The Cleaner (Professionals 9)

You'd think I'd get sick of it, playing those thoughts over and over. But each time they flashed across my mind, the more I wanted them to.

But then I was pulling down a densely wooded property, thankful for the secrecy as I slowly started forcing my mind to shut down, to lock away thoughts of Poppy, get my head in the game.

"Where's Holden?" I asked when I pulled up to find only Bellamy waiting for me, standing there in his five-thousand-dollar suit like nothing had happened at all.

Bell had been forced into the service when he was a young, careless playboy, because his family wanted to toughen him up, make him mature.

Unfortunately, Bellamy—like me, like Ranger—didn't come out of the service unscathed. But where I desperately tried to scrub the blood off my hands, Bell continued to paint his own red.

"Nice to see you too," he greeted, and you would never guess from his open smile that he'd just watched his partner torture a man before he went ahead and murdered him. "Holden has this routine after... he uses his skills," Bellamy said. "He runs and deadlifts trees or some shit," he claimed, smirking. "Want some help hauling your shit in?"

"I need to know exactly where you and Holden have been inside the house," I said instead of answering.

"We tried to contain everything that went down in the master bathroom."

Hard surfaces.

Good.

Bellamy likely understood the importance of that from back when he'd needed to clean up his own messes.

"But this bastard had good hosting skills. We were all in the kitchen, living room, den, and on the deck out back."

"Okay. Cameras?"

"No. We checked," he added when I clearly wasn't about to take his word for it without explanation.

"Okay. Did you leave anything inside you need?"

"No."

"Okay. Strip out of your clothes. Put them in the bag," I said, yanking a black bag out of a bag I was carrying. "When Holden gets back, he has to do the same. There's a creek on the property. Take the soap, bathe in it, and change into the clothes in the truck."

"I know the drill," Bellamy agreed. "We will wait to head out until you're done, though. We can help get rid of the evidence before we get our car detailed."

"And you need a ti—"

"Tire change," Bellamy cut me off. "Same song and dance each time," Bell agreed. "So how long will this take? I have a salsa date tonight."

"That's out of the question."

"Oh, have a heart," Bell said, pressing a hand to his heart. "She might be the love of my life."

"Yeah?" I asked. "What's her name?"

To that, I got one of Bellamy's signature beaming smiles. "Well, you got me there," he said, rocking on his heels.

I didn't hear another voice—save for the one that lived in my head, running through the steps of the cleaning process—for hours.

"So, what's her name?" Bellamy asked, making me jerk up too fast, whacking my head on the underside of the kitchen island countertop overhang.

"You can't be in here," I grumbled. I had a pattern, a map I used for houses as big as this one. I covered the rooms off the main access area of the house—like a kitchen, a study, a living room, bedrooms, bathrooms—and left the hallways and open areas for last, so I didn't trek and evidence into a clean space as I went along.

"You just started," he objected.

"You're supposed to be outside," I reminded him.

"I have my booties and your spare set of disposable coveralls on. I'm commando underneath," he added, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I didn't need to know that."

"So, what's her name?" he asked, making me damn near whack my head again, this time on the Tiffany lamp hanging over the island.

"What? Who?"

"Yes. And where and when. Then instead of why, maybe how?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No? You retraced your steps three times already, redoing something you fucked up the first two times. I've been with this group long enough to see the signs. Where'd you meet her? The mop aisle?" he teased. Most of the crew didn't feel comfortable poking fun at my issues. Bellamy was not most people. I think when you yourself were fucked up, you felt like you could comment on someone else's damage.

"She's messy," I said, immediately wincing. Shit. I hadn't meant to say that, to say anything. She was supposed to be a secret. Because the second Quin found out about her, he would force me to put an end to it.

"Did you break in and clean her place yet?" he asked. "I'll have you know, I'm still heartbroken that you haven't broken into my house to clean yet."

"Which house?" I shot back.

"Well, any of them."

"You employ cleaners at all of your residences, plus your yacht; there's nothing to clean."