He Will be My Ruin
Page 53

“I’m so sorry. Red wine sometimes does this to me.”
I smile, and it’s genuine but for all the wrong reasons.
Rubbing his eyes, he murmurs, “I may have to call an early night on you.”
Shit. That’s not part of the plan.
Swallowing my pride, I edge over to take a seat on the couch. “Come here.” I set a pillow on my lap and then tug his arm.
A sly smile curls his lips, but he doesn’t complain, resting his head on the pillow and stretching out along the couch on his back. He closes his eyes as I weave my fingers through hair that is too soft and silky to be on a man’s head. “I can’t say I’ve ever done this with a client before.”
“I guess we’ve broken a few rules then, haven’t we?”
“I can’t seem to get a handle on you, Maggie,” he murmurs. “One minute you’re slamming me over that day in the elevator, the next you’re inviting yourself over for dinner at my house.”
“I like to be unpredictable.”
“Is being nice not an everyday occurrence for you?” His eyelids are becoming heavy, even as he smiles up at me.
“I’m a hard person to win over again if you’ve pissed me off once. And I’m extremely judgmental at times.”
“Yes, I got that, too.” His lips are moving, but the words coming out aren’t completely coherent. “I have to say, this is not how I saw this night going . . .” He lifts an arm up and over his head, to curl his fingers around my wrist.
And then, as I quietly watch with trepidation, Jace Everett falls asleep on my lap.
I’m afraid to move, so I don’t, watching his chest lift and fall in slow, shallow breaths.
I watch the minute hand on the clock across from me until five minutes have passed, then ten, and only then finally do I dare loosen his grip of my wrist and carefully shift out from beneath him, holding my breath the entire time. He doesn’t make a sound.
God, I hope I didn’t just kill him.
Pushing that worry out of my mind—I didn’t give him that much, and his chest still rises and falls in a steady, slow rhythm, after all—I head straight for his office.
For that cardboard box.
My stomach is a tight ball of knots; my heart pounds inside my chest. If it’s the vase, then it’s coming home with me, and I have no idea what I’ll do to Jace.
With the lightest touch, I peel the top of the box back and peer inside.
A blue-and-white floral bowl sits inside.
Dammit. I wanted it to be Celine’s vase so badly. I wanted it to be Jace who stole it. It would mean I’m on the right track. Instead, it’s the death of another wild rabbit that I’ve been so aggressively chasing.
I spy a birthday card and certificate tucked into the box. It appears that this bowl is an authentic Ming Dynasty gift for his mom, based on the official appraisal document.
From Ling Zhang, aka the Bone Lady.
I snap a picture of the document and the bowl and send it to Doug. Ten seconds later my phone rings.
“That’s not it.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my whisper. “Is there anything else I should look for before I get out of here?”
“Where is he? Shower?”
“Shower? Why would he be . . .” I clue in and scowl. “No! What, you thought I would actually sleep with him? Are you nuts?”
“Fine, fine . . . sorry.”
I roll my eyes. “I slipped two sleeping pills in his wine. He’s out cold on the couch.”
“Jesus, Maggie. Are you nuts?” he yells.
“It was Ruby’s idea!” Even I know that’s not a good excuse.
“And that makes it acceptable? Okay, just . . .” He’s agitated. “Get out of there. Zac’s already in his mainframe. I can’t help you if he wakes up and figures out what you did to him.”
I hang up, my heart still racing and my eyes stealing frequent glances toward the office entrance.
But I’m not ready to leave yet. This is my one and only chance to find out what Jace’s secrets are.
Everyone has secrets.
I struggle to stay quiet as I rush through his office, slamming desk drawers shut, fumbling with cupboard doors, searching for anything hidden. I’m aware of each second ticking by like I’m waiting for a guillotine to drop.
But there’s nothing but paperwork and more paperwork. A bowl that’s not the vase I want. No diary, no iPhone.
A small decorative box.
I nearly pass by it in my frenzy, but then I do a double take, eying the intricate details, the brushed bronze material. It reminds me of the lockbox I bought Celine.
What are the odds . . . ?
Setting it on Jace’s desk, I lift the lid to find it empty save for an envelope resting on a pristine velvet interior. With eager fingers, I slide a white note card out of the envelope and open it to read the message in computer print:
Five hundred thousand to this account by November 1 or your home movie will be released online.
I frown. This is a blackmail note. Did Jace get it from someone? Or was he going to give it to someone?
What is this home movie?
It’s hard to tell, but the inside base of the box looks slightly too high. I let my fingers probe the grooves and details of the exterior, searching for a latch or a button, something that will release a hidden compartment. I can’t find anything.
My phone’s ring cuts through the eerie silence, making me jump. I lose my grip and the box goes flying, crashing to the hardwood floor with a loud thump.
The bottom cracks open and something tumbles out.
I fumble with my phone as I drop to my hands and knees, reaching under the desk as far as I can. “Hello?”
“Get the hell out of there, now!” Doug yells. “This is exactly how things turn bad, fast.”
My fingers close over a small, smooth rectangular object. I pull it into the light.
And smile. “It’s also how we find evidence.”
“If you don’t walk out the main door within three minutes, I am quitting this case,” he threatens.
“Fine! I’m coming!” I scramble to put the box back exactly as I found it, and then, keeping Doug on the phone, I rush down the hall on the balls of my feet, blood rushing through my ears.
I round the corner into the living room that I’ll need to cross to get to the foyer, my teeth gritted with the fear that the loud clatter I just made might have woken him up.