Page 48 of Web of Lies
"I'm sure he finds you attractive," I say, offering her a small, knowing smile. "But he's probably trying to stay professional. He's that kind of man. Especially since the divorce, his work has been his top priority."
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Professional, huh? Sounds like he needs a little distraction."
I raise an eyebrow, an amused smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "He definitely needs that."
Her smile widens, eyes sparkling. She perks up at the ping of the elevator and the doors sliding open once we reach the ground floor. I hold my arm out to block the doors from closing again, and she steps out first before I follow.
"Are you by any chance on your way to lunch?" She tilts her head with a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Yes, I am." I nod as we walk toward the exit together.
"I wouldn't want to intrude, but… would you mind if I joined you? I have a few more questions about Michael. Maybe you canhelp me figure out the best way to seduce him," she adds with a cheeky grin.
I pause for a moment, my gaze fixed on her. She seems like a sweet, easygoing person, and it sounds like fun and a nice break. I've been stuck here for weeks, constantly on edge. Even if it's just for half an hour, I could unwind, gossip, and potentially help a beautiful woman get the man she wants. What's the harm?
"Are you okay with the coffee shop down the street?" I ask.
"That sounds fantastic," she says, smiling as she loops her arm through mine and leads me out of the office building.
It's a gloomy noon, and the predicted heavy rain clouds are coloring the sky an eerie shade of gray. Aside from the occasional pedestrian, the streets are empty. Since the office is in a neighborhood of only corporate buildings, with no room for residential housing, by two p.m., most workers have already taken their lunch break and are back in their offices.
We're walking side by side when Chloé suddenly pulls on my arm and mutters a curse. "I'm sorry," she says, giving me an apologetic half-smile as her gaze shifts to the tip of her heel, which is stuck in a street vent.
"No problem," I say, crouching down to help her when a shadow suddenly flashes across my peripheral vision. My head snaps around, my heart leaping into my throat, but the figure is faster. Long arms wrap around my body, and a rough cloth is shoved against my face. The sickly sweet stench of chloroform hits me like a smack in the face. My lungs seize as I inhale, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. I thrash in their grip, twisting and kicking, my fingers clawing at anything within reach. But it is of no use. My vision clouds, colors blurring and spinning. The pounding in my chest grows louder as my body screams for help. The last image I register is of Chloé walking toward me. With each heartbeat, my head pounds until my control slips away.
Slowly, the hazy fog clouding my senses clears. One by one, my senses creep back in. A pulsing ache, like someone knocking against my temples, throbs in my skull. My arm twitches, but my wrist stays locked in place, hitting resistance in the form of something cold and hard. Panic spikes in my chest as my heart hammers and adrenaline surges through my veins. My eyes snap open and dart around the dimly lit room, searching for answers. If this is another one of Kyle's ridiculous stunts, I swear—but then I see her.
My gaze falls on none other than Chloé across the room. She is still wearing her summer dress, but her hair is now pulled back into two neat pigtails. She sits on the lap of a man dressed in all black. A mask covers his face, glowing with red stitches shaped like a twisted smile. My eyes shift to his arms. One is free of tattoos, while the other is covered by a detailed sleeve.
A rough, raspy cough scratches my dry throat and rattles in my chest. The sound startles them both, and they turn their attention toward me.
"Finally." Chloé's energetic voice echoes off the old walls as she jumps from the man's lap and charges toward me. She cups my cheeks in her palms, her fingertips soft against my skin as she brushes her thumbs over them. "Did you sleep well, beautiful?"
"What the hell is going on?" I rasp, another cough rippling from my dry throat.
With a dramatic sigh, she lets go of my face and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. "You've been naughty, sweetheart," she says, her heel clicking against the old woodfloor as she paces around me like a cat circling its prey. "And I've been sent to bring you back to your rightful owner."
"Rightful owner?" I cock a brow.
She hums a melody and tilts her head. "Jackson is not happy." She stops in front of me and rests a hand on my shoulders. "It's been how many years? And you still haven't figured out who the Butcher is."
"I'm close," I blurt out, lifting my head to meet her gaze. "I just need more time. I swear."
Chloé throws her head back, bursting into a loud, mocking laugh. Her grip on my shoulder tightens as her laughter fades, and she leans closer. "You're close," she whispers in my ear. "So, so close, Baby Girl. Closer than you could ever imagine." I stare at her, grinding my teeth.
"Just a few more days." The words fall from my lips like a plea. "Let me call Jackson. I'll tell him."
"But Jackson is tired of waiting for you." Her lips purse into a pout. Nausea floods my chest as she climbs onto my lap, straddling my hips, and presses her body flush against mine. Her arms fall limp around my shoulders, and she leans closer, cupping one of my cheeks in her palm. "You would never find him. The Butcher and his close circle? They've been playing you like afiddle." Her thumb strokes over my cheekbone, as if her mocking affection could soften the cruelty of her words.
"What the hell are you talking about?" My chest tightens, and the words slip out of me in a hoarse whisper. My eyes lock on her icy blue ones, and I don't dare look away. Every inch of her feels like a trap, and if I take my eyes off her, she might snap.
But the Butcher, playing me? No. No, it doesn't make sense. I've been careful. I've been safe with Kyle since the incident. Every piece of the puzzle has been falling neatly into place.
"You would never find out who he is," she says with a shrug and slides off my lap.
"How—" I start, but the words catch in my throat. "How do you know that?" My voice cracks, sounding smaller, more desperate, than I want it to.
"Because I know the Butcher." She flashes me a cocky smile, and my blood runs cold.
