Chapter 37 Jules
JULES
Still somewhere in a DC alleyway, covered in dust, having barely escaped the tunnel with our lives, Linc’s gaze hovers over me like he’s memorizing every detail of my dirt-streaked face, his eyes heavy-lidded in a way that makes my pulse skip.
When he pulls my face to his again, our lips are poised inches apart. His breath brushes across my cheek, warm yet unsteady.
My pulse counts down. Three, two, one.
Once more, our mouths collide.
Kissing this man is all-consuming—scrambling my head, flooding my heart, turning my knees wobbly.
He shifts the angle of his head and I press closer to the hard wall of his chest. My breath catches, and for a moment it seems like the world holds its breath too.
Want pinwheels through me, sharp and sweet and terrifying.
Delightful shivers cascade down my spine as his mouth moves over mine with an urgency that steals what’s left of my thoughts. This is nothing like the decoy, almost-kiss—a distraction for passersby.
This is real.
Every careful boundary we’ve maintained shatters like glass.
My fingers tangle in his hair, and he makes a low sound in his throat that I feel more than hear. His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, down my arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake. When he pulls me flush against him, I lose track of where I end and he begins.
This kiss consumes me like fire—bright and wild and impossible to contain. My breathing turns ragged, matching his, and I realize I’m trembling.
He breaks away long enough to catch his breath, his forehead pressed to mine again. He lets out a heavy, happy sigh that makes my heart blip.
Then his lips find mine once more, and as if we realize we’re no longer escaping the jaws of death, it turns softer. We’re not at risk of dying.
Though whatever burns between us could be far more dangerous.
I never knew a kiss could speak so clearly. It’s like he’s saying, I see you and I need you and I’m scared of losing you all without uttering a single word.
The connection between us hums like it’s alive, electric, and undeniable.
I finally understand what people mean when they talk about falling in love.
Because that’s exactly what this is—a freefall with no safety net and no guarantees, just an overwhelming certainty that I’d rather crash with Linc than stay safely alone on solid ground.
When we finally break apart, I’m convinced that I’ve forgotten how to form coherent thoughts.
“We should …” I start, then stop because I have no idea how to finish that sentence.
Keep kissing!
“Go back …” he starts, voice rough.
To kissing!
Our eyes meet, his whiskering at the corners with amusement.
We break into laughter. At the absurdity of everything that happened. At us actually getting along as Jules and Linc, not Yulia and Dirk.
Finally, he says, “We need to regroup. Shower.”
“Lie low,” I add.
And hopefully, I can remember how to act like a normal human being instead of someone whose entire nervous system was rewired by a kiss in an alley.
I somehow manage to remain cool under pressure. Until we get back to the hotel and I shower.
After barely escaping with our lives from the underground tunnel, my hands shake as the hot water washes away the dirt, unlocking the reality of how the crushing weight of tons of concrete could’ve buried us alive.
We could have died. The voices of the people chasing us echo in my ears.
Who was it? Why were they looking for me?
Dad. The debt. They were thugs, no doubt. He knew plenty of those.
But in the blur of everything that happened, I could’ve sworn one of them said the name “Drecken.”
I give my head a little shake to dismiss the stomach-clenching anxiety, only for it to be replaced by another kind of nervousness.
Linc and I kissed.
We kissed while covered in tunnel dust and adrenaline, and it was desperate, like the world was ending yet life-affirming, completely insane, and … perfect.
After my shower, wrapped up in a cocoon of soft cotton, I curl up on the couch while Linc paces by the windows, both of us maintaining a careful distance—like we’re a pair of jumper cables, sparking with electricity. If we close the space, this whole place could combust.
Breaking the silence, I say, “That was some major National Treasure type action.”
“Like the movie?”
“Complete with cobwebs.”
“I thought you were thinking more like Indiana Jones.”
“Does that make me Marion Ravenwood?” I follow with as much of a laugh as I can muster.
Linc saunters over to me, wraps his hands around my waist, drawing me to him. It’s a new sensation and I like it. The weight of his arms. The warmth from his body. It’s welcome.
He says, “I was always an Indie fan.”
“A casual scoundrel, a real maverick.”
“He always got the girl.” Linc’s lips quirk.
“I’ll admit, though, that I was also a big fan of Benjamin Gates from National Treasure. He was smart, clever.”
“Is that so?”
I tip my head back to get the full view of this massive man. He shaved after showering and from behind his glasses, his eyes sparkle. “As for Indie, I thought he ended up rather lonely in the end.”
Linc considers this and with a tip of his head, he says, “Maybe because he wasn’t looking for the right treasure.” He nuzzles my neck and whispers, “Jules.”
I close my eyes and enjoy the trail he kisses along my collarbone like I’m a treasure—a jewel.
His lips brush the hollow of my throat, feather-light and tender. My breath hitches and tingles bubble through me. He pauses there, breathing me in, before pressing one more gentle kiss to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
Everything inside me melts, goes liquid and soft.
But then he says, “You’re shaking.”
I’m unraveling.
“It’s been a while since … well, never like … I’m—”
He nods, assuring me I don’t need to explain. This is new. We’re on uncertain ground, thankfully, it’s stabler than in the tunnels, which brings to mind our flight to safety.
“Do you think they’ll find us here?” I ask, voicing the worry that’s been gnawing at me since we surfaced.
He gathers me closer in his arms as if to say anyone who wants to get to me will have to go through him. I certainly don’t want him to take unnecessary risks on my behalf, but I feel secure here, together with Linc.
He says, “I signed us into the hotel using a pseudonym.”
“Seriously?” I shift uneasily. “Should I be concerned about how good you are at subterfuge?”
His mouth quirks upward. “Let’s say I have resources.”
Right. Resources. When I’m in his embrace, I forget exactly how wealthy Linc is, how different our worlds are. It’s just us. The notion makes me feel small and insignificant, reminding me of when Iva Katz, his ex, with her exclusivity halo, looked me up and down with disregard, dismissing me.
“We need to be more careful,” I say to distract myself, whether from the hopelessness I feel about our future or the situation at hand, I’m not sure.
“Yeah.”
“That was so sketchy down there. We could have been killed or trapped underground indefinitely.”
He squeezes me tight and muffled by my hair, he says, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
We order delivery—chicken sandwiches from a nearby place Linc loved when he was a student. The local news airs on the television screen. He reaches for the remote, probably to change the channel, but freezes when the reporter’s voice catches our attention.
“… two men were rescued this evening from what appears to be a sinkhole. The men, who have not been identified, were excavated by emergency crews after a section of historical foundation collapsed beneath a commercial building.”
Linc and I exchange a look and flop onto the sofa.
The reporter continues, “Allegedly, they were with a pest control company, inspecting the sublevels, when a section gave way. The structure remains sound and the victims are being treated for general injuries at a local hospital.”
“Those were the guys chasing us,” I whisper.
“Check Point Secure must’ve thought they were us.”
“Good thing we got out when we did.” I sink deeper into the sofa, the reality of our situation fully hitting me.
“One of those men said ‘Drecken.’” Linc glowers.
So he heard it too. That means these weren’t goons sent by my father’s loan shark. “Do you think this could have to do with the insurance fraud I discovered?”
He goes very still. “I’m afraid so.”
I rub my temples. “But I’m just a low-level worker.”
“You’re the CEO’s son’s executive assistant. My father wants me to take over the company. Me, not Maxine Drecken.” He looks sharply my way. “If he’s involved in the fraud, it could be because he doesn’t trust her and thinks I’ll keep quiet or ...” But he doesn’t finish his thought.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say gently.
“That’s not a conversation I’m eager to have until I build a stronger case.”
“I’ll help.”
“I can’t let you get any deeper into this than you already are. Jules, it’s not safe.”
“As you said, I’m your assistant. I’m going to do my job …” I start. Before he can argue, I add, “In for a penny …”
He lets out an unsteady breath and leans his elbows on his knees. “Jules, there’s something you should know—”
Nerves already jangled, if it’s about Taylor, after that kiss, I can’t hear about his past romances. I interrupt, standing abruptly. “We need to find that private library while we’re still here. Then we’ll turn our attention back to the discrepancies and insurance.”
It’s best to stick to the facts, be methodical, and solve this mystery. After that, I can consider the one plaguing my heart.
The next morning, after a night of restless sleep filled with dreams of collapsing tunnels and being chased by human-sized termites, I find Linc already awake.
When he sees me, relief relaxes his shoulders as if he’s thankful I’m still alive after our brush with death …
or that I didn’t steal away in the middle of the night.
We start our research immediately, cataloguing all the libraries that ever stood in this city, making note of the ones that remain.
We detail important dates and any historical relevance.
It’s early afternoon when we finally make a positive match.
The private library referenced at the Memorial is still standing and operating as a historic site, open to the public.
As usual, Linc has a car waiting. As we zip through traffic, the events of the last few days trail me, and I cannot help but keep a wary eye out for shady guys lurking around.
Linc remains close to me as we stand at the impressive gates of Tudor Place, a Federalist-style mansion built in 1816 in the heights of Georgetown.
“It doesn’t even feel like we’re in a city,” he says.
“We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” I mutter, approaching the elegantly manicured grounds of a home that was once occupied by notable families and hosted the rich, famous, and influential.
After paying for admission, we enter the vestibule, steeped in US history, the house having been once owned by the granddaughter of Martha Washington.
As we admire the antique décor, I say, “No disguises. No fake identities. This is significantly less likely to get us arrested.”
“Let’s not speak too soon. Just stay on this side of the velvet ropes.” He eyes me like I’m tempted to test out a particularly cushy silk chair in the parlor.
We wander through the elegantly appointed rooms until we reach the “office.”
“Do you think the letters could be hidden somewhere in here?” I ask.
Linc shakes his head slowly. “Unlikely. I don’t imagine the owner of the home would’ve let Abraham Lincoln occupy his personal office. Remember, he wasn’t even president yet.”
“So there must be a library elsewhere.”
“Let’s hope so.”
We continue walking, getting an amazing view of the Potomac from the second floor, until we filter back to the first floor, using a back set of stairs. Down the hall, Linc goes still.
“Here it is,” he whispers as if we’re still covert when, as far as anyone is concerned, we’re regular tourists, appreciating history.
The library is dimly lit and consists of polished wood and towering bookshelves that contain centuries of knowledge. We poke around until a docent appears and asks if we have any questions.
Only a million.
We try to play it smooth. Do we succeed? That’s up for debate.