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As we were working, I was already writing down notes about each section of the penitentiary, which Riggs could later give to his editor. To be honest, I loved doing this more than any job I’d held in the news. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was fascinating. It made me rethink my entire way of operating. What if moneywasn’tthe most important thing after all? What if it was passion for life that gave you satisfaction? There was something about capturing a moment in time—a moment you were present in, that belonged uniquely to you—that called out to me. I thought about all the times I’d pulled out my album pictures from the attic to revisit my favorite memories, and realized I liked timeless things. Pictures were timeless. The news? Fluid and ever changing.
The prison we were in had operated from 1842 to 1966 and housed some of the most lethal criminals and murderers in New York’s history. At least 215 men had been executed here. It felt surreal to be in such a place. I hadn’t felt this challenged, this alive, this acute, in a long time.
We were walking through a long corridor with high ceilings and cobwebs and dirt everywhere. The place looked like it was caving in to itself.
“Didn’t you say you have a few more prisons to take photos of tomorrow?” I pried, trying to keep up with my fake husband’s pace.
He was still snapping his gum, flipping through the pictures on his camera without slowing down. “Yeah. Why? You in the mood to make more cash?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. It wasn’t just the money. I was genuinely having fun.
“Two more grand wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted demurely.
He laughed, slinging his camera over his shoulder. “I bet.”
I was surprised by how professional Riggs was. Ever since we started working, he had been laser focused. He was a completely different creature and had a strong work ethic. He was serious, talented, innovative, and above all ... he took really bloody good pictures. I would hang them on my wall if I could ever afford them.
Well, maybe not the ones we were taking now, of rusty pipes, but still.
“Let’s see how your trial run goes.” Riggs cut a corner suddenly, and I followed his lead.
“Rubbish!” I cried out. “You know I’m the best employee you’ve ever had. Possibly theonlyone, but also—”
I sent my foot forward and suddenly felt nothing but air beneath it. We were on the third floor of the building. I had a cartoon moment as I looked down beneath me and realized I was in the air.
Oh, shit. I’m going to die.
Riggs grabbed the back of my dress quickly and pulled me with a low growl. I staggered backward and fell on my arse.
Holy hell. He saved me from a sure death. One of the building’s outerwallswas missing.
“You okay?” He squatted, offering me his hand. I took it, still panting. Adrenaline laced through my veins like poison, and I felt sick with fear and relief.
“I ... I think so.Whoa.”
“Yeah.” He glanced around us, dark fury clouding his features. “I’m going to rip Emmett a new one for not telling me about this missing wall. You sure you aren’t hurt? You took a tumble.” His hands were all over my face and shoulders, and they were shaking. Why were they shaking? And why did I find it more pleasurable than any encounter I’d had with BJ?
We were standing in a tiny cell. The brick walls were completely covered in moss, and there were dozens of old, doorless laundry machines stacked in lines. But the most interesting thing was the missing wall. Apart of the building had collapsed, which made for an amazing view. Endless green fields with high weeds swayed under the sun.
“I’m sure.” I dusted myself off. “I’m a little shocked, but I’m fine.”
“Good.” He rolled his tongue over his inner cheek. “Because you on the floor with your panties exposed brought back good memories.” He grinned.
What ...?Ohhh.The night at Gretchen’s. Of course.
But also ...Gretchen. That cow.
I hadn’t thought of her for so long, too busy with the fake wedding, the visa, and BJ. Had Riggs been in contact with her? He hadn’t talked about her since the day at her office, but I wasn’t so stupid to think they didn’t sleep together anymore. Which made me queasy. Sharing a knob with Gretchen Beatty was a bitter pill to swallow.
“What’s wrong, Poppins?” Riggs peered into my face. I really had my heart on my sleeve, didn’t I? “You sure you aren’t hurt?”
“Yes, yes.” I wiped my forehead. “Brilliant.”
I didn’t want to ask him, but I didn’t want to not-ask him either. I needed to know.
It was already three o’clock, and we still hadn’t had our lunch, so I decided this was a good opportunity to redirect the subject.
“I packed us some lunch!” I said, perking up. “You know, because I’m the best assistant in the whole world and you should absolutely hire me tomorrow. Shall we take a break?”
