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its bottom corners and pulled. The cabinet slid from the wall with
a spray of gypsum and plaster dust. She staggered backward with it in her arms
and nearly lost her footing as makeup cases cracked beneath her bare feet.
    Perfect.
    The cabinet was heavier than she’d expected. Its lip dug
into her thigh. She turned around and carefully lowered the whole thing into
the bathtub. As she did, the smell of peppermint toothpaste exploded into the
room.
    Cold goo between her bare toes. Better and better. She had a
lot to thank Steven for even if she didn’t find whatever it was the rat had
hidden here.
    She wiped toothpaste from her foot with a bit of toilet
paper. If she waited until tomorrow, she could get Charlie’s help with this
operation, but she wasn’t ready for anyone to know about this. It might be
pointless. Or she might find something no one else should know about. Besides,
it was her house.
    The hole in her wall gaped like a wound. It tore her heart
to see exposed studs where the cabinet had nestled so snugly. She wanted to
stuff the cabinet back in—staunch the flow of wall dust wafting over her sink,
coating the radiator with fine white powder.
    But not yet. Not until she’d seen what there was to see.
    Beyond the plaster at the opening’s lower edge was a dark
chasm, partly blocked by a box wedged between the frame and the plaster, a box
wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It clearly didn’t belong there.
Imagining all the razor blades in the vicinity, Isabelle maneuvered her
toothbrush handle under the string and fished the package toward her until she
deemed it safe to grab.
    It was cube shaped and too big to easily grasp in one hand.
Isabelle sat on the toilet’s closed lid and held the box in her lap.
    Steven had said it was an heirloom.
    He’d said a lot of things in the time she’d known him, most
of which turned out to be untrue. For example, “You’re the only one for me.”
    Men.
    She pulled off the string and tore the paper. It was a
shipping carton from an online book and music seller. Addressed to Isabelle.
Here, at this address.
    Heat flushed her face. Somehow Steven’s reusing this box to
hide something in her house made the whole thing even more personal, even more
of an invasion.
    The box’s flaps had been folded in a pinwheel to keep the
lid closed. She pulled it open and scattered packing peanuts to reveal a
smaller box.
    A jewelry gift box. A decidedly modern, velvet jewelry gift
box.
    Isabelle growled. What had that bottom-feeding troglodyte
hidden in her house? She snapped open the lid. To call this jewelry would be an
insult to feathered hair extensions and children’s candy necklaces. The sudden
buzzing in her ears must be Louis Comfort Tiffany turning in his grave.
    No wonder it had been hidden. The public needed protection
from rings as ugly as this.

Chapter Three
     
    Kim held the belay rope as his student clung gracelessly to
the gym wall, her feet at his eye level in the room called Big Top, the main
room of Wall Werx. Shawna had possibly the worst form of any climber Kim had
taught. She also had the cutest butt. It was a bad combination, especially
since the girl was only nineteen, way too young to his twenty-nine-and-counting.
Most days, it was easy to keep a professional focus—he wasn’t into gigglers,
especially teenaged gigglers—but this morning was a different story. Hours in a
sleepless bed in his aquarium-like loft, watching thunderstorms all night, had
left him edgy and distracted. And here was Shawna, bleeding energy with every
move over the gym wall, her youthful legs quivering like arrows drawing his eye
to her greatest asset. He couldn’t wait for the lesson to end, when he could
waste his own energy on the wall and sweat out his frustration. Assuming Damon
ever showed up to run his own damn business.
    “Falling,” Shawna said.
    “Gotcha,” he said, bending the rope across the belay device
at his waist and activating the brake. He leaned back