Cast the First Stone (The True Lies of Rembrandt Stone 1)

“I played football and…aw, I didn’t really know what to say…” His smile faded.

Behind his eyes, she saw it. The wounds of his loss still open, enough to keep people at arm’s length.

All except her. That fact twined through her, turned the air between them thick and sweet, tugging her in.

She could too easily fall for a guy exactly like Rembrandt Stone.

“Well, I didn’t sneak out—or have any boyfriends sneaking in—so it’s highly likely we’re about to get busted.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He got out, closing the door quietly behind him.

She came around the car and when he took her hand, the warmth of his grip only ignited the surge of electricity buzzing under her skin.

“Stay along the edge of the driveway and the motion detection lights won’t flicker on.”

“See, you have done this before,” he said as followed her. The lights stayed off and they reached the garage door.

“Maybe you should stay here,” she suggested

“I’m not afraid of your dad, Eve.”

The man could quite possibly read her mind.

“But I am,” she whispered and patted him on the chest. Was his heart racing?

So, not as calm as his voice let on. Interesting.

“Fine. Hurry. And if you need me, do something, like make a noise, or scream, or call my name—”

She pressed her hand to his mouth. “Shh.” Then she let herself into the garage.

Funny how in the thick of night, the familiar seemed foreign, riddled with danger. She nearly tripped over the lawn mower and right into a box of Christmas decorations. But she brailed her way to the back door, eased it open, and reminded herself to mention to her mother, sometime, casually, to lock the garage door at night.

The refrigerator hummed and she tiptoed through the kitchen, then up the stairs, avoiding the third step, right side, then into the hallway and right to her brother’s bedroom.

His light was off, but when she opened the door, he looked up from where he sat at his desk, the glow of his computer screen lighting his face, bulky earphones cutting off any sound. She put a finger to her mouth and shut the door.

“What?” he whispered as he pulled off his earphones.

“I think I need your help.” She eased over and glanced at some sort of computer game on the screen. “Can you really hack into things?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I need help with a case. Hacking into a database in Chicago to get a list of addresses of local coffee shops that carry a particular coffee.”

“Really?” His voice raised a little. “Does this have to do with the bombings?”

She again pressed her finger over her mouth. “Can you do it?”

“Sure,” he turned to his computer.

“Can you do it from my computer?”

He considered her a moment, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Stay behind me, and don’t make any noise,” she said, but he stopped her with a hand to her arm.

“Sis. You’re talking to the master. Watch and learn.”