Page 173 of Spark of Obsession

“Oh yeah, how did it go? How is she?”

“As good as can be expected. But there is something very fishy going on.”

“Agree and it has me so freaked out,” Claire admits.

“You both need to be freaking careful,” Ethan warns from the couch. “This is getting serious.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “She remembers nothing.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to make this your little pet project, Angie. Please tell me that you’ll let the police do their job. Please,” Claire begs.

I shrug. “I needed a story. Now I have one. A legitimate one. And what better motivation can I possibly have other than to find justice for my own sake? I was a victim too. I’m invested in this just as every female should be who is on campus. It affects us all.”

“You be careful, or you’ll be a victim again,” Claire reminds me.

“You both be careful,” Ethan snaps. “Enough of either of you playing hero.”

“Hey, I’m always careful,” Claire responds with irritation. “It is Angie here who loves to put herself in all sorts of danger.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be part of the crossfire,” Ethan warns. “Stay out of this, Claire.”

Claire rolls her eyes at Ethan and earns a slap on her ass, making her yelp. I take that as my sign to head upstairs for bed. Every part of my body is screaming for rest. The adrenaline running through my veins over finally having a focus for my journalism class has me forgetting about Graham and Sophia and their on-again-off-again relationship. Screw them both. I have enough self-worth to not invest any more time in trying to have a romantic relationship with Graham.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand with an incoming text. I open the message from an unknown number and get another image of my bare ass on top of Graham. It is a visual reminder that someone is out to get me. Underneath the photo, the following words appear—Fifty grand will make the pics disappear. I’ll be in touch.

So this is what blackmail looks like. Graham was right; there would be a demand. Unfortunately, it is one I have no capability of meeting.

My throat burns with the acid rising from my stomach. I have no idea how to fix this issue. Maybe the person blackmailing me is also trying to scare me by tampering with my car. The chances of two people trying to hurt me would be slim. This all has to be connected and not some wildly strange coincidence.

I flip my phone over and silence it from incoming message warnings. I need a clear head if I am going to start fresh on my investigation. I have a lot of catching up to do. Dr. Williams is going to want to see progress. I need to have something concrete and not just some made-up theories concocted from my vivid imagination.

As soon as my head hits the pillow, I am overtaken by sleep.

* * *

Monday morning, I attend class with Bryce and discuss the internal investigation into the university’s fraternity. He seems his typical self, except upset over girls getting hurt—potentially by people he knows. My mind is elsewhere during the entire class, and I find it impossible to pay any attention to the instructor.

After class ends, I hurry home to shower. I blow-dry my hair into a soft flowing wave, apply makeup, and slip on pantyhose and a mini-dress. I need to make this all look believable if I am to pull this off. I rummage through Claire’s closet after getting approval via text and find her longest trench coat stuck in the back behind several other coats. I secure the tie around me. I enter back into my room and find my oversized leather purse in my drawer and start to fill it with my mini camera, my recording device, leather gloves, and a tiny notebook with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. I also throw in my tiny lock picking kit that I ordered online. I am ready to go.

Graham is hiding something. Between the animosity toward Mark and discovering him in Monica’s hospital room, he seems to be in the thick of all the drama. Hopefully today, I will be able to find a few more pieces to the puzzle.

The taxi driver pulls up to the townhouse on time, and I slip into the backseat. It takes us fifteen minutes to get to Hoffman Headquarters due to there being little traffic on the roads.

“I need you to pretend to want to park in the parking garage,” I instruct.

“Huh?” the guy asks from the front seat.

“I’ll give you an extra big tip. Just pull up to the parking garage, and once I get out at the elevators inside, you can just exit.”

“Sure, whatever.”

When we pull up to the security officer, he instructs the driver to pop the trunk. He gives me a small knowing smile. Hanna should have warned him of my arrival so that some protocols get waived. I flash my identity badge and do the palm reader, just as I did when Collins escorted me the first time I was here.

Once through security, my driver goes into the entrance of the garage and drops me off at the first set of elevators. I pay and exit the car. The cool air runs up my nylon legs, under my trench coat, causing me to develop goose bumps. I pull the panels of the coat tighter around my front to keep my dress completely concealed. I quickly call Hanna to allow me remote access to her floor via a code.

In order to avoid the metal detectors, I had to be able to enter through the garage and not the main level’s lobby. Even if the security officers knew I was surprising Graham, they would have been thrown off by my lock pick kit, camera, and recording device.

I take the elevator up to Graham’s office floor with ease, courtesy of his personal assistant. She buzzes me in through the main doors and greets me with a genuine smile.

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