What She Doesn't See Read Free

clawing at him. “The cleaner was on site
before I arrived. One of our team has picked up the waste the
cleaner dropped off to examine anything taken from the scene. The
house is being thoroughly searched as we speak. I have the cleaner
under surveillance right now. If she has the device, I will recover
it.”
    A heavy breath on the other end of the line
warned his superior was not happy. Well, that made two of them.
    “Very well. Keep me posted. I’m in the hot
seat here, Murphy. We cannot allow this technology to be lost
again
.”
    “I understand, sir.”
    The call ended and Wyatt refocused his full
attention on the white 4Runner. He’d done a quick background check
on Alexis Jackson. There was no reason to believe she was in the
game.
    He hoped she was as smart as she was
attractive. A smart woman would not allow herself to get mixed up
in this unpleasant business.
    A smart woman would want to stay alive.

Chapter 3
    Alex breathed deeply of the summer breeze as
she cruised along Ocean Boulevard, allowing that saltwater essence
to clean the stench of death from her lungs. She loved everything
about Miami Beach. Maybe she didn’t live in one of the upscale art
deco homes in this world-renowned neighborhood, but she didn’t
care. This was home. Stunning, intoxicating, and forever youthful.
The perfect climate and the lush scenery might draw the world to
Miami, but it was the eclectic blend of people that made this city
so unique.
    Alex made the necessary turn and headed
toward a less glamorous residential district. The working-class
side of town. Art deco remained the prevailing theme in
architecture, even in her lower rent neighborhood but with a more
Bohemian atmosphere. Her small cottage wasn’t on the water, but
there was a boardwalk nearby that went all the way to the water’s
edge. Almost anywhere in Miami Beach was close to the ocean.
    She pulled into the short driveway and slid
out of her SUV. No, it wasn’t much, she thought with a frank yet
appreciative survey of the property, but it was home and it was
hers. Her grandmother had left it to her. Alex grabbed her bag,
elbowed the door closed, and clicked the remote lock.
    Occasionally she felt guilty that she’d
inherited the cottage instead of her mother. But her
grandmother—her mother’s own mother—had known that Margie Jackson
would never be able to hang onto much less maintain the property.
Like her grandmother, Alex had recognized the day her father died
that she would be taking care of her mother for the rest of her
life. Some people just couldn’t do it on their own.
    As if fate had chosen that memory to warn
that trouble was headed her way, Alex’s cell erupted with the
chorus from “Story of My Life” by One Direction.
    She checked the screen. “Damn.” The office.
Had to be Shannon, her office manager and lifelong best friend.
This couldn’t be good. It was almost seven. “Hey, Shannon, what’s
up?” Alex shoved the key into the lock of her front door. If the
news was really bad she wanted to be within arm’s reach of a cold
one.
    “We have a potential problem, Alexis.”
    Definitely bad. Shannon only called her
Alexis when she wanted her full attention.
    Putting off the inevitable, Alex walked
straight through the cozy living room to the equally cramped
kitchen before she responded, “Oh yeah?” She snagged a Corona from
the fridge and twisted off the top. Not wanting Shannon’s
announcement to get too far ahead of the alcohol, Alex chugged a
long swallow. The brew made her shiver as much from the promise of
the relaxing buzz it offered as the cold temperature.
    With her hip she closed the fridge door,
leaned against it, and pressed the chilly bottle to the
sweat-dampened skin at her throat. Okay, so maybe there was one
thing about Miami she could live without: humidity. You couldn’t
exist in this city without sweating. Day, night, working out or
just sitting still.
    “Brown quit today.”
    Oh hell. They were already