But not Millie.

He moved around the room and her master bathroom, opening doors, stepping into her closet.

She was a woman, she had shit, a lot of it.

But it was nothing a million other women wouldn’t have, clothes, shoes, bags, scarves, makeup, jewelry. Even the vibrator in her nightstand was normal and lonely. No other toys. Not that they’d had that shit back in the day, but they’d been young. He hadn’t introduced it to their play even if he’d been thinking about it just to give her something new he knew she’d get off on since she got off on everything he did.

Lost in his thoughts, he wandered down the hall, looking at the walls.

There were pictures of her cuddling her niece and nephew, smiling huge, looking happy at the same time disturbingly sad. Standing with her folks by a Christmas tree.

But not with her crew at a concert. Hanging at a party or a bar. Off on vacation. Goofing around.

He was feeling uneasy when he went through her living room, opening the drawers on her coffee table, exposing nothing but emery boards, tucked away remotes, pens and paper.

He was more uneasy going through her kitchen.

An appropriate amount of wine bottles in her rack. A bottle of vodka in her freezer, mostly full. A very good bottle of tequila and an excellent bottle of scotch in her pantry, the tequila not even opened, the scotch half drunk.

But not much food. There was stuff but it looked like enough for a day or two of consumption. It wasn’t stocked for a person who liked to cook and Millie had loved to cook. She’d also loved to bake. She was adventurous with it, skilled because her momma taught her well, and successful. They’d had spices. All different kinds of oils. Everything you could possibly need at the ready to make chocolate chip cookies, brownies, cake.

In her kitchen now, there were odds and ends, but nothing like what they’d had.

He stood at the back door, his eyes drifting through the space, his mind consumed with uncomfortable thoughts that Millie had not only been a ghost plaguing him the past twenty years.

She’d lived like one.

She didn’t exist.

Not even in her own fucking house.

Making a decision, he pulled out his phone and made his call.

“Yo,” Shirleen answered.

“Dig deeper,” High ordered.

“Say what?” she asked.

“Millie,” he replied. “Get Brody on her and you tell that guy he says one fuckin’ word, I’ll break all his fingers.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothin’,” he answered. “And that ain’t no blow-off,” he shared. “Just did a walkthrough of her house and not even sure she’s been breathin’ the past twenty years.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what I said,” High returned. “Nothin’. There’s nothin’ to the bitch.”

There was a moment of silence before, “High, gotta ask again, you know what you’re doin’?”

“I know what I’m doin’, just don’t know what I’m gettin’.”

“Now what does that mean?” Shirleen asked.

“If I knew, I’d say.” He turned and looked out the window of the back door, and Christ, windows in both doors. She was asking to get fucked. His eyes hit the studio. “Got shit to do, Shirleen. Call me when you got somethin’.”

“Am I gonna find something?”

More than he wanted to admit, he sure as fuck hoped so.

“No one can live twenty years this quiet, Shirleen,” he told her. “You’ll find something. Just wanna know what it is.”

“And we’re talkin’... ?” she prompted.

It pained him to start it the way he did, but he had to.

“Who she’s fucked. If she’s lived with anyone. What she spends her money on. Where she goes. What vacations she’s taken. Piece together her life for twenty years and give that to me. Yeah?”

“Yeah, High.”

“Right, later.”

“Later, and, High?”

“What?” he asked, hand on the door handle.

“You say you know what you’re doin’. Just sayin’, I sure hope you do.”

He had no response to that except a repeated, but firmer, “Later.”

“Later.”

He shoved the phone in his pocket, walked out, used his tools to lock up behind him, and then moved across the courtyard to the studio.

It was time to get to phase two of today’s mission and he was looking forward to it.

He didn’t even pause before he opened the door and stepped in. Eyes to her sitting behind her desk, he closed the door behind him and locked it.

High didn’t pay a lot of mind to the office. What he saw was like the house—pretty, feminine, but professional.

And again perfect.

What he saw of her was the same. Tricked out for work even if she was doing it in a little house behind her home.

He also saw her eyes were big and her lips were parted.

“Up,” he ordered.

She did not stand up.

She asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Up, Millie, and panties down.”

At that, her mouth dropped open but he saw the flush hit her cheeks.

Then he saw her eyes flare before they narrowed.

“Are you crazy?” she asked.

He moved in to the space and repeated, “Up, babe.”

“You are crazy,” she whispered, still eyeing him.