Page 58 of Winning Bid

I pull up early, unsure of what I’m going to say. The building is all classic architecture and stately landscape, and every flourish is lost on me because I am still shaking. In anger. In fear.

He can’t be right. Can he?

He made a compelling case in his office, but I can’t help but think he’s wrong. I feel it in my gut. My twisting, nauseated gut. Have I even eaten today? I don’t think so. I’d skipped breakfast because of worrying about the cops and lunch for the same reason. Now this. I know I need to eat to keep up my strength and make good choices, but the thought of putting food in my mouth sends another wave of nausea through me. It’s not happening anytime soon.

Not until I know the truth. I need to hear it directly from June.

If, by some horrid miracle, she is a spy, then she won’t come out and say it when I confront her. I’m not dumb enough to think she would do that. Not after months together. If she could fool me for this long, there’s no telling how she’ll react to a confrontation.

Hell, if Dad’s right, she might try to kill me. All it would take is for her to admit she’s been honey-trapping me this whole time. I am pretty sure the shock would be enough to kill me.

How can this be happening? How can I doubt her like this? But after what he showed me in his office, how can I not?

It feels like I’ve been on a roller coaster for the entire day, and all I want is to get off and lay down so the world stops spinning. I lean on my car—something I never do so I can preserve the paint job—and gulp as much fresh air as possible. It’s still cold, even though winter is gradually loosening it’s hold on Boston. A slow process, as always. But the crisp air helps to clear my head, as much as it can be at a time like this.

The museum closed at four, thankfully, so no one is around. Just me in an adjacent parking lot, listening to a mild breeze wash through the barren trees. It’s dark already, and I’m looking forward to summer when the days grow long. Assuming I’m not in prison and/or single, it’ll be nice to spend the days with June. Maybe I can get her in a bikini at a beach somewhere. One of those retro numbers to hug her hips and tits just right. She has an inner bombshell she keeps under wraps, but I plan to unwrap her, layer by layer.

Again, assuming she’s not a fucking spy.

And I don’t go to prison.

When did my life get this fucking complicated? Oh right. My last night at this museum. That was one hell of a dull event until I found out about the auction, or rather, until I found out June was going to be in that auction. From that moment on, my life has been nothing but insane. Both good and bad in equal measure.

A car pulls up with a ride-share light on the dash. I forgot she doesn’t drive much. Hell, she walks to work, so it’s no wonder she had to get a ride share. My mind has been elsewhere all day. It’s a miracle I know my damn name right now.

She gets out, and my heart pinches at the sight of her. The driver leaves us. June’s black trench coat hugs her ample curves, making her even sexier because it makes me wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath. Of course, she is—it’s fucking cold out. I can see her black tights, too. But in my mind, she’s naked under that thing. For that matter, in my mind, she’s almost always naked. Son of a bitch, I am hooked on this woman. But the question remains. Am I looking at the love of my life, or am I looking at the woman sent from hell to ruin me? Only time will tell.

Her boots make the hottest clicking sound as she strolls to me with a worried expression on her perfect face, hands tucked in her pockets. Her bag dangles on her shoulder—she came from the office. She smiles up at me, and I crush my mouth on hers. Before I know anything for certain, I need one more kiss to build a dream on.

When we pull apart, she looks confused or stunned. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

If she’s a spy, I have to play this close to the vest. Be smart. Be tricky. Trip her up. Lie if I have to. Anything to get the truth out of her. Whatever it takes. My family, my freedom, everything is at stake. I have to be as ruthless as she is. What can I say to interrogate her while keeping in mind this could all be some terrible mistake? She could be innocent. It’s June. Of course, she’s innocent. How could she not be?

No. I have to play this right. No benefit of the doubt. Not now. Say something brilliant that will get a confession. Do it now before you lose the nerve.

“Are you a spy?” Well, that wasn’t particularly stealthy of me.

At first, she just blinks at me. Then she lets out a gasp of a laugh. “What?”

“It’s a simple question, June.”

“Um, I don’t think it is. What the hell are you talking about? Why are we here, of all places? What is going on? Baby, forgive me, but you look like shit right now, and you’re scaring me.”

I huff a laugh. I’ve been scared all day. Only seems fair?—

“And what are you talking about spies for? How can you even ask me something like that? Are you high?” She sounds like herself. It’s either the complete truth, or she’s the best actress I’ve ever seen.

In law school, they teach you about how people act when they’re guilty. Some people fall into the trap of buying into the whole body language thing, but I never did. Body language is often culturally based, so what’s a tell in one country is perfectly innocent in another. But one thing most liars do is obfuscate and turn the questions around onto the asker.

Like she is now.

I have to harden my heart to her to say what I need to say. No mercy. “June, are you using me to help destroy my father?”

Her eyes dip down for the briefest moment. A flash of shame.

My heart sinks. This can’t be … oh my fuck. No. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Everything, all these months together … it’s been a goddamned lie. I grit my teeth to stop it from raging out before she can answer. As sick as I’ve felt all day, it’s nothing compared to now. My heart is shredding on her every breath.

June worries her bottom lip. “It’s not like that?—"

---