I found no cars parked on the street and none in the driveway. But the garage door was lowered. As well I detected no movement in the house and no cameras on the fa?ade. Twenty minutes later, I returned to the spot where I’d left Greg only to find him gone.
Of course. Of course he was gone. He was probably already in the house. I clenched my jaw and rolled my eyes. He was incredibly infuriating. I couldn’t go in after him, because he might mistake me for a hostile. I had no choice but to wait.
So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
And while I waited I felt myself simmering in resentment, daydreaming about putting him in a chokehold and demanding he stop discounting me. I was also going to demand that he put his socks in the laundry bin. Why must he leave them everywhere? Why?
Eventually, he emerged from the front door and jogged to my location. I sat back on my heels and watched his approach, swallowing my desire to scream at him about his tendency to break promises and confetti our apartment with dirty laundry.
And why was I equating broken promises with dirty laundry?
“You promised,” I accused in a harsh whisper as soon as he crouched next to me.
“I lied,” he said distractedly, rushing to add before I could berate him further, “there’s no one in the house, but we have—”
He wasn’t expecting me to move, therefore his resistance was minimal when I pinned him to the ground, his position such that he could easily escape. I didn’t want to intimidate; I wanted him to listen.
“Darling?” he asked, his wide eyes moving between mine.
I growled, “Stop lying to me. Stop discounting my contribution. Stop treating me like my opinion is nonsense.”
“Fe—”
“You are really starting to piss me off.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and his twitched like he was trying not to smile, his voice beseeching as he said my name. “Fe—”
“Laughing is only going to make me put you in a clasped-hand variation of the rear naked choke. If that happens, I will put pressure on your carotid artery.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing, I promise.” His eyes turned dreamy. “It’s just—”
“Just what?”
“It’s just, you’re alarmingly beautiful when you’re being a badass. And it’s difficult to concentrate when you’re straddling me.”
I felt growing pressure against my inner thigh and I rolled my eyes, huffing. “What do I need to do in order for you to take me seriously?”
“I do take you seriously. I promise.”
“Just like you promised not to go in the house until I returned?”
“No. I didn’t mean that promise, but I mean this one.”
I bit my tongue and closed my eyes, shaking my head. And I laughed because I was frustrated. “I am so angry.”
“Don’t be angry.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I swear I’m not.” I felt his fingers thread into my hair. When I opened my eyes I found his sincere and serious. “I’m not. I needed you to stay put—not because I’m more capable, but because I’m familiar with the house, where to look, and in this situation it made sense.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Then why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because I am dreadfully tired. And I know I’m responsible for putting us in this mess. The thought of you getting hurt because of me and my choices isn’t something I can live with.”
I frowned at him, studying the handsome planes of his face, which were—blast him—etched with earnestness. I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest.
“What did you find inside?”
“Do you forgive me?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe . . . I don’t know.”
“Darling—”
“What did you find inside?”
He heaved a heavy sigh. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I found—”
“Did you find the money?”
“Yes. And that’s the problem. It’s—”
“What’s the problem?”
“If you would stop interrupting me, I would tell you what the problem is.”
I snapped my mouth shut and glared at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Thank you, my dear beautiful, brilliant wife. Now, the problem is the money. I found it, it’s inside, but it’s more than what I’d estimated. I don’t think we’ll have to go to any of the other sentinel houses, at least not tonight.” Greg pushed himself up into a sitting position; I didn’t move from his lap.
“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”
“We won’t have to go to any of the other sentinel houses because instead of one or two million dollars, I found,” he pulled the satellite phone from his pocket and showed me the screen, “two pallets of money.”
“Two pallets of . . .” I scanned the image and, indeed, he’d found two pallets of money. Two, huge, pallets of money. They’d been placed in the garage side by side, apparently by a forklift.
“Oh my goodness,” I exhaled, stunned.
“Hundred-dollar bills. If my math is correct, estimating based on volume, that’s one hundred million dollars, give or take a million.”
I split my attention between the image on the phone and my husband’s calm features. “Greg, what are we going to do?”
“Well, I’ve always wanted a pony,” he said tiredly before letting his head fall into his hand and laughing quietly.