Glass of water in hand, Spencer's face was the picture of irritation as I walked into his kitchen, uninvited with no idea what my next move was.

Since I'd followed a feeling into his house, obviously I hadn't thought about the repercussions of my break and entering situation, but I was nothing if not determined.

Determined to what?

I didn't know yet.

Spence brought the glass to his mouth, chugged the water inside, then set it down on the counter. After swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he sounded almost bored when he said, "I want my house key back."

"No," I countered immediately.

On instinct, my hand flew down to the pocket of my jeans, fingers tracing the outline of the metal key for no other reason than the reassurance of it being there. Safe and sound and still mine.

He had a key to my house, too, so it was only fair I got to keep his.

Apparently, Spence did not agree.

With a roll of his eyes, he headed into the dining room. And since I was standing in the way, it required him to do a side step behind me as he went, our bodies brushing in the process.

The scent of smoke and barbeque hung heavy on his clothes. It was strong enough to attack my nose when he passed by, and the smell of it hit me like a memory of days long gone.

I hadn't inhaled that exact combination of campfire and Mediterranean spices in so long, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. There was only one place in Fairhaven where you could get an authentic chicken souvlaki, complete with specially made pita from the Farina Bread Co. nearby.

None other than the Village Grille food stand by the river.

My mother loved any dish or establishment that included her family's bread business, but she'd developed a special love for Greek food during her pregnancy with Dante. To this day, she claims being so obsessed with Tzatziki sauce, she wanted to bathe in it.

A bit dramatic but whatever.

As her love for it stood the test of time, Dad would bring home dinner sometimes when he was working down at the docks.

That's where the tiny food stand lived, set up outside the Greek Orthodox Church that was located right on the Kingston river. The smell of their grilled delicacies was potent enough to cling to my father's clothes almost anytime he worked down there.

Just like it now clung to Spencer's.

From my spot in the kitchen, lost in memories and trying to process the reality of where he'd clearly been, I watched him dig through his backpack on the table. His brow was furrowed and irritation still simmered in his body language.

After a moment of searching, he finally pulled his phone charger free from the bottom of the bag and then fished something out of the front zipper compartment.

When he shouldered past me again, that smell screamed at me once more, and I couldn't help speaking up.

"You smell like a fire," I mentioned softly.

He plugged his charger into the wall by the sink. "And you smell like some other motherfucker's cologne. Anything else you want to discuss, Davina?"

Ouch.

But...yes. Since he asked, I did want confirmation on where he'd been. I swallowed my discomfort and proceeded.

"Where were you?"

Spinning to face me, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "I think you already know where I was," he answered, knowing me all too well. Knowing my father and our shared family businesses. Knowing that he smelled like my mother's favorite Tzatziki sauce. "Do you really want me to say it out loud?"

I shook my head and looked down at the floor. "No."

A beat of silence followed. I studied the kitchen tile at my feet. Spence sighed in irritation.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

I didn't know how to answer that.

I didn't know what I was doing there at all, let alone how to explain the feeling that brought me. I'd sound like a damn hypocrite. I'd drawn the line between me and Spencer weeks ago. Who was I to show up like this? No good reason. No explanation.

Slowly, my guilty eyes drew up again, landing on Spence right as he pulled his t-shirt off and swung it over his shoulder. The tempting display made my mouth go dry, all tattoos and sun-kissed skin, looking as smooth and chiseled as ever. My hands went all fidgety on me and it was actually the worst.

Would my body ever not react in the presence of this man? It's not like he was undressing for me.

Instead, his movement was methodic and distant, driven by routine and weary with the aftermath of a long day. No smirk sat on his lips, no mischievous look in his eyes.

"Stay or leave. I don't really give a shit," he muttered as he emptied his pockets onto the counter, leaving a small pile of wadded-up papers and a pack of gum. "Just lock the door either way."

Without another glance in my direction, he pushed away from the counter and undid the button on his jeans. I heard the zipper go down as he left the kitchen and wandered toward the laundry room.

I watched him go, knowing I should get the hell out of there, but unable to make my feet move.

A moment later, the washing machine slammed shut and Spence crossed the small expanse toward the bedrooms with only a towel wrapped around his waist. I looked away as fast as I could.

When the shower screeched on, I moved to the sink. It was full of dirty dishes and I needed something to do with my anxious hands, so washing them up seemed like the perfect distraction.

I went about the task on auto-pilot, arguing with myself the whole time. Squeezing dish soap onto a sponge, wondering why I didn't go home yet. Lathering up the bubbles, reminding myself that the house I was standing in had always felt more like home.

I washed a plate, rinsed a cup, wondered absently if I was messing with the water pressure or the temperature while Spence showered down the hall.

Shit.

The thought had my hand launching toward the faucet. I didn't want to mess with the water pressure or temperature while he showered down the hall.

I needed to go back to my house.

I didn't want to leave.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, I wrung out the sponge and started wiping down the counters instead. It felt productive, active. The swiping motion was an excellent balm to my quivering fingers.

When I reached the pile of papers and his pack of cinnamon gum, I lifted them carefully into one hand. I wiped underneath the spot they were in and waited a couple seconds for the counter to dry before setting them back down. I didn't want the notes getting wet.

Now, I wish I could say I left it that. I wish I could say that nothing on those notes caught my eye and that I didn't feel compelled to creep in business that absolutely wasn't mine.

But I would be lying if I said any of that. Because one of those notes was written on stationery from the Fairhaven Police Department. From the desk of Captain Parisi, to be exact, and it mentioned a name I knew.

Rob Wakefield. As in Rob and Ginny.

Wait a minute.

I shouldn't have read any more, but the name made me pause.

The case of Rob and Ginny's "disappearance" weeks ago had hit a dead-end, or so they said at work. There had been no more welfare visits to their home, Carl hadn't given Debbie any new updates, and people kind of stopped talking about it around town.

I hadn't even noticed, so wrapped up in my own things as usual. But now, there I was, reading what looked a lot like an update on Fairhaven's missing couple, as I skimmed the note on Spence's counter.

Rob Wakefield. Holiday inn exp.
(312) 555-5040 Rm 217.

There were a few other numbers listed at the bottom. Not phone numbers, dates maybe, but I couldn't really make sense of them, so I focused on what I could.

3-1-2...

Where was that? It didn't sound like an area code even remotely familiar or close to Fairhaven or Brighton. It didn't ring a bell as even being in this state.

Where were they? And why did Spence have their hotel information?

Suddenly, my mind was reeling, searching for all the details I could remember. Everything I knew about their case had been received without my consent, only the careless snippets of Debbie's gossip, so that's all I could jog up at the moment.

Last I'd heard, there were rumors that Rob had been making Bluejay, that he'd gotten Ginny hooked on the stuff and she was strung out somewhere.

Since messing with Bluejay wasn't looked on kindly around here, corrupt as Fairhaven was, he supposedly fled to avoid the heat from Amato and whatever local precincts had an investment in the matter.

Was that true? Who could know for sure? People in this town talked a lot, made things up, and then talked some more about what they made up.

But clearly, Rob and Ginny had been found. That, or someone knew where they were all along.

I dropped the paper back on the counter and rustled things around a bit, just so it wouldn't look like I was snooping.

Taking a calming breath, I turned back to the sink, set the sponge on the windowsill to dry.

And that's when I saw the earrings.

That calm breath I was taking turned into a gasp.

Could this night get any worse? Could my snooping lead me toward any more confusion?

Should have gone home, stupid.

But it was too late for that...

Without thinking, I reached up and grabbed the offensive jewels, letting them fall into the sweaty palm of my hand so I could study them closer.

They were pretty. Simple diamond studs, delicate and feminine. The exact opposite of my raging mental state as I stared down at them. Irritation made my blood feel hot as jealousy spread over my skin, tightening around me like a dress a couple sizes too small.

My head tilted up to the ceiling. I couldn't breathe.

Who do these belong to?

Who's been washing Spence's dishes and leaving their earrings on his windowsill?

Who do I have to kill?

Calm down, Davina. Let's think about this rationally.

First off—are they yours?

Good question. Only weeks ago, I spent plenty of time here and could very well have left something behind.

I looked down at them again. Though minimal and dainty, the kind of jewelry I went for because I hated the feel of clunky metal against my body, I knew immediately that they weren't mine. I didn't own any real diamond earrings, which these definitely were, and my skin tone didn't agree with yellow gold.

So, not mine. Awesome.

Back to the matter at hand—who else's could they be?

Did they belong to that girl a couple houses down? Rita or...Raiyna? The one with super shiny hair who was always asking Spence to mow her lawn?

Or maybe the secretary that filled in for Doris on the weekends? She had mile-long legs and treated the halls of the police department like her own personal runway. I couldn't compete with her or her heavenly wardrobe.

Or possibly that new rookie we hired a few months ago. Diana.

Oh fuck. She'd had her eye on Spence since he was assigned to "show her around" on her first week at the station. Whenever she looked at him, it's like she was imagining his dick in her mouth. Oh, please. Not her. Not Di–

"Still here?"

"Shit." I jumped at the sound of Spence's voice, the earrings flying from my hand in the process.

They landed on the counter with a delicate clink, and I turned like lightning, throwing my body in front of them to hide the fact that I'd been touching things that didn't belong to me.

How long was he standing there?

"Uh, yeah...still here," I stammered, clearing my throat as I gathered my composure. "I was just, uhm..."

Spence looked between me and the sink, his eyebrows lifted. "Washing my dishes?"

"Yes." I swallowed. He was wearing sweatpants now, no shirt, and his compass tattoo sat right in my line of vision. Because I was staring at it. "I mean, they were there and I was...here."

I forced my gaze up to his face and exhaled a shaky breath.

"Yeah," he said slowly, watching me carefully with those wolf eyes. "Why are you still here?"

Because I don't want to go back to my house yet.

I need to know whose earrings I just found.

I wanted to get in the shower with you.

But since I couldn't say any of that, I went for the first diversion that came to mind.

"How's your dad?"

I tried to make it come out natural, but there are few ways to make an entirely random question come out organically. I never asked about his dad.

And the way he looked at me conveyed that exact sentiment. "Why are you asking about my dad?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering how he is."

"Well, I was just with him," he mumbled as he reached for the glass he'd been drinking from when I came in. Invading the spot beside me, he turned on the sink and filled it up, sparing me a quick glance, his arm pressed against mine. "He seemed fine. The same as always. Which is really none of your concern."

Ouch.

He wasn't wrong, I suppose, but his tone sent a pang to my chest. There was a time not long ago when he would have answered that without all the attitude.

This is your fault, Davina, I reminded myself.

But still, I scooted over an inch, staying cautious of the misplaced earrings I was trying to hide. I needed space for my hurt feelings.

"I saw him at the coffee shop the other day," I mentioned softly.

Spence lowered the glass from his mouth, boredom in his expression. "And?"

"And," I started, tossing in a little attitude of my own. "He seemed...I don't know, off somehow. I meant to ask you about it earlier, but I got busy and then forgot."

"Bet you did," Spence muttered under his breath. "Always fucking busy these days."

"Enough," I snapped. The little jabs were getting old. When he said earlier that I smelled like someone else's cologne, he was making it loud and clear that he knew I'd just been with Alex.

He was allowed to be moody about that, but did he need to be rude?

I mean, if only he knew how things were even going with Alex. If only he knew that I felt nothing when he stood close to me.

If only Spence knew that standing there with him in his dark kitchen—regardless of the shitty attitude and the realization that he'd been doing God-knows-what at the river—was the closest I felt to anyone in weeks.

"Can you just answer the question?" I asked. "Is your dad doing alright?"

Irritation swam in Spencer's eyes as he slammed his glass onto the counter and practically shouted, "How my dad's doing is none of your concern."

His answer had me pulling in a shaky breath. I could handle the tone to a degree, but when his voice rose to a disconcerting octave he almost never used around me, I shrank away from him, feeling his words in the pit of my stomach.

"Okay," I said, my own voice like a whisper. I felt exposed and weird for being there. I never should have come in the first place.

Time to go.

Without another thought to the notes on the counter, the mystery area code, or the stupid earrings, I hurried out of the kitchen and made a beeline for the door.

In the distance, I heard Spencer let out a sigh, but I refused to turn around and see if he'd had a change of heart.

I had to keep moving.

"Davina..."

It wasn't until he said my name that I stopped, but even then, I didn't turn around to face him. With my hand on the doorknob, I waited for him to say what he wanted to say.

"My dad's just having a hard time with the divorce," he said, echoing the very thoughts I'd considered at the coffee shop. "He's adjusting. Everyone is."

It was a logical enough answer, one I should have had no issues accepting. But his demeanor was all wrong. He'd been too defensive when I brought up his father, and he'd certainly never raised his voice at me like that before.

I couldn't help wondering if there was more to it than the divorce, but I didn't have the nerve to stick around and ask for him to elaborate.

"Okay," I muttered, pulling the door open. "Thanks for letting me know."

Before I made it all the way out the door, Spence spoke up again. "And the earrings are my mom's."

That had me turning around to face him, head tilted, a breath of relief flowing out of me.

"She left them here yesterday when she came for dinner." He shrugged. His eyes traveled over my face, studying me with a new softness in them as he added, "I haven't been with anyone but you."

I took a hesitant step forward. "You mean...since I left?"

He shook his head. "No. I mean ever. I've never been with anyone else, Davina."

"Really?"

Because...same.

Over the past four years, hooking up with Spence had been the utmost of casual, and we never spoke of being exclusive. I always kept it that way, but I was never sure about Spence. I never even allowed myself to think about his other options, knowing he could have anyone he wanted.

It was only when I found those damn earrings that a few of those options landed in my brain. And here they were, disappearing as soon as they arrived.

Tension still radiated in the space between us, but it eased just a touch as Spence placed a hand on his chest, tapping that tattoo I loved so much. "Like I keep saying, my compass points right at you."

"Good grief." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but I couldn't help the smile that crossed my lips. I didn't have to understand what he meant by that to be elated by what else I'd learned that night.

At least part of my snooping had paid off. Now all I had to do was look up that area code.

On the trail of a soft and silent goodbye, I pulled Spence's door shut behind me and trekked across the street to my house.

Just before I pushed inside, I spared a glance back in his direction, finding him in his doorway as he watched me arrive home safely.

I gave him a little wave and went in. Then I reached for my phone.

"Where are you, Rob?" I muttered into the dark quiet of my entryway as I pulled up my browser.

A quick Google search gave me the answer I needed in two seconds flat.

3-1-2 was a Chicago area code.

I stared at my screen in shock, wishing I'd never looked it up. Other people's problems were not my concern. I mean, who in the name of gossiping Debbie had I become?

But more importantly...

What the hell was Rob and his supposed Bluejay business doing in Chicago?