Page 61 of Under the Lies

I hear the door start to close and I whirl around. “Wait, this is Noah’s office.”

Hotch nods his head. “You can wait in here until you’re feeling better.”

“Isn’t Noah going to care that I’m in here?”

“Do you care?” He raises a brow.

“No. Not really.”

He nods. “You’re safe here, Sayer.”

I startle, not knowing if he realizes how much his words actually mean to me but by the look I catch on his face as he clicks the door shut, I’d say he does. I could cry. But I don’t. Instead, I take in Noah’s office.

His office is actually how I pictured it. Dark cherry hardwood floors that match the bookshelf walls, a high chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

In the middle of the room sits a large, wooden desk with carvings etched into the paneling of it.

Pan cries and I set him down on it.

He must feel as tired as I do because he collapses as soon as my hands leave him. His eyes closing.

Not sure if my eyes will ever want to close again, I take everything in.

Dominant. Intimidating.

Noah’s office has an air of authority mixed with smoke.

It’s quiet in here. Too quiet. And as it turns out the quiet is worse than the noise on the floor.

I take a seat in Noah’s chair. My fingers anxiously tapping on the wood.

I don’t know where else to go. Coming here felt right, but I had been banking on Noah actually being here. I know he said he had to take care of something, but I had hoped it would be over by now. I mean, it’s quickly approaching ten o’clock.

I could text him to see where he is, but something holds me back. Like I don’t want to admit I need his help.

Biting my lip, I take in how impersonal this office feels. He spends half his time here and yet, it looks like a showroom set up.

I spin around in the chair, wondering if there’s anything in here that would give me a little insight as to who the real Noah Kincaid is.

But before I can so much as open one door, I hear the sound of voices in the hall.

They’re muffled, but I’m able to make out deep timbre of Noah’s voice and a small, softer voice of a woman.

I know Hotch said I could wait in here, but I don’t want to have to explain to Noah what happened with another person present.

My limbs lock up as I quickly and quietly, run to shut the light off. With my phone light, I make my way back to the desk, grabbing Pan just as the door starts to open.

Swiftly, I dart under the desk, thanking the stars that it’s so large. There’s enough space under here for me to hide comfortably.

My cat’s paw hits my chin. Meeting his annoyed eyes, I press a kiss to the top of his head. Please don’t make any noise, Pan.

Normally, he’s a quiet cat, communicating in passive-aggressive glares, but with the way today is going Pan could choose now to use his voice.

I’m frozen as footsteps come closer to where I hide, going as far as to hold my breath every few seconds.

Becoming as still and quiet as I can.

My granddad used to say that Harlow and I had opposite talents. While hers were on the flamboyant side, according to him, mine were more reserved. I made the perfect fly on the wall.

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