Chapter 11
I hear a faint snore come from beside me in the backseat of the Bentley. Looking over, I see that Rayven is fast asleep, and my lips tilt up in a smile.
I knew when she text me she had been drinking, but I didn’t expect to find her trashed out of her mind. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being at that bar and something happening to her, so I had Brent drive me to make sure for myself that she would make it home safely.
I’ve desperately wanted to meet up with her again since our last time—she’s all I think about—but it’s been hell at work. We text back and forth when we have a chance, but lately that hasn’t been enough. I guess it’s not enough for her, either, by the messages she sent.
My father decided to take my advice and called off the deal with Roberts and Sons, so we have been in negotiations with them ever since. It’s been a lot of meetings, late nights at the office, and convincing.
Rayven is passed out next to me and we have no idea what her address is, so I guess I will be taking her home with me. “Brent, take us to my place.”
“You sure about that?” His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t have a choice. I’m not waking her up.” Reaching over, I start to tilt her head onto my shoulder, but she moves and drops her purse. The contents fall out all over, so I turn on the overhead light, bend, and try to pick them up.
What I see sends waves of shock, unease, and confusion through me: a police badge.
I pick up the piece of metal, put it back into her purse, and grab the next item: her driver’s license. I look at her photo closely: her age is twenty-six, three years older than what she’s supposed to be; it’s issued in New York; and her name is Kylie Sanders. I find her address, tell it to Brent, and he changes route once again. I put the rest of her belongings into her purse except her keys, and look at the woman sitting next to me in disbelief.
Twenty minutes later, Brent pulls into her parking garage. I open my door, step out, and walk around to her side. She doesn’t wake when I open her door, or pull her out and into my arms; she doesn’t even stir when we ride up the elevator inside the building. With her still in my arms, I unlock her front door, walk into the small apartment, and find a hallway.
Taking a chance on the second door, I search for a light switch and turn it on long enough to find her bed. Turning down her covers, I lay her on the sheet-covered mattress then put the comforter over her. I leave her bedroom door open, go into her kitchen, and search through her cabinets until I find a glass. I fill it up with water, try the other door and flip the switch so I can open the medicine cabinet, find some pain relievers, and take them with me.
I set the water and bottle of pills on the nightstand next to her bed, kiss her forehead, and then lock up on my way out. She has a mat lying right outside her door; I take a chance and lift it. Sure enough, there is a spare key. I pick it up, flip it around my fingers for a second, and then decide to take it with me. I might need to do a little digging on Kylie Sanders.
I get back in the car, and Brent starts driving me home. I loosen my tie. “She’s a fucking cop.” I look in the rearview mirror.
Brent’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”
“She’s a fucking cop!” I yell, slamming my fist down on the seat beside me.
“She’s undercover?” he asks, more as a statement.
“I don’t know. Look into her. Her name is Kylie Sanders. She’s from New York so check out about the kidnapping of a girl in New York.” I run a hand over my face and lean back into the seat.
“Will do.” The ride is silent the rest of the way.
Brent parks the Bentley, and in a daze I make it to my penthouse. I go over to the wet bar and pour myself a scotch. What have I gotten myself into? I walk over to the couch, glass in hand, and sit slumped over, with my elbows on my knees.
Is she trying to bring down Magdalene’s or is it because of the killings? Anger ensues at the thought of her going after the killer; she could get hurt. I’m angry at the revelation that unfolded, yet I have this need to protect her. My heart squeezes inside my chest; I realize I have grown feelings for her. But...how can I continue with her when I’m one of Magdalene’s clients? If this was just an undercover job, then she would have never followed through with fucking me. Maybe she feels something too.
If I wanted to have something real with her then she will eventually have to know who I really am. Can I bring myself to tell her? She could have me arrested, and I would lose everything. Would it be worth it just to maybe have a real chance with her? Would she even want me if she discovered who I was? So many unanswered questions. I’m too exhausted to try and figure all this shit out right now. I finish my drink in one long swallow, put the glass in the kitchen, and head to my room to call it a night.