Page 31 of Faded Gray Lines

Use your brain, Leighton.

I rested my hands on top of my head when a reflection in a mirror hanging outside his office caught my attention. Although, it wasn’t so much the mirror as the reflection shining in it.

“Then why is her picture still up?”

“House-fucking-orders.”

Sitting up, my fingers buzzed as I typed the four letters that drew such a heated reaction out of him.

E-d-e-n.

Lights flashed and screens shifted. Within seconds Emilio’s desktop displayed before my eyes. I had no idea where to begin, so I just started clicking folders, hoping something useful would pop up.

The first two folders labeled “business” were as laundered as the bar itself. Files filled with purchase order spreadsheets for supplies and an employee log of hours with payroll would get me nowhere with Atwood. Closing them out, I clicked on a third folder and froze.

I couldn’t breathe. I expected to find damning evidence on some poor idiot Emilio was blackmailing—not a file with my father’s name on it.

“What the hell,” I whispered. As I clicked the file, information about my father filled the screen. His picture. A photo of the precinct where he worked. An uploaded camera phone photo of the home where we lived.

Why would Emilio have such personal information?

There were four more files, all unnamed, waiting to answer my question. I wanted to look at them, but I’d been in here too long. On a whim, I opened a web browser page and accessed my email. With sweat dripping down my temple, I typed an email to myself and attached all five files.

“Come on, come on,” I begged, hitting every button to hurry up. Just as the last one loaded, the back door slammed. I jumped, my hand sending a pile of papers scattering off the corner of his desk.

“Shit!” With my heart in my throat, I exited out of the program and deleted the browser history, leaving the mess. Fuck it if he noticed. I’d rather Emilio question me than catch me. Logging out of the computer, I shut it down and slammed the top.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the kitchen as dread rippled down my back. I should’ve trusted my initial instinct, but now wasn’t the time for regrets. I reengaged the lock and closed his office just as the kitchen door swung open.

“Leighton? What are you doing?” There wasn’t as much concern in his tone as suspicion.

My positioning was perfect. Blue eyes stared back at me as if offering me a way out of the corner I’d backed myself into. Taking a deep breath, I threw myself against her picture.

“Praying,” I said, forcing a wobble in my voice.

I’m going to die right here.

“For what?”

“Not for what, for who.” Closing my eyes, I managed to squeeze out a tear. “My brother always loved her,” I admitted, hoping Brody would forgive me for throwing him under the bus. “Eden meant a lot to him, and her death destroyed him.”

Emilio snorted. “Eden Lachey isn’t dead.”

That got my attention. I snapped my head around, wiping the tear from my eye. “What?”

He glanced toward her picture once more and shook his head. “Forget it.”

I wanted to press him but being caught standing outside his office had him on edge. Pushing my luck was out of the question.

The silence became unbearable, so I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Well, it’s late, and I have to finish stacking the glasses in the kitchen.”

He stared at me, his dark eyes full of distrust. “Why do you seem so tense?”

“Me? I’m not tense. It’s just been a long week.”

Emilio pressed a hand against the wall beside my head. “I’ll clean up. Go home, Leighton Harcourt.”

My heart beat so loud, I was sure he could hear it. I tried to swallow but my throat felt like it was clogged. “Are...are you sure?”