came highly recommended."
He would.
He was the best at what he did.
And the only reason he didn't work at Quinton Baird & Associates was because Quin wasn't the biggest fan of his methods. Which often included various forms of counter-interrogation that could sometimes turn violent. Viciously so, if he thought someone was hiding something from him. And Quin liked knowing his people had a little more restraint than that. I, personally, thought The Inquisitor had a really good ring to it.
"So, you'll definitely have the answers you need."
To that, he nodded. "We just need to give it a little time."
"Well, if we have to be trapped away somewhere, this is the place to be," I told him, finding his gaze on mine, eyes intense, lips about to say something.
But then Alexander moved in between us. "Way to abandon me," he grumbled. "He kissed me like six times."
"He's sweet," I concluded.
"His daughter pinched my cheeks," he added, cringing.
"It must suck to be so adored," I teased, getting small eyes from him.
"I'm going for a hike. Or am I in lockdown, Warden?" he asked.
"Get lost," Christopher said, dismissing him. "Would you like a tour of the house?" he asked me.
"Absolutely," I agreed.
This house was in complete contrast to the cave house. For many reasons. One of them being that most of the cave house was rounded in the rooms. This house was a typical architecture with clean lines. The cave house had been almost startlingly white, but this one was all earth tones—browns, creams, greens, a hint of burnt orange and yellow in the pillows on the sectional couch that faced a giant stone hearth.
The front room—which I guess we would call a living room, though with the sheer size of this place, I ventured to guess there would be at least three or four similarly functioning rooms—was surrounded by large windows. Large houseplants in massive pots were scattered around, letting the leaves soak up the sun.
Like the cave house, it immediately felt homey, but in a different, more rustic way.
There were a few knick knacks on the mantle, which reminded me of home, of my collection of things.
"Through here is the dining room," Christopher said, putting a hand at my lower back, making me think he had tried to get my attention with little success as I looked at the living room.
Much like the living room, this was a window-lined, oversized space, dominated by a solid wood plank table in a mahogany finish, lined with off-white tufted chairs. Across from where we were standing against the far wall was a long sideboard with a wood-framed mirror.
And in that mirror, I couldn't help but see the two of us reflected. I also couldn't help but notice that we made a pretty good picture. Him a bit more than me because, let's face it, the man literally rolled out of bed and committed homicide while looking like a friggen Gucci model.
"Back through here is the kitchen," he added, leading me through a set of swinging doors.
I'd gotten used to the cramped efficiency of his cave house kitchen. This was not that. This was a gourmet kitchen. It was the kind of place meant for a staff of people to work comfortably together to create meals for dozens of guests.
There was a long, wide island down the center of the room with a stainless steel top, matching the two massive refrigerators, the dishwasher, the fancy stove with ten burners, and the sink. The cabinets were a warm honey color, and like the other main rooms, the sun was streaming in through a myriad of windows.
"Has Cora ever seen this place?" I asked, moving forward, running my hand across the cool edge of the counter.
"Unfortunately, no."
"She could do wonders in here."
"You can too."
"I can try," I corrected, shaking my head. "I'm not like Cora, though. I don't have a dozen recipes memorized."
"You will figure it out."
"Or we'll all starve," I said, snorting. "Alright. What else does this place have?" I asked.
It turned out, a lot.
The main floor also boasted a library full of books and chairs begging to be sunk into. There was a game room complete with a pool table, an air hockey table, and a card table.
"Trust me, you don't want to play cards with me," I told him when he suggested it was likely the only thing in the room he'd ever put to use.
"No? Sore loser?" he asked, lips twitching. Teasing. He was teasing me.
"I wouldn't know," I shot back, chin lifting