What She Did

by Veronica Larsen

  "You do."

  "Good. Because we are."

  Owen settles a finger under Emily's chin, turning her to him so he can plant a small kiss on her lips. She doesn't quite smile, but her face lights up in amusement, as though she's just received his silent message.

  Darling, you're doing that thing again.

  Owen mercifully strikes up a conversation with Sebastian. About work. Life. Bullshit. Emily slips away from her boyfriend's side and comes to stand by me.

  She nudges me when I refuse to look at her, a smile threatening to burst on my face.

  "You've been holding out. My ovaries nearly combusted shaking his hand. You hitting that?"

  "Emily," I warn, through a nervous laugh. "Shut up. I need help."

  I get a glimpse of the back of the mayor's head disappearing past a wide archway leading to the next room. Scanning the crowded space around me, I calculate my next move. There's a large staircase by the entrance, leading up to a landing. No one seems to be upstairs or anywhere near the staircase. If the mayor's office is upstairs, I'm in trouble. No way I'd be able to sneak up those long stairs in these heels without attracting attention.

  "What is it? What do you need?" Emily asks.

  She's eager, always eager for trouble.

  "His office," I whisper, maintaining a casual expression in case anyone's looking our way. No one seems to be, and the party sounds around us are loud enough that it's doubtful anyone can hear me.

  Emily lifts her hand to her collarbone and fingers a necklace there. A pretty infinity symbol with tiny diamonds on it. "Pretend we're talking about my necklace," she says quietly.

  I almost snap at her to take this seriously until I understand what she's doing. With the charm of her necklace between her fingers, no one looking our way would think much of the way we whisper with our heads bowed.

  "There's a door to the left of the stairs," she says, keeping her eyes on her necklace. "That's his office."

  The majority of the party guests are gathered around the large living room, which happens to face right in the direction of the staircase and the solitary door right underneath it. This isn't good. No guests linger around the staircase, but most everyone faces in that direction. Someone's bound to notice me slipping into the room.

  "Are you sure that's the office?"

  "When Owen and I got in earlier, I saw him coming out of it and caught a glimpse of a desk inside." I don't know how long until the mayor will come back this way. The moment he sees me; the jig is up. He will know I'm up to something and at best, not take his eyes off me, and at worst, have me thrown out. I'm prepared to take the fall for getting caught, but how will this effect Emily and Owen?

  Sebastian...

  My stomach sinks. If the mayor was really behind my attack, I might be putting all of them in harm's way.

  "Emily, go with Owen. It's better no one knows we're close, just in case."

  "What are you...?" She trails off, frowning. But she knows she can't ask me questions. Instead, she takes my arm and ushers me to the entryway, closer to the staircase, as though needing to lean on it to fix her heel. But in a lowered voice, she says, "Go get closer to that door, in thirty seconds no one will see you slip right in."

  "What? No, Emily--"

  In my relief to see her, I'd forgotten the reason I haven't told her about the anonymous gifts. About the photograph sent through the printer to taunt me. I wanted to keep her out of it. Keep her safe. And now here she is, offering to jump in headfirst for me.

  Before I can finish my rebuttal, Emily Stone walks off, heels clicking against the entryway floor as she makes her way back into the crowded living room. She stops suddenly and grasps the shoulder of one of the waiters carrying a tray of appetizers.

  I hold my breath, silently begging her not to do anything too stupid, or too dramatic.

  Don't, Emily. Don't...

  Her legs seem to give out from under her, and the waiter is forced to drop the tray to try to catch her. She collapses in a dramatic heap, along with the tray of tiny food plates crashing onto to the floor in a deafening clatter.

  Without pausing to look at the reaction of the commotion, I hurry toward the door a few feet away from the staircase, and slip inside the room.

  I press my back to the door, breathing fast. And despite the way my heart seems intent on punching a hole through my chest, I still manage to cover my face and laugh.

  I love that crazy bitch.

  Gathering myself, I refocus on my surroundings. The room is dimly lit compared to the house beyond the door. The brown walls and dark wood furniture probably meant to give it a cozy feel, instead lend to the notion of entering the deepest part of a cave.

  I hurry forward, passing the black leather couch to reach the wide, mahogany desk. My heart rate increases even further, nerves clouding my mind until I have to verbally remind myself what I'm here for.

  The Polaroids. Polaroids.

  Where would he keep the Polaroids?

  The desk must have a half-dozen drawers and I start opening them, one by one, and rummaging carelessly through their contents. The floorboard creaks outside of the door and I snap the drawer shut and stand upright.

  The doorknob turns. I dash to the front of the desk, just as the door opens, bringing with it a rush of sounds from the party outside, as well as a man I know quite well.

  "What the hell are you doing in here?"

  CHAPTER 32

  Reed

  I SHUT THE DOOR THE moment I step into the room, not interested in having to explain to anyone why Amelia and I have wandered into the mayor's private home office.

  Not until I get answers myself.

  Amelia's rooted to the spot, staring at me wide-eyed. Her mouth parts in response to my question, but she doesn't have a chance to speak. Footsteps sound from the other side of the door.

  Someone else is about to join us.

  If possible, Amelia's eyes round even further, and fear blares within them. Instinct drives me forward. Snatching her arm, I pull her through the only other door in the room, hoping it will lead us to another room. Instead, we step into a closet, luckily one just big enough to fit us both inside. I pull the door closed, plunging us into pitch darkness, just as the other door's handle clicks open.

  Footsteps carry into the office. Multiple sets.

  Something brushes past my uniform sleeve and, not being able to see a damn thing, I reach out, setting my palm flat against...her stomach?

  She goes still and we listen to a voice rising up from an indiscernible whisper to a hiss.

  "...because someone recognized her. Now I want you to find her and escort her out of my house. Quietly."

  "Of course, sir."

  A pause.

  One set of footsteps seems to cross the floor, and the door opening and shutting suggests they've left.

  Just one person left. Footsteps move farther into the room and away from this closet. There's a creak of furniture.

  I squeeze the space between my eyes. It's ridiculous to hide in the damn closet instead of trying to come up with a decent excuse as to why we'd be in here in the first place. Had we stayed in the office, perhaps we could've pretended to have been drunk and stumbled in for some privacy. It would've been less embarrassing than being caught like this.

  A loud exhale sounds from the office, and a string of mumbling I can't discern. This is followed by another creak of furniture and footsteps. The door creaks open again, and the footsteps mix in with the sounds from the party before the door closes, cutting it all out.

  Her head lands on my chest, bringing up the sweet smell of her shampoo. I go to open the closet door, but she seems to anticipate my move and says, "No, wait. Just wait."

  I feel my way up to cup her face, my fingertips land on the soft spot under her ears and are met with frantic pulsing under her skin.

  She's terrified.

  "What's going on?"

  My question makes her sag against me and my arms wrap around her instin
ctively, giving her a soft squeeze. She breathes in, long and shaky.

  "Fuck," she says on another exhale.

  She's still trembling. I lower my face to the top of her head, unsure why she's so upset.

  "Were they talking about you?" I ask, my voice so low it might as well be a rumble.

  She goes still.

  "I don't know." The moment she says this I know it's a lie. "Fuck, I can't stop shaking."

  I reach past her before she can stop me and open the closet door a crack. The dim light from the office is enough to fill the small space, illuminating her terrified face.

  The moment the light lands on her, she springs into action. She pulls away from me to rush back into the office, jogging behind the desk and rummaging through the drawers.

  I'm taken off guard, staring at her. She's searching through the drawers in a frenzy, not caring about disrupting what's inside and giving away that she was here.

  I stand at the office door as a dozen thoughts tick in my head.

  She lets out a sudden gasp.

  "Oh my God," she says, holding up a stack of pictures.

  She stuffs them into her purse and hurries back to my side. My chest rises and falls in steady intervals, as I try to contain my anger. At first, she doesn't look at me, too focused on slipping off her shoes.

  She pulls open the office door a sliver to peer out, then looks at me and says, "We need to get to your car."

  "Not until--"

  But she doesn't wait for me to finish. She slips out into the hall, and by the time I come out, she's hurrying down to the front doors without a glance back to check who could be watching.

  I curse under my breath and follow her.

  "Where'd you park?" she asks, barely slowing to put on her shoes.

  I snatch her purse away and she makes a sound of protest, but falls in step alongside me. When I pull out one of the pictures she took from the mayor's desk, I nearly drop it.

  I'm not sure what I was expecting. But it wasn't this.

  A naked woman lies on her back, legs spread wide and back arched in invitation of the man's hand at the corner of the frame, penetrating her with the top of a champagne flute.

  The woman's face is partially obscured, and not having confirmation of who it is makes a fist clench at my gut.

  Amelia walks ahead of me, searching for my car.

  "Who is this?" I ask, surprising myself with the way I bite out the words.

  "Where's your car?" she asks, impatient.

  I check over my shoulder in time to see the silhouette of someone in the front doorway of the mansion.

  I pull my car key from my pocket and hit the unlock button, eliciting a double beeping noise and turning on the headlights. Amelia half-jogs to the car and I have no choice but to follow. When I reach her, she snatches her purse back and slides into the passenger seat. I get into the driver's seat, start the engine, and peel away in an angry squeal of tires.

  CHAPTER 33

  Amelia

  MY HEART THUNDERS IN MY chest, bringing a surge of energy that makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs. I can't believe I pulled it off.

  That was such a fucking rush.

  Sebastian's car speeds down the highway, his hands clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. Despite his anger, my own cheeks burn under the strain of the ear-to-ear grin threatening to split my face.

  "Do you realize the position you just put me in? You need to start talking," he orders, without glancing my way.

  I know he's upset, but the raw intensity coursing through my body only gains traction as I watch him. The lights from the road wash over him in waves, accentuating the sharp edges of his masculine face. The sight of him in his uniform kindles a bottomless craving only one thing could quell. He is beguiling. Sadistically attractive. The type of good-looking that tortures my insides and twists me into a feverish, gluttonous mess. Vivid memories flicker through my mind, bare flesh and panting breaths, and my skin prickles in carnal anticipation.

  "Pull over," I say, my breathing working up to a pant.

  He shoots me a look, eyes narrowing at the low and tempting way the words drift from my lips. His jaw remains locked in displeasure, but his stern expression only turns me on even more. He takes the next exit, and a few miles down the road, pulls into a darkened store parking lot, abandoned this time of night. Sebastian barely has the car in park before I lunge for him, taking his earlobe into my mouth and sliding my hand over the front of his uniform pants.

  "I need you," I breathe out, not caring about anything but the flames tickling the skin between my thighs.

  But Sebastian takes hold of my hand and forces me to look at him. His expression should intimidate me, would make anyone else cower in a corner. He's furious and waves of anger drift off of him. But in my enraptured state, it's only gasoline to an already dangerous flame.

  "Is it you in the pictures?"

  His question crashes into me and I instantly freeze.

  "What? No..."

  His shoulders sag a fraction as though this had been his biggest fear. I barely have the capacity to register this, my need for him is excruciating, wrapped around me like vicious tendrils. He releases my hand and it falls back to his lap, where I caress over his pants as I continue to kiss him.

  "You lied to me." His voice is low and angry, but betrayed by the passion threatening to edge into his tone. He's losing the fight against my touch. "You weren't there for Chief Sterling."

  I barely hear him. Heat pours from my lips in the kisses I trail from his earlobe to his neck.

  "What are you doing?"

  Never in my life have I felt such an urgent need. My heart thunders in my ears and my skin itches for his touch. I'm a raw nerve dying to be stimulated.

  "Fuck me," I beg, utterly gone.

  He shuts his eyes as though he's about to refuse, but a small sigh signals his surrender. He surrenders in the way he grows harder by the second under my touch. I clumsily work to free him from the fly of his pants. He's large, solid, and uncompromising, and when I take him into my mouth, the feel of him makes me moan.

  "Goddamn it," he says, raking in a breath. I weave him in and out of my mouth, peering up to see him stiffen even more in his seat. He reaches down and tucks my hair behind my ear to see me properly. His lids hang low over his eyes, and his voice is almost just a groan when he hands me a small square package and says, "Get on top of me."

  I pull my head back, a shaky breath leaving my lips as I roll the thin material over his solid erection. I hurry to straddle him, my dress rolling farther up my thighs. Our lips connect at the same moment our bodies do. I lower myself over him and let out a long, wistful sigh at how tantalizing it is to have him fill me.

  "Yes," I breathe out.

  His hands close over my waist to steady the wild jerks of my hips as I find a rhythm. We fill the car with quiet but rousing sounds, long moans and low groans. I can barely breathe between our eager kisses, mouths clashing as roughly as our bodies.

  "Damn it," he says, as though furious at his own lack of restraint. But his fingers clutch me tighter and I pick up my pace.

  I lose myself on top of him, winding over him between wild pants. Every minute I ride him, I'm swept further into undulated bliss. We're savages, starving for each other's touch and agonizing for release.

  I'm desperate to tease out the orgasm building up to a mania in my core. When it finally bursts from me, a wildfire that envelops and leaves me shaking and moaning out in a frenzy, he grips me tighter and goes rigid.

  We relax against each other and I press my face into the crook of his neck, satisfied. He tilts his head back against the headrest and breathes with me as silence comes over us and the darkness of the night presses in on all sides of the car.

  "Damn it, Amelia," he mutters again, though this time the words don't convey a struggle for control, but rather a sobering realization. "You've been lying to me all this time."

  I shut my eyes tight at h
is disillusioned tone, stomach sinking as I rake in a breath, taking in his scent as deeply as I can. Because I'm sure he's seconds from pulling me away. Maybe forever.

  CHAPTER 34

  Amelia

  IT'S LATE AND WE SIT in his car outside of my apartment. The last traces of pheromones have cleared our systems, and his demeanor has grown colder and colder the whole drive here.

  "I can't tell you who the woman is, but I can tell you she's not me."

  His jaw ticks as I say this. He tears his gaze away to stare out of the front windshield. I twist my hands together, thinking of how they might as well be tied. If I told Sebastian what I was up to, who I suspected was behind the events of the past week, he'd want to take matters into his own hands and blow the lid on my entire story. I'm too close to the finish line now to let that happen. This story is everything I've been working toward in my career. If anyone could understand the limitations of a job that thrives on closely guarded secrets, it should be him.

  "What are you using the pictures for?"

  There's harsh judgment in every syllable and every layer of meaning rubs against me, grating my already guilty conscience.

  "I'm not using the pictures. They're for an exchange."

  "An exchange of what? What's your story? Are you outing some affair the mayor's having?"

  "I can't tell you."

  He taps a finger on the steering wheel, his displeasure radiating in every tense tap during the extended silence. And every beat wedges more space between us.

  "You need to tell me something. I deserve to know what you used me for."

  "I didn't--"

  "Stop lying to me."

  He doesn't raise his voice, not even a sliver, but his tone slaps me across the face.

  I fall silent.

  He's intense. A black hole you can't encounter without being sucked into its depths. And though there were times I found him intimidating, he's never once made me feel afraid.

  Until right this moment.

  I'm afraid. I'm rendered speechless with the knowledge there's little I can say to make up for what I've done.