The Fight In Us: A Brother's Best Friend College Romance (The Four Book 4) Becca Steele (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

The house I was aiming for was one of a row of four-storey Georgian terraces, each one split into separate apartments. My destination was the very top floor, but I hit the buzzer for the second floor and hoped for the best.

“Yeah?” A slow, lazy drawl came from the speaker.

I hit the button to reply. “Pizza delivery for 3b.”

A huff came out of the speaker. “Wrong buzzer, dude.” But I heard the welcome sound of the door unlocking, and I hurried inside, quietly closing the door behind me. As I’d hoped, there was a cleaning supply cupboard under the stairs, and after easily picking the lock, I settled inside to wait.

By the time I exited the supply cupboard, stretching, the entire building was dark and silent, other than the emergency lighting that dimly illuminated the hallway. Avoiding the security cameras, which basically only focused on the external doors, I crept up the stairs, all the way to the top.

Pausing outside the door, I took a moment to regain my breath while I studied the lock. I was not a locksmith by any stretch of the imagination—the basic padlock on the supply cupboard was pretty much the extent of my skills, but lucky for me, Martin Smith had recently replaced his standard lock with a keyless pin pad that could be operated remotely. Something that I’d found out accidentally when I’d been going through the email records Weston had acquired, and had sparked the beginnings of a plan in my head.

Turning on my tiny key ring torch, I carefully swept it over the shiny keypad. Thanks to the surface, I could easily see the fingerprints over six of the numbers. I memorised them, then stepped back for a moment while I thought about the combination. These keypads gave three chances before you were automatically locked out of the system, and if I was unlucky, an alarm would also alert Martin Smith. So I had to act cautiously.

Fortunately, I liked a puzzle. Turning over the numbers in my head, I tried to line them up with what I knew about him. Most people when choosing a pin code would pick something that they’d easily remember—something meaningful, rather than a random string of numbers.

I immediately ruled out his date of birth since the numbers didn’t fit, although it would have been too obvious of an option anyway. The only numbers that fitted, based on the information I had…it couldn’t be, surely. Then again, it was clear that he hadn’t had any contact with his ex-wife, so I was guessing their split hadn’t been amicable.

Holding my breath, I typed in the date of his divorce and hit Enter.

TWENTY-FOUR

The light at the top of the keypad turned green, and I breathed a sigh of relief, slowly and carefully turning the door handle after pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Before I entered the apartment, I used the little antiseptic wipe I’d brought with me to go over the keypad quickly, although I doubted that my fingerprints would even be noticeable with the smeary prints that were already on there.

After that, I entered the hallway, closing the door softly behind me. Inside, everything was dark, which I was grateful for. Tiptoeing along the carpeted floor, I made my way towards the furthest room on the left. An easy search on a popular property website had brought up the floor plan of this place, so I knew the layout already.

My destination?

Martin Smith’s bedroom.

Or more specifically, his phone.

There was a sudden yowl, and a ball of fur and claws launched itself at me.

Thinking fast, I spun away from the cat and opened the door to my right. The kitchen.

The cat flew through the door, and I spun again, yanking it shut, pausing at the last second so that it wouldn’t slam. Easing it closed, I ignored the outraged hiss. Nothing was going to detract me from my purpose.

Inching along what felt like the world’s longest hallway, I finally made it to the bedroom. The door was ajar, and I peered through it before even thinking about opening it any wider. Of course, the bedroom had to be pitch-black. I could barely make out anything.

Time to use my trusty torch. Pressing the little button to turn it on, I directed the beam into the palm of my hand, then carefully pointed the edge of the beam at the floor.

My heart was racing. I’d done stuff that other people would probably consider dangerous or ill-advised, but this…I’d never broken into someone’s house before. Although, I guess there hadn’t been any actual breaking in, since I’d used his passcode.

It was doubtful the police would see it that way, though.

As usual, I blocked those thoughts from my mind, allowing myself to become a shadow. My heart rate slowed, and my breathing became more even. Sweeping the torch across the floor, I took in the room at a glance. The lump in the bed that was a sleeping Martin Smith, the dresser against the far wall, a glint of metal…

There.

On the bedside table, next to a glasses case, was his phone.

Crouching down, I moved with agonising slowness, testing the floor in front of me with my toes before I dared to put my weight on it, hoping that the floorboards wouldn’t creak and give away my presence. When I finally reached the bedside table, I waited for a moment, listening to his breathing and reassuring myself he was still asleep before I turned my attention to his phone.

It seemed to take forever as I inched it off the table and into my hands. My palms were sweaty, and the phone slipped before I managed to steady it against myself. Resting it on my knee, I eased open the zip pocket of my trousers and pulled out a tiny metal pin. I used the pin to pop open the slot on his phone that housed the SIM card and currently empty SD card slot. Taking out the little