Page 57 of Savage Seduction

Unlocked.

I push the door open and enter the room, careful to close it behind me. I rush into the expansive office and over to her desk to look over her notepad and calendar. There doesn’t appear to be anything related to the conversation she was having on the phone. If nothing else, I will find my package and leave without a trace.

There's a closet in the back corner of the room, and I open the door. She has hung a few jackets and sweaters inside and stacked a couple of boxes on the floor, but nothing with my name on it. Hmm. I turn around and spot a wooden filing cabinet. I hurry over to it and begin rifling through the items on top. Nothing that belongs to me. Pulling on the cabinet drawers, my shoulders immediately sag—the fucking thing is locked. Picking the locks is always an option, but I don’t think there's enough time, at least not today.

I go back around to her desk and pull the top drawer out; there’s nothing but a few pencils and pens rolling around in there. The top right drawer is unlocked, but the bottom one is secured. I shift some of the top drawer’s contents around, careful not to forget how everything is before I move it. Lifting up an envelope, a single key catches my eye at the bottom of the drawer. The key is large, ornate, and looks quite old, much like the desk itself.

I hold the key up in the stream of light coming in throughthe windows near the top of the high ceiling. “I’ve come this far,” I whisper. I insert the key into the lock on the bottom drawer and hear the locking mechanism disengage. My stomach flutters with nervous energy. As a former cop, I know this is illegal, but something dangerous is going on around here and I need to get to the bottom of it.

Slowly pulling the drawer open, I'm shocked to see it contains nothing more than a few boxes of office supplies—pens, paperclips, and sticky notes.Odd, I think.Why under lock and key?I'm about to push the drawer back in and lock it, but the depth of the drawer seems off to me. I kneel down to get more of a side angle view, and it dawns on me.

False bottom.

I quickly take out all the supplies and place them on the floor. I tap on the wooden bottom, and it feels hollow. There's definitely something in there, but how does it open? Feeling around the sides and bottom of the drawer, a small piece of metal scrapes my finger. Looking underneath, I see it's a lever. Once on the floor, I lay on my back and turn the lever 180 degrees until I hear a pop. Sitting back up, I reach into the drawer and pull up the false bottom.

Inside the secret compartment is a large envelope with my name on it. What the hell is going on here? I open it and pull out the contents. They're surveillance photos, in black and white, ofme. My heart pounds in my ears and I feel completely betrayed by Catherine. Why does she have these?

Voices from somewhere in the hall outside the office startle me. There isn’t time to study the images, so I quickly take out my phone and take photos to review later. Careful to replace everything exactly how I found it, I make quick work of the cover up, ensuring to relock the drawers. I even wipe down the drawers and the objects I touched with my shirt to remove most of my fingerprints—just in case.

I stand up and hurry to the door, prepared to open it andget the hell out of the museum before I get caught. However, the voices in the hallway have moved closer. I put my ear to the door and listen. It's Bob talking on the phone, he isn’t getting along with whoever it is, but I'm not surprised.

“Do what I say, and everything’ll be fine,” Bob says as he thunders past, the sound from his squeaky shoes growing fainter as he leaves.

I wait a minute to make sure he's gone. As I'm about to open the door to leave, I notice a couple of small boxes on the bench near the door. The small box on top has a fragile sticker on it, but no return address. I pick it up and sigh. It's addressed to me. The package had been there all along. I shove the small box into my jacket pocket and crack open the door. I quickly pop my head out to check if the coast is clear; there’s no one in sight. I slip out of the office and slowly close the door behind me.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurry to the front entrance and walk out of the museum. Then, as soon as I step outside and into the sunlight, my cellphone buzzes.

Can you meet for coffee later tonight? I have the evening free.

The text from Ben is a welcome distraction from today’s events. Despite starting to feel a bit emotionally and physically exhausted, I text Ben back confirming the details. Then rush to my car to go home and get ready for the date; a quick nap and then a shower. It’ll work wonders on the ever-growing bags under my eyes.

Despite knowing full well that I'm going to have to explain myself and discuss some uncomfortable truths about my past, I'm excited to see him. If I can get another one of those awesome hugs I’ve been reliving for days, all this effort would be more than worth it.

CHAPTER 23

Max

I've spent the better part of an hour since getting home from work trying to make myself look alive, even tried to take a nap to no avail. I haven’t slept well in days, and the dark circles under my eyes are proof of it. Giving up, I go into the kitchen and pour a bowl of water for Chubs and fill another one with a combination of dry and canned cat food. My head is pounding, I know I need some aspirin and caffeine. The day’s events were exhilarating, but now, after the adrenaline has flushed clear of my system, I’m dragging and feel like shit.

Should I cancel tonight or try and push through? I rub my temples and close my eyes. Nope, that didn’t work, the pain is still there. I reach into the cabinet and shake two extra-strength aspirin from the bottle and swig some water. I'm going to push through, even if it kills me.

I walk over and unlock the door and put the bowls out for Chubs before picking up the dirty ones from the day before and go back inside. That cat doesn’t know how good he could have it if he’d just give up a little independence and come live inside with me.

After tossing the bowls into the sink, I pour myself a delicious, aromatic, and much-needed mug of coffee. The warmth of the ceramic mug feels good in my hands. I walk into the living room and sit on the sofa. Another sip of coffee and I smile. The headache begins to ebb with each passing minute—the night might be salvaged yet.

I’d better call Ben and confirm. I pull out my phone.

“Hello?” Ben answers after two rings.

“Hey, it’s me.” I run my fingers through my hair as I make my way into the kitchen. “I wanted to double-check we were still on for coffee. I know how your schedule can be.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too. I’ll see you at the coffee shop on Western?”

“I do love that place,” Ben says. “It has the best mocha drinks.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, trying to force a positive tone to my voice despite the feelings of impending doom. The idea of spilling my guts to Ben makes me a little queasy. “I’ll see you soon.”

---