Chapter Thirty ADAM
Chapter Thirty
ADAM
My stomach feels like it’s being churned in an industrial mixer.
The little spitfire had my phone hacked. This brand of crazy would make me run in the opposite direction if it were anyone else. But God damn it, if I don’t want to give her everything.
In my office, I was overwhelmed. The scholarships. The way she sincerely saw me. Finding out she invaded my privacy. It all came in waves, one after another, crashing over me, knocking my footing loose, warping my sense of reality.
Then I felt guilty. She’d finally opened up to me, giving herself so freely, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.
I arrive at the restaurant first, wearing that pressure on my shoulders.
Doing my best not to check the entrance every two seconds, I fiddle with the water glass in front of me. Smile at the waiter. Act like my insides are not chewing themselves apart.
Five minutes later, the hostess greets her and leads her in.
It’s the first time I’ve truly looked at Michelle like I would a date. The same mousy demeanor hangs on to her, barely masked by some makeup. She can hardly make eye contact when I rise to pull out her chair.
But I plaster on my most charming smile as I rise to greet her.
“Glad you could make it, Shells.”
“I have to admit,” she murmurs, tucking a strand behind her ear, “I was a bit surprised you asked me out.”
“We’ve known each other a long time.” I pull out her chair. “Finally worked up the nerve.”
Michelle blushes. “Oh… For a while, I thought you and Jackie—”
Don’t react. Push it all the way down, or this’ll never work.
“She’s my biggest client. It’s just business.” I drop my voice and glance sideways, like it’s a repugnant subject I’ve had to swallow too many times. “You know how it is, you don’t have to like the people you work with.”
She looks surprised, but she doesn’t take the bait.
Ironically, it feels like I’m cheating. And the worst part is, I have to make it look real.
I hate every second of the painful small talk I have to drag out of her.
But each coy smile, every brush of my hand, draws her out a little more.
And I keep going. I lean in, my fingers brushing hers.
Pretend to laugh at the dull story about her high school trip to a power plant, like I’m not considering waterboarding her to be a better option.
All I can think about is another dinner. Another night.
Jackie’s laugh in the Venetian sun flashes in my mind. I wish she were the one sitting across from me.
But instead, I’m sitting down for a “romantic” dinner, flirting with someone who should be behind bars right now, for threatening, sabotaging, and making Jackie live in fear for the past six months.
I push the bile down.
Something feral at the base of my brain screams at me to fix this through brute force.
Shake the truth out of her. End this charade now.
But Ruiz’s words burn a hole in my eardrums. “Don’t mess this up.
” An hour ago, across the street, in a dim room smelling like dust and mold, a burly agent was pinning a small button to the breast pocket of my blazer, the round plastic a little heavier than it should’ve been.
“We small town folks have to stick together.”
“Yeah, it’s hard… around these people….” Her voice falters.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I assure her. “Acting like they own everyone. You don’t want to know how many times I wanted to throw Carter out the window in college.”
She giggles.
“The prick was always strutting around like he was better than the rest of us.” The lie flows smoothly. Mostly because I gave Carter a heads-up about what he was going to hear on the surveillance tapes.
In reality, he spent most of his college years studying in his room or the library.
“Sometimes I think it’s unfair, you know.”
I nod sympathetically. “That they got everything served to them on a platter, while people like you and me fought for every inch.”
Michelle drains her second glass of red wine, her cheeks blooming pink.
“I mean, they have so much money, and the stuff they’re working on in the labs…”
I shift closer, threading my fingers through hers. Every time I touch her hand, I want to scrub my skin raw. But I lean in anyway.
The plan Ruiz came up with when we met in Carter’s penthouse rings clear.
“You want me to charm it out of her?” The words taste awful.
“You know each other, and you’ve got,” Carter waves his hand, searching for his words, “let’s say, the kind of appeal that works.”
“No time for an undercover agent,” Ruiz explains. “It would take too long to gain her trust. You’re the fastest route in.”
Silence stretched, gunky and uncomfortable, as they waited for my answer and the pieces fell into place. This was not about my strategic mind or people skills.
It was all about my past. Every mistake, every headline…now a tool to protect her. What a sick irony.
“Regular people like us never benefit from that.”
“See, you get it.” She digs her teeth into her wine-stained lips. “They only see money, while other people suffer.”
“It’s unfair… but what can we do?” I infuse my voice with as much sadness as possible. “We’re nobodies. They have all the power.”
A sly smile stretches slowly across her face. “My boss is not infallible.”
My blood runs cold.
Not only at her words, but how proud she is. Like taking something from Jackie gives her pleasure.
I keep my expression neutral and force myself to stay rooted a few inches from her, letting the smell of wine on her breath wash over me.
The way she talks about Jackie makes me see red. I come close to breaking character, but I don’t, because she needs me.
“Come on,” I coax. “It’s not like anybody can touch her.”
Michelle hikes a shoulder. “There are ways to take what you want from people like that.”
The weight of this moment presses against my ribcage. Jackie’s safety hinges on every word that comes out of my mouth tonight.
“I like how you think.” I rub circles on the back of her hand. “You’re a dangerous mix.” A disbelieving laugh scrapes my throat.
She hides her smirk behind the fresh glass of wine just delivered by the waiter.
“It’s not just a fantasy.”
“Come on, Shells.” I pat her arm, hoping to spur her on.
Michelle’s gaze is unfocused at this point, and she leans closer. “It’s not! When you know the right people.”
My brow arches credulously, but I don’t push. I can see she’s burning to tell me.
“I met someone at the support group for caregivers. We got to talking. About the burden of it all. Especially that they can’t talk to us.”
“OK…”
“She was saying how expensive all the experimental treatments are. That her family struggles to take care of her sister. She felt the same pain, you know.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
Her brother’s been bedridden for years, with no hope of recovery. On a deeper level, I could understand her frustration. The desperate need to do anything humanly possible for the people you love.
But this was not the way.
“We were talking about wishing to be in their head and …” She takes another gulp out of her glass. “I remembered about the Neural Interface.”
My pulse spikes. “Should I know about it?”
“No,” Michelle giggles and presses her finger to her lips. “Shhh. It’s a secret.” She looks like she’s enjoying knowing something I don’t. “It could help so many people.” Her face changes with drastic speed into a scowl. “They keep it to themselves. Like they don’t have enough money and privilege.”
“Yeah, but…what’s your plan? March into R&D and take it?” I laugh. “Life’s not a spy movie, Shells.”
She seems irritated by my flippancy. “I’ll have you know my friend has…colleagues…who know how to…retrieve things.”
I scrunch my face, as if in confusion. “Repo guys?”
An amused exhale relaxes her features, and she looks at me like I’m a toddler who doesn’t understand object permanence. “More subtle than that. Mmm.” She takes another sip. “This wine is so smooth.”
My fingers inch toward her glass over the tablecloth. “Maybe let’s drink some water.”
She snatches the stem and pulls the wine to her chest, stage whispering, “I’m not drunk. It’s the truth!” Then she inches closer. I want to bolt, but I stay still until she’s so close, her lips nearly brush my ear. “I told them where to look.”
As she leans back, my eyes widen.
“Not just a little secretary, right?” Her satisfied grin is almost disturbing. “The Rawlings might not want to help, but there are good people out there, fighting the good fight.”
“The good fight, Shells?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Bombing buildings?”
“Pffft.” She takes another gulp. “It was just some smoke. Was never gonna hurt anybody. I told them what the best time was for the show.”
“The Bureau doesn’t see it that way. They’re after you.”
She chokes, spilling wine on her dress and the tablecloth.
“What?” She gasps, trying to pull her hand away.
I tighten my grip.
“Don’t make a scene,” I say coldly. “The FBI already knows everything. And they are here.”
Glasses clink, and laughter drifts softly around us in the warm, dim lights. Our table, meanwhile, feels encased in an icy bubble. My heart is hammering out of my chest, every beat a prayer that her slip was enough.
Panic begins to crumple her face. “I want to leave,” she whimpers.
“At this point,” I say evenly, “you’re going to have to trust me, if you want to avoid a life sentence.”
Michelle freezes, gaping at me. “Life…”
“Accomplice to the bombing. Attempted murder. And a few other charges that stack up.”
“I never…she wasn’t going to get hurt.” Her words tumble over each other. “She was just leverage!” she says in a hoarse voice.
For a split second, I almost pity her. Until I remember Jackie’s face after the break-in. Her trembling hands in Eliza’s kitchen after the car chased her down.
“I get it,” I say gently. “You wanted to make it easier for your family. But you put Jackie in danger.”
Her fingers fly to her mouth, trembling as they press over her lips. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
“Let me help you, Michelle. I’m the only one in your corner right now.”
I sit quietly, letting the pressure build until she spills everything.
She’s tearing the hem of the crisp tablecloth. “They said the company was never going to release it to the public.”
“It wasn’t ready.”
“Or the Rawlings wanted to sell it in secret! I wanted to help,” her voice cracks. “So many people need it!”
Michelle collapses in on herself, head buried in her hands, silently crying. “She has everything already!” she croaks, and some heads turn our way.
“Those two agents over there,” I nod toward the table where Ruiz and her partner sit, “will take you into custody, and you’ll tell them everything.”
“But my family…”
I hate to pull this card. “The FBI can protect them. If you cooperate.”
Ruiz stiffly rises and crosses over the restaurant, placing a firm hand on Michelle’s shoulder.
She doesn’t resist. Her head lowers, tears dripping behind her hair.
But it’s her small nod, a tiny tilt of surrender, that finally untwists the rope of dread that’s been sneaking around my lungs since that day at the ice rink.
My girl is going to be OK.
For the first time in months, I can breathe.
And as soon as she wakes up from Eliza’s bachelorette party hangover, I’m going to tell her everything.