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“Emily,” I called out through the bathroom door.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” she yelled back.
“That’s not what this is about,” I said. “This is about something else. Don’t you have to check in with your handler?”
“What?”
“You check in every morning at 8 a.m. and then at night. Did you manage to do it yesterday while I was gone?”
She was quiet for a little bit, then replied, “Yeah.”
“Good. You have to check in today, or he will get suspicious.”
“Okay,” she said. “But they were already a little suspicious yesterday anyway. Apparently, his phone signal got messed up, and he didn’t get any of my earlier calls. He might think I’ve been compromised. What do I tell him?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “Tell him that you’re staying with me now and that you managed to convince me with some sob story about your dad and losing your apartment or whatever. If he thinks you’re close to finding something, he might overlook it.”
“He won’t buy it.”
“He will,” I responded confidently. The man was a clear opportunist for sending her on this mission. If I was truly the man they thought I was, I could have killed her already. That meant he cared less about her well-being than he cared about capturing me. “Trust me.”
17
EMILY
I was on the floor in the bathroom, trying not to freak out.
Oh, God. What the fuck had I just done?
Last night, I slept with Chris for reasons I still cannot fathom. My overwhelming desire had clouded my judgment, making all my reasons run out of focus. My memories were a haze of pleasure and pure unadulterated passion, and they all combined into a murky mixture, so it was hard to pin down exactly why I did what I did.
But now, in the bright light of the day, everything was coming into sharp focus—a sharp humiliating focus that had heat and self-loathing spiraling throughout my body.
I’d just had sex with Chris. Twice. Chris, the man who was possibly responsible for killing more than a dozen people. And the man who was holding me hostage.
Just what was wrong with me?
I’d always known I had horrible taste in men, but it felt like I hit rock bottom by sleeping with a murderer. How on earth was I going to live with myself after this was over? How could I look at myself in the mirror, knowing I was still attracted to him even after learning who he was and what he’d possibly done? How could I accept that I had asked for it this morning too?
I wasn’t too asleep to remember the sensation of his tongue between my legs, and I could still feel the sticky wet mess he’d left behind. Even now, as shame spread through me, there was still that tendril of desire to do it again.
And that was the worst part of this whole thing. Because I didn’t want to stop.
I finally got to my feet after five minutes of near-hyperventilating, refusing to allow myself to feel bad anymore.Old things have passed away; all things have become new.That was what Mrs. Turner used to tell me whenever I told her how much guilt I felt for my past.
She would shake her head and say,Old things have passed away; all things have become new.
That was just how I had to look at it from now on because there was no other way to do it. I made sure the door was locked before I dropped the covers and stepped into the shower. The warm water washing over me did make me feel slightly better, but more so now that there was the determination to not beat myself up anymore.
I made a mistake. That much was clear. But I didn’t have to let it define me, neither did I have to let it haunt me for the rest of my life. People did much worse things than sleep with the wrong men.
All I needed to do was not do it again.
After I was done showering, I swallowed hard and steeled myself, wrapping the towel securely around my body before I unlocked the door. I peeked out of the bathroom first and was relieved to find that Chris was no longer there. There were clothes laid out on the bed—a pantsuit that looked like something one would wear in one of those high-powered law firms.
I crept closer and frowned when I looked down at it. The outfit looked very expensive, with the stitching and embroidery on the front speaking to its value.Did he want me to wear that to work today?
He must have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken the time to lay it out. It still had the tags on, and my eyes widened even more when I saw the Chanel name on the tags attached to the pieces.
