Page 29 of Wicked Scandal

Red flags are flying. Mayor Jenkins is definitely holding something over her head. Something that keeps her under his control. I could see it in her eyes when she opened the door and heard his voice.

This might be worse than I thought. I merely came to check on her—talk to her. But if my suspicions are right, the last thing I want to do is get her in any trouble.

As I pull my car out of the driveway, I look up at the house, noticing all the cameras attached. I understand being cautious as a political figure, but the amount of cameras installed on this house is a little over the top. So far I’ve spotted four…five…and now six, all on one side. Is he trying to keep people out, or keep one in, in particular inside?

Taking a sharp turn onto the dirt driveway beside their main house, my hands start to sweat with anxiety. This is a bad idea, but I need to know the truth.

The guesthouse sits back on a small amount of property surrounded by apple blossom trees and an abundance of greenery. Mayor Jenkins used to rent it out in the summers but haven’t for the last couple years. As far as I know, nobody lives here.

I’m actually surprised he doesn’t have this place wired as well. For such an overprotective man, he sure is dropping the ball here.

I bring my car to a spot directly in front of the house where the driveway ends. It’s much smaller than I imagined. Almost like one of those tiny houses people are buying these days.

Instead of getting out at the risk of screwing this up, I wait for Mrs. J. She says there are no cameras here, but after what I just witnessed at the front of the house, I’m not willing to take any chances.

About five minutes later, I see her walking briskly down a trail that connects the two properties.The way she keeps stealing glances over her shoulder reminds me of a teenager sneaking out, not a grown-ass woman who is in charge of her own decisions. Her arms are crossed tightly over the chest of a beige knit turtleneck that she’s paired with a pair of gray sweatpants.

It’s a strange combination and she wasn’t wearing that turtleneck before she opened the door. But I couldn’t pay too much attention with her husband watching. Something tells me she chose this outfit with the intent on hiding something from me, which makes me just want to tear it off her and demand to know all her secrets.

Gripping the steering wheel tight, I take a deep breath. Don’t do this Wilder, you’re the nice guy.

Once she’s close, I swing my door open and practically jump out. “Is everything okay?” I ask her, genuinely concerned about her nervous state.

She stares at me looking scared and confused. Every cell in my body is telling me to go to her and comfort her, but I’m not sure she would accept that right now.

“Why did you come here, Wilder?” Her voice gives nothing away. I can’t tell what she’s thinking at all and it drives me insane. She’s hiding from me. As if I have the capability of hurting her the same way I suspect her husband does.

“I had to see you,” I tell her truthfully. “I know it was dumb but I…I just had to and now I’m glad I did because you look like you could use a friend.”

Her hands drop from her chest. “We’re not friends, Wilder. I’m your teacher.”

Wow. Way to knock me off my fucking horse.

If she only knew what I know—that she is CatEyes—she might be singing a different tune. Her act has to be a show. Either that, or the guilt she’s feeling for building a friendship with one of her students is overpowering her desire to talk to me in person. I can’t tell her I know yet. I worry she’ll run away and shut me out. For now, I need to build her trust.

This word friend keeps coming up, and I think we both know it’s total bullshit. She doesn't need a friend; she needs to escape her abusive husband. And I don’t want to be her friend. I want to be her savior.

"I’m sorry,” she blurts out, defeat marring her features before she looks to the ground, like she often does with her husband. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but for your own good, please don’t come back here.”

I walk around my car and use my fingers to lift her chin. I hate when she tries to pull away, but I let her. “Your husband doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well,” she drawls, fixing her eyes on my car. “He should. Troy does not take kindly to people coming on his property. Especially when he’s not home.”

Instead of moving her head, this time I step into her line of sight, my chest nearly touching hers. “Then why’d you send me over here?” I ask gently as she finally looks at me. “Why not just tell me to go home on that note.”

“Because…” She takes a step back, as if she’s nervous being this close to me. “Because I was worried you wouldn’t go home and it would make things worse.”

I quirk a brow. “How can things get worse? Are things bad?” She doesn’t know just how much I have seen, but I want to see if she will just tell me herself.

“Why are you doing that?” She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling in a way that has rage boiling inside me. Not at her, but at the man who made her so afraid.

“Doing what?” I ask, trying to stay calm.

“Acting as if I’m some damsel in distress.” She throws her arms out, but I see the tremble in them. “I’m fine, Wilder.” By the way her voice shakes and her shoulders slump in on herself, I know it’s not true. I can’t tell if she wants me to see that or not, but I already know, so this time I push.

“Are you?”

“Yes!” she shouts, throwing her hands in the air again. “Do I not look fine?”

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