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"Well, of course not, Mr. Steele." The playful voice of Brooklyn Baker carried an unmistakable smirk with it. "I'm not a delinquent."

She was walking with her feminine, hurried steps, hips and ass swaying with the motion of her feet as she walked towards a large building.

Darren frowned, continuing toward his car, his mind sharp with calculation. "But you did enter my house."

Brooklyn's lips perked a bit, but she kept listening.

"You knocked. Saw the door was open, and you went in — maybe out of honest worry at first," Darren continued, keeping his tone level, though there was still an edge to it. "But when you saw it was empty, you went in, did a little digging. You found the receipt."

A soft chuckle crackled through the receiver. "Wow. How impressive. I didn't know you were such a detective, Mr. Steele. Ever thought of being an investigative journalist?"