Once again, he was struck by a wave of nostalgia once he had pushed himself away from the kitchen’s bar and left his forgotten Chinese behind as he followed her up the flight of stairs. His champagne-tinged gaze couldn’t help but wander over the pictures of the smiling man in the pictures. His heart both sunk and clenched; both sadness and hatred fought a war inside him before he once again settled his attention on the woman who led him through the dismal lane of memories. He wondered how she was really doing with it all. She kept her back straight and her confidence high, but he was assertive enough to know that it was all a show.<br/><br/>Most of him wanted to blurt out the truth of it all instead of keeping his mouth clamped tightly shut. The he-man still thudded his fists against his figurative chest and hollered out for him to tell her that her boyfriend of four years had not been who she thought he was. That Oliver was not who she thought he was, either. Or that he was clambering tooth and nail to fit all the missing puzzle pieces together for his own sake as well as hers.<i>Too soon</i>, he silently reminded himself. Let her process his death first.<br/><br/>Without a word, as soon as they rounded the corner and she gestured to the envelope containing the pictures, he moved behind the desk in the office and lowered himself down into the chair. He glanced up at her once with a reassuring smile that he only hoped was convincing, then pulled the pictures from their confinement. His brow dropped immediately as his eyes wandered over the pictures. They were nothing too suspect, and the pictures weren’t the highest quality, but they were enough to set off alarm bells. Especially with someone as intelligent as Genevieve. A nondescript car, complete with the license plate on display. A couple of buildings that triggered memories in his mind’s eye. A pair of men, talking in the distance from where the photo was captured. Various other things that could have very well simply been the start of a photographer’s portfolio. But he knew. And he had an inkling that Gen knew something more was up than her former man’s fledgling hobbies.<br/><br/>After a long moment, he raised his attention back up to her and cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you about my sister, Ophelia?”<br/><br/>The dead one. Nathan probably wouldn’t have talked about her much, even if the two had very nearly been a blushing bride and an anxious groom. Her death had been too painful on the other man, near devastating to Oliver himself. Gen would have known of her death, that she and Nathan had been an item. Not why she had died.<br/><br/>“She was murdered.. years ago. Nathan was keeping these pictures for me because I was going off the books to further investigate. I almost got caught. Nathan kept these in order to cover for me so no one knew what I was doing.”<br/><br/>It showed in his eyes; there was more to this story than he was willing to tell her. Sliding the pictures back into the envelope, he stood and tucked it underneath his arm. This time, it was he who led them out of the office and in the direction of the bedroom. “You said that the other things are in the bedroom?”