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I had lied in court.
Under oath.
I’d go to hell for that whole situation, I knew it. It was my first-class ticket down into the underworld where the Devil himself would spend eternity making me suffer.
“Hey,” Smith’s voice called, sounding far away. It wasn’t until his hand closed around my elbow that I seemed to shock back out of my own thoughts.
“Sorry. I’m just… not feeling great today,” I admitted.
“Here, sit,” he said, leading me by my elbow over to the couch, helping lower me down. “Is it because of Maren?” he asked.
“No. No. I was surprised she knew. But she was more… telling me I was free now. And told me to fire the staff and change the passwords because the senator still has his… hands on the controls of my life.”
“I think I should look into Maren. It’s not a name I recognize. What’s her last name?”
“Banks. Maren Banks. She is independently wealthy. She’s more on the outskirts of the social circles. Goes to the charity events because she genuinely wants to help, not to rub elbows.”
“Interesting. Quin will want to know about her. Do you think she… suspects an…”
“No. No. She just was happy that I can take control of my life now.”
“Aren’t we all?” he said. And, what’s more, he meant it. “And she is absolutely right. Soon. You just have to hold on a while longer. Then your life will be yours again.”
But right then, it belonged to the wealthy upper echelon of Navesink Bank.
The next three days went almost exactly the same.
I dressed. Ate breakfast with Smith. Entertained guests until almost dinner time. Choked down some of Lydia’s dinner, then said goodbye to the staff.
Them leaving was my favorite part of the day. Because Smith would order in Chinese or pizza. And we would eat out of the box or cartons right there in the family room in front of the TV, watching shows he recommended because I could never pick anything, commenting on things as we did so, occasionally just talking about life in general between episodes for long enough that bedtime came long before I wanted it to.
And he went off to his room.
And I went off to mine.
Each day became a torturously slow parade that eventually led to the perfect grand finale.
Time alone with Smith.
And the morning of New Year’s Eve, I woke up, lying in bed with a new, unexpected, though not wholly unwelcome, thought.
I wonder what it would be like for him to kiss me at midnight.
FIVE
Smith
There was a kidnapping in Navesink Bank.
And my awful ass thought was Oh, that works in our favor.
And I was going to hell for that.
But it was true.
Even Senator Ericsson couldn’t lean on the NBPD too hard since they were all-hands-on-deck trying to chase down leads about where she might be. And, as anyone who watched any kind of crime TV show knew – real or scripted – they knew that first twenty-four hours was vital.
That, along with trying to keep the masses calm on one of the craziest party nights of the year all but ensured that just about everyone forgot about Theodore Ericsson.
At least for the time being.
From what Lincoln could get from some of our contacts inside the police department, no one was even looking at Jenny anyway.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite fixer in the whole world,” Gala greeted me after I waited on line for fifteen minutes. They really needed more staff with how popular the place was, but I imagined Gala and Jazzy’s speed wasn’t for everyone. Even now, on one of the more exciting nights of the year, were they playing New Year’s type music? Nope. They were deep in a Alice in Chains hole. And it was loud.
I had left Jenny with Lincoln after he came over to fill me in since Quin was serious about us not having much of any of this case communicated via text, figuring if we were going to be stuck in, it was time to stock up on some things. Snacks. A bottle of champagne that I didn’t mention, but was hoping she didn’t find completely inappropriate.
This new year was a new beginning for her, after all.
Then I ordered Chinese and while I waited, figured I would hit up She’s Bean Around.
I was under strict orders to be back in under an hour. And I planned a quick drop by my house to pick up something. Which was cutting it close. But Lincoln’s date could wait.
It was important.
“I have a feeling you say that to everyone in the office,” I told her, shaking my head.
“I sure do. But you know I only mean it when I am talking to you,” she told me with what could only be called a smolder in her eye. But this was Gala. She smoldered like most people smiled. On cue. Knee-jerk.
