“Now all we need are weapons,” he declared.
She reached into the bag of takeout and pulled out the eco-friendly cornstarch forks Dev used in place of plastic cutlery. “How’s this?”
“Perfect. We can go for the eyes.” He took his fork and grabbed the keys. “Let’s do this.”
“I’m ready.” Some of their playing around must’ve distracted her from her nerves because when Rebecca got out of the van, her shoulders seemed looser and there was a tentative smile on her face. She nodded toward the house and set her fork on the hood. He followed suit, since if he really had to take action, he’d need his hands free. “My extra key is by the back door.”
They headed around the house and into the small backyard. She hunched near an overgrown herb garden and fished around, finally coming up with one of those fake rocks. She flipped it over and keyed in a three-digit code on a spinner combination lock.
Wes snapped a leaf off one of her plants and inhaled the scent. “Mmm, lemon thyme. You’ve got quite a collection out here. Cilantro. Oregano. Italian parsley. I’m a little jealous.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I honestly have no idea what most of them are or what to do with all of them. I had the house landscaped when I moved in, and I guess the gardeners picked the perfect spot because they grow like crazy. Except the basil, which was the one I actually knew how to use. That one was a goner during the first hundred-degree day of summer.”
“Basil is a sensitive soul.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he could show her how to use the herbs, but he held the offer back. His brother had been right. Making her laugh was like some weird sort of drug to his starved system, but she didn’t need a guy flirting with her right now. It couldn’t go anywhere anyway. He didn’t date, for one. And even if he was doing the casual hookup thing these days, she didn’t strike him as the type who’d be down for that, especially with someone like him. So he had nothing to offer her besides garden-care tips.
She stuck the key in the lock and opened the back door. There was no beeping alarm to greet them. Rebecca made a frustrated sound. “Goddammit. I didn’t set it.”
That information sobered him quickly and got his mind back to where it should be. Though it was unlikely, someone could legitimately be in the house. He tossed the thyme aside and stepped in front of her, his gaze scanning the small, white kitchen. He kept his voice low. “Anything look off?”
She peeked over his shoulder. “No.”
“Okay.” He took another step inside, taking in all the dark corners and possible hiding spots in the kitchen. “Do you keep a gun in the house?”
She sucked in a breath, and he turned his head to find her with a stricken look. “No. I can’t—I hate guns.”
Something in the way she said it gave him pause. He could sense true fear there. Probably because she’d had a gun pointed at her tonight. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. I wasn’t asking because I wanted to use it. I just wanted to know if someone else could get to one.”
She rolled her lips inward and pointed at the kitchen counter. “I have a big knife if we want something to walk around with.”
He went over to the wooden knife block and grabbed one of the smaller knives. He was good with a chef’s knife in the kitchen, but in a fight, he’d want something closer to a switchblade. He’d carried one when he was younger, living in a watch-your-back neighborhood, and still knew how to protect himself that way. He pressed his phone into her hand. “You’re on phone duty. If you hear or see anything, don’t wait.”
She nodded and took the phone, but she also grabbed a large, steel pepper mill in her other hand.
He smirked. “Is this where you bash me in the head and drag me to the basement?”
Her smile was brief, but her eyes sparked with humor. “Yeah. You scared?”
“I could think of worse fates than being held captive by a pretty redhead.”
The second the words were out, he wanted to snatch them back. They’d slipped out automatically, some old version of himself flickering to the surface, but the way her expression went flat told him how bad a move it’d been. No flirting while searching her house for bad guys, you dumb-ass.
He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like—”
She shook her head. “I know. It’s fine. Let’s just do this search. Nothing seems out of place, so we’re probably fine. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can eat.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and motioned for her to follow him. “We have Indian food waiting.”
He stepped into her living room, which looked like a photo from a home magazine. Refinished hardwood floors, oatmeal-colored couch, nature photography on the walls. The only thing that revealed that a person actually lived here was the stack of books on the floor by the comfortable-looking red armchair and an abandoned glass of wine on a side table.
“Everything look all right?” he asked.
Her gaze scanned the room. “Yeah.”
There were no closets or hidden alcoves, so he moved toward the hallway. If anyone was here, they’d probably know it by now, but he stayed alert just in case. The hallway was narrow. There was one small bathroom off to the left and an office to the right. Both were empty and in order. Last was the master bedroom at the end of the hallway.
He eased the door open and peeked inside. This was the only room that didn’t look photo perfect. A pale-green comforter was pushed halfway down the bed, a pillow still held the indent of the head that had rested upon it, and a few clothing items were on the floor next to the bed. His gaze traced over them. A striped pajama top, thick woolen socks, and a lacy pair of blue panties.
His mind tried to go there—as if it were a reflex to picture the woman behind him getting ready this morning, sliding those sexy panties off and tossing them aside. Had she strode into the bathroom after that without a stitch on?