Chapter 5 #2
She ran her fingers over the items on the desk, lifted a pad of paper and a book .
. . nothing. Turning around in the chair, she faced the bookcase.
Judging by the office’s location in relation to the bathroom she’d hidden in earlier, he couldn’t have been inside the office long when he’d hidden the envelope. Thirty seconds, tops.
He might have been careless so he could return to the party.
She stood and checked under the books, picture frames, and knickknacks that weren’t secured and let out a growl of frustration.
She gripped the back of the chair with her nails and swallowed down the rush of tears that stung her eyes.
Even after the hell she’d been through the last few hours, she’d still let Max down.
Her gaze dropped to the blasted desk drawer, and she felt an urge to smash the lock with the steel paperweight on the desk.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and she dropped to the floor behind the desk and switched off the flashlight.
She sucked in a breath and pressed her shaking hands to the floor.
Panic rushed through her limbs. If they caught her again, she might not survive.
Cupboards opened and closed at the wet bar and then footsteps retreated to the main deck.
Relief released the tension around her lungs, and she turned the flashlight back on and looked up at the bookshelf.
A small box on the bottom shelf caught her eye.
She’d already looked behind it, but from this angle, she could see a small lip indicating that the box opened.
Getting to her feet, she opened the lid.
A lone gold key sat inside.
Yes!
She pumped her hand in the air, grabbed the key, and turned to the desk.
She inserted it into the keyhole and turned.
It opened. Success tingled her fingers. She dragged the drawer open slowly, prepared to stop at the first hint of a squeak.
It didn’t make a noise. Inside, on top of a ledger, sat a crisp white envelope.
Even though she was 99.9 percent sure it was the same envelope Jeremiah had handed to Moretti hours before, she couldn’t risk making a mistake.
She ripped open the end and pulled out a small slip of paper.
Jenny Carter
9554 23rd Street
Dilby, Utah
This was it. All she had to do now was hand-deliver it to Max.
Snapping a picture and sending the info would be a heck of a lot more efficient, but Beanie had taken her purse and phone.
More importantly, Max had specifically said the information she was collecting was much too sensitive to text and the envelope had to be hand-delivered.
She stuck the paper back in the envelope and tucked it into the sweatpants she was wearing.
Almost done. She left the room, returned the flashlight to its spot, and dug quietly through the wet bar’s cupboards.
Tucked at the back of one of the drawers was a box of resealable sandwich bags.
Perfect. After snatching one, she tiptoed back to Rhett’s cabin and pushed open the door.
An empty room met her, and her shoulders sagged.
Thank god. She didn’t have the energy for another battle tonight.
Taking out the envelope, she placed it in the sandwich bag and sealed it.
If she got off the boat in one piece, she’d need to protect the information as best she could.
Knock, knock
The soft rap of knuckles on the door made her jump. She shoved the bag back into the sweatpants and retreated until the bed brushed the backs of her thighs just before Rhett entered. He grimaced.
“You’re awake, I see.”
She shrugged. “Just woke up.”
He folded his arms across his chest, seemingly questioning her honesty. Rather than squirm under his scrutiny a minute longer, she shifted the focus to him.
“You said you had a call to make?”
He nodded. “I tried. But Moretti stopped me to see how the interrogation is going.” He brushed past her, and the weight in his voice struck a chord in her. She tried to place the emotion, but only shame seemed to fit.
“What did you tell him?”
He dropped onto the bed. “That you’re starting to cooperate. I promised a full report by morning. He’s pretty bent out of shape about your presence. As badly as he wants to know who sent you, he wants to know what you came here for even more.”
She shrugged. “Tell him I’m a reporter who wanted some dirt.”
Rhett’s eyelids lowered as he surveyed her. “That could work. You’re pretty good at lying on your feet, aren’t you?”
“You could say that. The question is, how honest are you on yours?”
He slapped his palm to his chest and raised his eyebrows in mock offense. “If I weren’t talking to a criminal that would sting. I’m as honest as they come.”
She snorted. “You never lie?”
His gaze didn’t waver. Instead his stare turned hard, challenging. “Never.”
She lifted her lips in a smile and decided not to remind him of the oath he’d taken as an FBI agent. “Good. You promised you’d help me escape.”
Tension creased the skin around his eyes. “I said maybe.”
“You know they’ll kill me if I stay.”
He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “They might kill me when they find out you’re gone.” His words were heavy, resigned, as if he’d already made the decision and would suffer those consequences.
A small, very small, pellet of guilt ate through her stomach. She worked her lips together and took a step toward him. She drank in his tall, built form. Despite the fact that he was a cop, and a dirty one at that, his muscular body and brooding glare lit a fire in her abdomen.
She lifted her hand to his chest. His heart beat against her palm, the rhythm intensifying as she searched his face.
He didn’t look crooked. She wasn’t always the best judge of character, but Milo was.
There was always more to the story than what met the eye, and if this handsome stranger was willing to risk his life to help her escape, he was a decent human being.
She slid her tongue over her bottom lip and her muddled brain worked through a pile of words as scrambled as a haystack.
This close, his heat warmed her skin, and the fire in her loins made the delicate, neglected flesh between her legs throb.
She kept her stare on her knuckles, reveling in how small her hand appeared against his pec.
“Peyton,” he said, his voice hard and impatient, as if her touch pained him.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his eyes.
Their charcoal depths vacuumed the air from her lips.
“Thank you,” she managed to say. She swallowed and tried again.
“Thank you for what you did upstairs. For stopping them. I don’t care if you’re crooked, I don’t care if you’re only helping me because you know Milo and Serena . . . Thank you.”
His eyes softened. He brought his hand to her cheek and brushed her hair away from her face with his pinky. The touch was intimate, yet barely there. “You don’t need to thank me. Just get the hell out of here alive and promise me something.”
Her heart lurched. Of course, he wanted something. The question was what would her freedom cost her? Nervousness ate through her abdomen. “W-What?”
“Never come back. Stay the fuck away from Moretti and whoever hired you to do this. Deal?”
She worked her jaw and his eyebrows bounced impatiently. He might be as honest as they came, but she wasn’t. Only this time, for some reason, the lie that was forming burned her tongue and her lips almost refused to speak it.
“Deal.”
He nodded. “Good. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Wait,” she said, grabbing his dress shirt in his hand. “I need you to get a couple of things for me first.”
The line in his brow deepened, and for a second she almost smiled at his displeasure.
“What?”
“My wetsuit and purse, please.”