Chapter Twenty Three #2
“I didn’t come with you to be the look-out.
Two pairs of hands make lighter work.” I hesitate in the doorway, my eyes sliding back to the hallway.
If he finds us in here, he’ll be pissed, but there’s no turning back now.
I’m the one who needs to pick the locks that are inevitably inside, and Harper is already on her knees, rifling through a sideboard.
Puffing out a frustrated breath, I step over the threshold.
The office is exactly the same as last time, all dark wood and leather, the desk chair positioned like a throne facing the door.
The smell hits me first, old paper and expensive cologne, power bottled and left to go stale.
For a heartbeat, I just stand there, absorbing the gravity of where we are, the sheer audacity of rooting through Phillip’s office while he’s away on business, before the urgency kicks in and I move.
“Drawers,” I murmur, already heading for the desk, my fingers testing locks that I knew would refuse to budge.
Harper drifts to the bookshelves, running her hands along spines, pulling out notebooks embossed with crests and initials that mean nothing to us.
I crouch again, working the letter opener into another lock, my jaw clenched as sweat prickles at my forehead.
The seconds stretch out, every tiny sound amplified in my ears.
Somewhere nearby, a clock ticks obnoxiously loud, trying to distract me from the clicking of the lock.
I fight the urge to rip it off the wall just to quiet my nerves.
At last, the lock gives way with a stubborn click and the drawer slides open, revealing meticulously stacked documents and a leather-bound planner dated from years ago.
I sift through them, noting the Waversea Academy headers.
Without really knowing what I’m looking at, I pull out my phone and take photos of everything.
Then, I shove the drawer shut and move on to the next.
My movements become faster now, adrenaline spiking as Harper mutters under her breath behind me, narrating her own lack of luck.
The disappointment between us becomes diluted by desperation.
Walking out of here with nothing is a defeat I can’t accept.
Harper shifts along the bookcase, pulling free another notebook and flipping through it, her shoulders slumping when she finds page after page of blank, cream paper.
“Well, at least I know what not to buy Phillip for Christmas,” she deadpans.
I grunt, doubting that Rhys is even invited home for the holidays.
Moving to the filing cabinet in the corner, my fingers brush over the cold metal handle and test the lock.
This one has no give, its keyhole is more complex and far too small for the letter opener.
I chew on my inner cheek, wondering if I can pick it up and carry it out of here until the sound of footsteps snaps my attention upward.
“Harper?” Rhys’ voice echoes faintly down the hall. At first, between the shifting of her hair on her receiver and the thudding of my pulse against the mic, she doesn’t hear him. But then he shouts louder, and panic flares between her green eyes.
Turning too quickly, she stumbles, taking my heart down with her.
I try to catch her, but there’s no crossing the room in time, and as Harper flails, she manages to latch onto a golden bookend on a nearby shelf.
In theory, it should have toppled with her, but aside from a minor tilt, it remains stuck in place.
Further down the bookcase, the wood pops free of its frame, the sliver of space becoming visible.
Harper and I share a stunned expression, but there’s no time for caution.
Diving for the bookcase, I pry open the secretive door and peer inside. Luckily, there’s no tripwire waiting because Harper shoves her hands against my back, and I stagger inside. The door is closed behind me, the wood slotting back into place.
“Harper, what are you doing?” I hear Rhys ask, although the sound is muffled.
I turn then, realizing she’s not behind me.
She’s still in the office. Pressing my face to the narrow crack left behind, I just about make out the silhouette of Rhys hovering in the main doorway, his posture rigid.
Trusting her to handle him, I tear my gaze away and switch on the torch on my phone.
At first, shadows claw at the edges of my vision, tricking me with what is just out of sight until I locate a light switch and flip it.
The bulb flickers with lack of use and hums slightly, but once fully on, it’s surprisingly bright.
Taking in the small room surrounding me, my breath catches despite myself.
Stacked boxes line the walls, labeled with neat, precise handwriting.
Folders bulging with paperwork and files look like they haven’t seen the light of day in years, dust coating their brown sleeves.
A safe sits eye-level with me in the corner, matte black and imposing, with a code release.
I disregard it, having no idea of where to start with hacking the code, but there’s enough here to keep me busy.
A slow grin spreads across my face, adrenaline buzzing through my veins.
I still have no idea what I’m looking for, but anything relating to Della Mae would be a step in the right direction.
Anything that could give me a heads up on the who, what and why behind blackmailing both Kenneth and Peterson to put Harper’s life in danger.
As far as sourcing leverage goes, this is the freaking jackpot.