Page 2 of Devious Secrets

Whoa.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before. The chandelier dangling in the center of the room is wrought iron with twelve electric candles planted around the circumference. It’s suspended by a thick black link chain. The room is much the same sophisticated, elegant style. Thick dark wood shelves are lined with aged leather books.

A desk with rolled edges and thick legs that look painstakingly elegant with carvings to make them look like pillars sits in the middle of the room. Nothing other than a leather desk blotter, the top of the desk is clear.

As beautiful as the room is, I don’t see any file cabinets. What I’m looking for would be in a file folder.

I think.

My neck becomes slick with sweat as I try to remember every detail I was given. This is the room. At least it matches the description right down to the brown leather couches in the corner of the room.

Books. He said something about what I needed to find would be behind books. Or in a book? It would have been great if I’d been able to keep the notes I scribbled down, but the voice had been adamant not to bring anything that would make it harder to explain if I was caught.

Because if I’m caught, I’m on my own. There’s no one to throw under the bus who can help me. Revealing anything would trigger unsurmountable danger.

Checking out the bookcase, I realize there’s something odd about the books lined up. Other than there’s a worrisome number of books on war, they are all perfectly in line. Not a single book is any larger than the one beside it, but they aren’t a collection that would explain the uniformity.

My hand trembles when I reach up to run my fingers over the bindings of the books. One book has a different feel to the leather. It’s softer. More supple.

It moves easily when I wiggle it from its place. There’s a metallic snap from behind the book and then it’s stuck. It won’t come any farther out. The other books, all fold down still in a perfect line.

They aren’t books at all. It’s a panel disguising a cabinet behind it. My chest can barely contain my heart, it’s pounding so hard.

This has to be it.

There doesn’t seem to be any locks or combinations on the cabinet door. It opens right away when I pull the black metal handle.

Clear plastic containers are lined up, double stacked. Each labeled with a name. My eyes flick from one to the next, looking for the name I need. Luckily, they’re in alphabetical order.

At least the criminals are organized.

Most of these names are easily recognizable. Jasper Cunnings, I saw his name flash across the news headlines as I was scrolling my phone yesterday. He’s some politician. Most of these little boxes have political figures’ names on them.

Finally, my eyes land on the one I’m looking for.

Dexter Thompson.

I grab hold of the box and pry open the lid. Inside are photographs, a flash drive, and a set of small keys that look like they’re for a safe deposit box.

Curious, I pick up one of the photographs and turn it over. Dexter Thompson, I assume—I’ve never seen him before—sits with his legs spread in a chair. He’s naked. And so is the woman kneeling between his knees. She’s bound, with her hands behind her back and her ankles zip-tied together.

Tears stain her cheeks as she looks up at him. Her mascara’s run with her tears.

There’s a wedding band on Dexter’s finger, but I’m assuming this isn’t his wife in the photograph.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice booms behind me.

Shit!

In my surprise, I spin around. The box slips from my hand in my hurry and hits the ground, spilling the contents everywhere.

“I… uh…” I look down at the box. “It was an accident. I was…Um, I wasn’t…”

The man, dressed in a black suit with a narrow black tie over his white button-down shirt and an earpiece tucked into his left ear, stomps over to me.

We both reach for the box at the same time, but he snaps it up before me. The drive is by my foot. I cover it with the toe of my shoe and drag it closer to me. When he turns to the bookcase to grab the lid for the box, I quickly snatch up the drive and shove it into my bra.

He pushes the lid back on the box, not noticing my movements.

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