Page 75 of A Lethal Game of Trust

The only noise was our footsteps. But that was all I needed, just hearing him beside me, feeling his hand in my clammy one.

Dad’s office was locked. As it always had been. He had the thickest oak doors installed when I was little. Even then, I realised it was an opening into a different, darker world.

“I’ll get someone to unlock it,” Dom said andcleared his throat. It had been so long since either of us had spoken.

“I need to get in there,” I said. “I need to find anything between Derek and Dad. He has means and opportunity… but the motive? I’m coming up empty.”

Dom nodded. “I’m not sure either. I’ll hack into his files, but I doubt we’ll get anything of use from ten years back…”

I thanked him and we went to my bedroom door.

More sheets. My bed was covered, my desk, my wardrobe. It wasn’t mine anymore, it wasn’t anyone’s. But I couldn’t go in.

It was just a room. The kitchen was just a kitchen.

The people weren’t there. Or the same as they had been. Neither was I.

“You okay?” he asked eventually.

I took a deep inhale. “Yes… no. I don’t… I feel like it would take hours to explain.”

“I have hours,” he said. “Hours to listen.”

And, sitting on the dusty floor of the hallway, for the first time, I told him everything.

27

Wear Nothing At All

Leonie

Issy had fallen asleep pretty quickly. She normally slept like a log, but just to be safe, I lay there clearing my throat, each time getting louder to see if she’d so much as breathe differently.

I left her with her mouth wide, snoring, her head nearly on my pillow.

Every step I took out of her room, I glanced to see if there was any change. None.

To not alarm her, I used the soft glow of my phone screen — not even turning on its torch — to guide my way from her bed to my bedroom door.

I couldn’t have her stop me.

My knuckles gently rapped on the door once. No response. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I knocked again.

“Yes?” came Dom’s low voice.

His baritone question ran through my body, heating my skin.

I snuck into the room on the tips of my slippers, locking thedoor behind me.

He was lying on my bed against the headboard, ankles crossed, a book in his hands. Wearing glasses.

Damn. Someone shoot me. I’d never wanted to sit on someone’s face more. I wanted to smash those glasses with my thighs, then buy him a new pair just so I could do it again. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

He looked me up and down, taking in the silk cami and shorts. I couldn’t wait for him to see what was underneath.

I felt his silent gaze on me as I went around my room, turning on the fairy lights by the window sill, the desk, the bedside tables. I turned off the bright lamp beside him.

“Oh, am I not reading anymore?”