Page 34 of The Billionaire's Wife

She nodded and handed me my ID back. “Put anything metal, including cell phones, into a tray for the scanner, then walk through. Wait behind the tape line on the other side.”

I did as she said, taking a second to double-check my pockets for any stray metal that would set things off. I wasn’t excited about the prospect of a pat-down. When I was convinced I wasn’t going to make the thing beep, I stepped through the archway.

Not a peep. Excellent. The basket holding my pocket items and my briefcase chugged through the X-ray and into reach. I grabbed them and reloaded my pockets as Faith went through the same ID verification with the guard. After a minute, she stepped through and joined me.

Faith hadn’t brought anything with her besides an ID.

I’d tried to talk her into bringing her records along, but she’d insisted that since they were all on her laptop, she didn’t want to risk turning it on until she had a better idea of how things were going to shake out.

I hadn’t pushed.

I’d convinced her to come back home with me. I’d convinced her to let me help her. That seemed like enough. At least for right now.

I crossed the lobby to the desk. “Tristan Lee and Faith Clarke for Special Agent Orbison.”

“One moment.” The guard-slash-receptionist-slash-whatever barely glanced up before she started typing. She clicked and typed some more, then went through the process of activating two badges, each with a huge, blue “V” on it. She hooked them to lanyards then placed them on the counter in front of me. “You’ll each need to wear this at all times. You have to swipe for the elevator and to request a floor. These will only work for the ninth floor, where you’ll find Special Agent Orbison. Once you get to nine, check in with the reception desk, and they’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you.” I took the lanyards and offered one to Faith before looping the other over my head.

Faith followed suit.

“The elevators are through the turnstiles.” The woman gestured vaguely to her left.

I guess that was helpful? I strode to the turnstile and tugged on the badge. It had a reel under the clip that allowed it to extend for swiping. With a beep, the two partitions slid open so I could pass through. They snapped closed quickly behind me.

No one was sneaking in on someone else’s swipe here.

Faith pressed her badge to the sensor and hurried to join me.

We crossed to the elevators, and I pressed the call button. Nothing lit up. Faith pointed, then swiped her badge on a sensor near the button panel, then pressed again. This time it lit.

I shot her a smile.

The smile I got in return looked sickly.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I would have loved to put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze, but I didn’t want the people watching on the inevitable cameras to think there was more between us than there was. Same issue with taking her hand.

I settled for a whisper. “It’s going to be all right.”

“You don’t know that.” Her swallow was audible. “What if this was a terrible idea?”

I sighed. “Even if it is—which I don’t believe—it’s still the best of the options.”

“Is it?”

The fear and uncertainty in her eyes nearly undid me. I didn’t know what I would have said if the elevator hadn’t chosen that moment to arrive. We stood aside as a small group of men in suits strode out. Each one glanced over at us as they passed, and I could almost feel their gaze lock on the visitor badges.

We stepped into the elevator. This time, I remembered to swipe the card first and then press nine. When the doors closed and the car began to rise, I looked at Faith and injected as much confidence as I could into my voice. “This is the right first step.”

It didn’t take long to reach our floor. The car didn’t stop along the way—was that because we were visitors? I wouldn’t put it past the FBI to have some way to program the elevators to work different ways for different badges. The front desk had said we were only cleared for nine.

We stepped out into a sterile reception area. Leather chairs were pressed up against any empty wall space. Thick beige carpet covered the floor. A young man sat behind a tall, wood desk.

He looked up from his computer. “Can I help you?”

I walked closer. Faith hung nervously back by the elevator doors. “Tristan Lee and Faith Clarke for Special Agent Orbison.”

The man nodded and looked at his monitor. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Take a seat. Someone will be out to get you soon. If you’d like coffee or water, you can help yourself.”

---