Page 48 of Crawl
“But you won’t kiss me,” I say, my gaze flicking back and forth across his dark eyes. He sucks in a deep breath, then grabs a small item from a locked compartment in the center console: an anchor grey flash drive. He drops it in my lap.
“This is the video of you trying to kill me that first night.”
I blink. Is he serious?
“Is it the only copy?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I stare at him, but he doesn’t say anything else. What is he trying to prove?
Neither of us says another word, not even when he drops me off at my rental house. I stay on the porch, watching his dark grey imported sports car until I can’t see it anymore. My throat dries, and it’s hard to swallow, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about him anymore.
Maybe I need to go about this in a different way. Maybe killing him isn’t the exact right thing to do. Maybe I’m not even supposed to blackmail him.
But there are cameras everywhere in his estate. I can get those recordings of our sexual encounters and usethemto destroy his reputation. It won’t even be that bad since it’ll be the truth. I just have to do it before I change my mind, like I did with his drink.
But inside, I don’t know if I will do anything. Maybe I don’t want to ruin him anymore.
***
The next day, Cash leaves me alone in the estate. He’s running errands, which is good for him; he’s getting out of the estate more and more each day. But I can’t stop the sinking feeling in my stomach that screams that this is a test. He knows I have the flash drive now. It’s almost like he’s giving me a chance to go to the police.
But I don’t go. Instead, I make sure my personal camera is still working in his office, then I check to see if I can access his computers yet, but none of my password attempts work. After that, I do my tasks for the day: double-checking one of his proposals, invoicing a contractor for some insulation work, and taking Bones to the vet for a checkup. When I find a few free seconds, I check the bedroom upstairs on the left, but the door is still locked. I bend my bobby pins until I’ve got a pick and a lever, but I can’t figure out the locking pins. I’m not sure if I can’t do it, or if Cash has proofed this lock somehow,orif I’m giving up too soon because I respect him. Instead, I kneel, inhaling sharply at the pain from my scabbed knees, then I lie on the ground with my nose against the small gap under the door. But I can’t see, smell, or hear anything. There’s nothing there, like Cash’s expressionless face.
Right before lunch, Jenna asks to meet a deli shop halfway between our assignments, and I’m so excited I send her a string of emojis to sayyes!When I see her, she looks better than she has in a long time, maybemonths. Her skin glows with a fresh tan, and her lips are bright and glossy. There’s a bounce in her step. She’s smiling too.
“I’ve missed you,” I say.
“I’ve missed you!” she says. “I’ve missed the world.” She waves to the man in an apron behind the counter. He nods at us. “Do you think he missed us?” she whispers.
I laugh. After we get our usual sandwiches and seat ourselves at the only rickety metal table outside, I adjust my pants. The fabric keeps brushing my knees, irritating the scabs. I try to get comfortable, but it’s difficult. I take a bite of my panini, then wipe my mouth.
“You like the new assignment, then?” I ask.
“She’s a queen,” Jenna says. “It’s so different working for a woman. I can’t stand working for a man.”
“Me too,” I say automatically. And maybe with everyone else, it’s true.
But it’s different with Cash.
“How’s it going?” she asks, tilting her head.
I stuff a melty string of mozzarella back into my sandwich. “It’s fine,” I say, trying to play it off like it’s nothing. “Cash is just another male boss. You know how they are.”
“Cash?” she gasps. “He lets you call him ‘Cash?’”
I lift my shoulders. “So?”
“Hemademe call him ‘Mr. Winstone.’”
I press my lips together, peering down at my food. I wouldn’t be surprised if he uses his name and title to manipulate people. He’s like that.
“He acted weird when I tried to call him ‘Mr. Winstone,’” I say.
“Has he done anything to you?”
I shake my head. I almost blurt out, ‘of course not,’ but I stop myself. Then I adjust the black scarf around my neck, covering the bruises. It looks ridiculous, and from the way Jenna’s eyes flickered when we first arrived, I know she noticed it too.
