. But a building like this wouldn’t have fob access to the front door and elevator only to leave the stairwell unguarded.
He nodded. “When the right person comes along.”
She flipped another page. The right person: a dog walker, someone on a phone call, or someone who wouldn’t pay much attention or simply didn’t care.
When three teenage girls in private-school uniforms walked in, talking to one another and looking at their cell phones, Bailey and Wes silently acknowledged they’d found their ticket upstairs.
They waited for the girls to call the elevator, then hurried over, barely making it before its doors shut. The girls didn’t even glance at Bailey and Wes and exited on the ninth floor. They continued to the fourteenth.
The penthouse doors opened, thankfully without needing another fob swipe. The layout offered four units to choose from, and Bailey didn’t need to check the unit letters to know which one Erick would have wanted. He would have chosen the one with the best view.
“Here goes nothing.” Wes inserted the key.
“Wait. What if there’s an alarm system?”
“If there’s one, I’ll deal with it.”
“Oh, interesting, my law-abiding boyfriend.”
He chuckled with a wink. “Am I your boyfriend?”
“I guess so. Will you teach me how to disarm security systems?”
He turned the key. “Never in a million years, baby.”
It unlocked. Her eyes jumped to his.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course I am.” What was the worst thing they’d find? She wanted to know whether this key tied Martin to Natalie, and she wanted answers about why Ryan planned to give Wes the key to this condo. Even more than that, she wanted to know how the minivan and the car that hit Ryan were connected. If any of those answers were on the other side of this door, everything she’d done up to this point would be worth it. But it was likely just a place where Erick and his best buds took women for anonymous sex.
Wes twisted the doorknob. They paused, waiting for a security alarm. Nothing happened.
They walked in. Sunlight drifted in through the windows into a living room furnished with expensive masculine sofas. Three large pieces of art hung on the wall. Dark, abstract, and chaotic. The space was pristine. Nothing except the artwork and the faint scent of tobacco indicated this was anything other than a staged unit.
They edged farther in. A humidor sat on the coffee table. She leaned over to look inside the glass lid.
“Don’t touch it,” Wes said. “It could be connected to an app that notifies its user if the humidity changes.”
“I’m not going to touch anything. Just looking.” Did Erick smoke cigars? She’d seen Angus do it, but she couldn’t remember if Erick did.
Wes stopped. She shifted to see what had his attention. Above the gas fireplace hung a likeness of the key’s image. The words power, fantasy, and control were etched in bronze on the mantel.
