30. Anderson
30
ANDERSON
“ M eet me at the Chamberlain Museum at six.”
That is all I put in the text. It’s where we reconnected after so many years apart. Where I bought a night with June. The night that started my downfall, according to my father. But even with the evidence stacked against her, I can’t help but think of it as the night I finally found what I was made for.
Her.
I pull up early, unsure of what I’m going to say. The building is all classic architecture and stately landscape, and every flourish is lost on me because I am still shaking. In anger. In fear.
He can’t be right. Can he?
He made a compelling case in his office, but I can’t help but think he’s wrong. I feel it in my gut. My twisting, nauseated gut. Have I even eaten today? I don’t think so. I’d skipped breakfast because of worrying about the cops and lunch for the same reason. Now this. I know I need to eat to keep up my strength and make good choices, but the thought of putting food in my mouth sends another wave of nausea through me. It’s not happening anytime soon.
Not until I know the truth. I need to hear it directly from June.
If, by some horrid miracle, she is a spy, then she won’t come out and say it when I confront her. I’m not dumb enough to think she would do that. Not after months together. If she could fool me for this long, there’s no telling how she’ll react to a confrontation.
Hell, if Dad’s right, she might try to kill me. All it would take is for her to admit she’s been honey-trapping me this whole time. I am pretty sure the shock would be enough to kill me.
How can this be happening? How can I doubt her like this? But after what he showed me in his office, how can I not?
It feels like I’ve been on a roller coaster for the entire day, and all I want is to get off and lay down so the world stops spinning. I lean on my car—something I never do so I can preserve the paint job—and gulp as much fresh air as possible. It’s still cold, even though winter is gradually loosening it’s hold on Boston. A slow process, as always. But the crisp air helps to clear my head, as much as it can be at a time like this.
The museum closed at four, thankfully, so no one is around. Just me in an adjacent parking lot, listening to a mild breeze wash through the barren trees. It’s dark already, and I’m looking forward to summer when the days grow long. Assuming I’m not in prison and/or single, it’ll be nice to spend the days with June. Maybe I can get her in a bikini at a beach somewhere. One of those retro numbers to hug her hips and tits just right. She has an inner bombshell she keeps under wraps, but I plan to unwrap her, layer by layer.
Again, assuming she’s not a fucking spy.
And I don’t go to prison.
When did my life get this fucking complicated? Oh right. My last night at this museum. That was one hell of a dull event until I found out about the auction, or rather, until I found out June was going to be in that auction. From that moment on, my life has been nothing but insane. Both good and bad in equal measure.
A car pulls up with a ride-share light on the dash. I forgot she doesn’t drive much. Hell, she walks to work, so it’s no wonder she had to get a ride share. My mind has been elsewhere all day. It’s a miracle I know my damn name right now.
She gets out, and my heart pinches at the sight of her. The driver leaves us. June’s black trench coat hugs her ample curves, making her even sexier because it makes me wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath. Of course, she is—it’s fucking cold out. I can see her black tights, too. But in my mind, she’s naked under that thing. For that matter, in my mind, she’s almost always naked. Son of a bitch, I am hooked on this woman. But the question remains. Am I looking at the love of my life, or am I looking at the woman sent from hell to ruin me? Only time will tell.
Her boots make the hottest clicking sound as she strolls to me with a worried expression on her perfect face, hands tucked in her pockets. Her bag dangles on her shoulder—she came from the office. She smiles up at me, and I crush my mouth on hers. Before I know anything for certain, I need one more kiss to build a dream on.
When we pull apart, she looks confused or stunned. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
If she’s a spy, I have to play this close to the vest. Be smart. Be tricky. Trip her up. Lie if I have to. Anything to get the truth out of her. Whatever it takes. My family, my freedom, everything is at stake. I have to be as ruthless as she is. What can I say to interrogate her while keeping in mind this could all be some terrible mistake? She could be innocent. It’s June. Of course, she’s innocent. How could she not be?
No. I have to play this right. No benefit of the doubt. Not now. Say something brilliant that will get a confession. Do it now before you lose the nerve.
“Are you a spy?” Well, that wasn’t particularly stealthy of me.
At first, she just blinks at me. Then she lets out a gasp of a laugh. “What?”
“It’s a simple question, June.”
“Um, I don’t think it is. What the hell are you talking about? Why are we here, of all places? What is going on? Baby, forgive me, but you look like shit right now, and you’re scaring me.”
I huff a laugh. I’ve been scared all day. Only seems fair?—
“And what are you talking about spies for? How can you even ask me something like that? Are you high?” She sounds like herself. It’s either the complete truth, or she’s the best actress I’ve ever seen.
In law school, they teach you about how people act when they’re guilty. Some people fall into the trap of buying into the whole body language thing, but I never did. Body language is often culturally based, so what’s a tell in one country is perfectly innocent in another. But one thing most liars do is obfuscate and turn the questions around onto the asker.
Like she is now.
I have to harden my heart to her to say what I need to say. No mercy. “June, are you using me to help destroy my father?”
Her eyes dip down for the briefest moment. A flash of shame.
My heart sinks. This can’t be … oh my fuck. No. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Everything, all these months together … it’s been a goddamned lie. I grit my teeth to stop it from raging out before she can answer. As sick as I’ve felt all day, it’s nothing compared to now. My heart is shredding on her every breath.
June worries her bottom lip. “It’s not like that?—"
“What is it like?” I snarl.
She looks frightened, and I hate that. I don’t ever want her to be frightened of me, but fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She takes a breath, and it’s labored, like she can’t breathe right, either. “I didn’t know?—"
“Didn’t know what?” I shout.
“I wanted to tell you everything,” she blurts, “but with the cops sniffing around, it was never the right time?—"
I take her upper arms in my hands to steal her attention. “Start fucking talking before I lose my fucking mind!”
Tears trickle down her cheeks, sparkling in the parking lot lights. The sight would have broken my heart if it weren’t shattered already. She sobs, “Andre … he’s trying to take over everything your father has ever touched.”
There it is. A confession. Sort of.
“What did you do?”
She gulps. “I helped. I didn’t mean to. I thought he wanted to buy some companies. That’s not out of the ordinary. But until right before we left for Vermont, I didn’t know they were companies your dad is involved in. It looked like legitimate-ish purchases?—"
“Then why are you gathering dirt on the board members?”
Her eyes widen. “How did you know?—"
“My father has spies everywhere, June. You know that!”
She takes several breaths, close to hyperventilating. “I was gathering dirt to make it easier for Andre to buy the companies. I swear, I thought the whole thing was just business! I didn’t know it was about your dad! I had no idea! Please, baby, you have to believe me!”
I have to ask it. I don’t want to. But I have to. “Did you trick me into killing Neil?”
Her jaw goes slack in shock. Only half a word comes out. “Wha?”
“Did you? Was he some other mark you had to get rid of?—"
She shoves me off of her. Her voice sizzles in rage. “How fucking dare you?”
“Just tell me!”
For a moment, we glare at each other. But then her face softens into a look of abject pity, even though she is the one in tears. “What did your father do to you? How could you ever even … I know this is him. All of this. I didn’t go into the project for Andre for the purpose of destroying your father, but right now, I wish I had. He has you so fucking twisted up that I don’t know who you are.”
One last terrible question. “Has this been the plan all along? From the night of the auction? Use me to get to Elliot?”
She laughs so angrily that I know I’ll hear that sound in hell. “Are you actually asking me that?”
“Answer the question, June. I need to hear you say it.”
“I shouldn’t dignify that question with an answer. This conversation should have never had to happen. You should have more fucking faith in me than this, you asshole!”
I whisper the only word I have left in my heart. “Please.”
“No! Are you happy now? No, I didn’t go into the auction to get to Elliot! No, I didn’t trick you into killing Neil! No, I didn’t do anything you’ve accused me of on purpose! Andre is using me to get the information he wants, and I think he’s doing it to rub salt in the wound once he buys those companies because it’s the only thing that makes any sense—why else would he hire me, right? It can’t be because I’m a fucking excellent lawyer,” she throws her hands up in a violent shrug, “No, of course, it has to be to piss off Elliot just that little bit more by using someone close to his family, because Andre is almost as big of an asshole as you are, and?—"
I grab her face and kiss her. It’s messy and unwelcome, and I don’t fucking care. She’s so indignant about this that I know it wasn’t her. She’s not a spy. She’s the woman I love, and I have said possibly the worst things I could ever say to her, and all I want to do is make up for that, but she pushes me off of her.
“The fuck was that? Do you have any idea how furious I am with you right now?”
“I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you, June. I’ll swear it in blood if you like. Today has been one of the worst days of my life, and I am at my breaking point. I am so fucking sorry for what I said. But I had to hear it from you. Dad’s evidence?—"
“What evidence?”
“Footage of you in different places with materials he thought you shouldn’t have. And then he spun a tale that sounded like a textbook honey trap, and with the footage … it all lined up in the worst possible way. I have hated myself since the moment I started to believe him, and I will keep hating myself for a lot longer for actually saying those things to you. Baby, I am so fucking sorry.”
Tears are chased by others down her face. Her nose goes pink. Her voice crackles. “We’re supposed to be a team?—"
I wrap her up in my arms, and to my surprise, she lets me. In fact, she clutches onto me tightly, like she needs this closeness as much as I do. We stand there in the cold night, just holding each other for the longest time. I am the world’s worst fiancé, and if she wants to call it off, I can’t blame her. This is all my doing. Every bit.
But when we finally look at each other, I know this isn’t over. She chirps out, “I am hanging by a thread right now. More hugs.” Then she holds her arms up for another hug, and I am ecstatic she wants another. Only then do I feel the warmth of her body. I think I’ve been numb for hours.
I murmur, “Do you hate me?”
She counters, “Do you hate me?”
The thought feels foreign. “Absolutely not.”
“But I snotted on your expensive coat.”
I laugh and bring her face to mine. “You can snot on whatever you want.”
She giggles. “How is it that feels like romance after this conversation?”
I laugh again and kiss her. It’s like the iceberg in my heart is finally starting to melt.