Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Elizabeth

My hair was still wet as I ran out of the condo in the morning, trying to twist it up into a neat bun using the elevator car as a makeshift mirror as I rode down to the lower level, grumbly because of poor sleep and a lack of coffee.

And not at all because of the sexual frustration that was starting to feel like my whole pelvis was in a steadily tightening vice grip.

Nope.

It had nothing at all to do with that.

I checked the ride-share’s license before climbing inside.

“Early morning,” he said, looking like he hadn’t slept yet.

“Always,” I said, looking around the car for any other cars following us, but the streets in Elian’s neighborhood were surprisingly empty.

I fretted the idea of going into work early, before everyone else showed up, making myself an easy target, so I had the driver drop me off at a random coffeehouse a few blocks away instead, deciding I would work on my tablet and get my caffeine fix until it was a more reasonable hour.

But all I actually managed to do was stare out of the window and fantasize about Elian. Which, as you can imagine, wasn’t exactly helping the ache in my core.

By the time I made it into the office, I was already frazzled and short-tempered.

I think I actually almost growled when the senator’s footsteps stopped in front of my open doorway.

“Can I help you?” I asked, hearing a bite in my words, but I was too tired to give a damn about it. This job would be over soon anyway. What did I care if I was snippy with the boss?

“What are you doing?” he snapped, making my gaze lift.

“Care to elaborate?” I asked, barely able to contain my sigh at how ruddy his face was. He was pissed about something. And, it seemed, it involved me.

“We’re supposed to be in the car already,” he said, pointedly flicking his wrist and turning his arm to check his Rolex.

“Remind me for what?” I said, my mind too chaotic to pull the schedule up right then.

“The town hall meeting,” Michael said, tone clipped.

“Right,” I agreed, gathering my things and shoving them into my purse before getting to my feet and following him down the hall.

I was busy fretting about being in the car with him with unknown bad guys wanting to hurt me possibly following behind, but the senator interrupted that train of thought that was swiftly barreling off track.

“Am I to assume you haven’t written me my notes?” he asked.

“I have them mostly done,” I admitted, pulling them out of the folder in my purse. The tops of the index cards were tipped in various highlighter colors to coincide with the “issue” that might be brought up at the meeting, so he could quickly glance at them and find an artful response written by me rather than some unhinged rant he would likely go off on given the chance.

“Mostly isn’t going to help me, is it?”

“I’ll finish in the car,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral as he rushed ahead.

As always, he slid into the back.

Normally, I would sit with him.

But I climbed into the front passenger seat instead, using the dashboard to steady my tablet as I used it as a desk to scribble my notes as clearly as possible. In big, block-like print. The senator hated cursive and small print, even if it would allow me to fit more on the page. He was too vain to wear his glasses.

It was about a ten-minute drive to the meeting hall that was taking place in a middle school gymnasium, even though I was reasonably sure the senator wouldn’t draw the kind of crowd that would require that large of a space.

He went in to get his makeup touched up—and hopefully look over my notes—as I rushed into the gym itself, running around trying to rearrange the folding chairs so there were fewer of them, each of them spaced much further apart. This way, it would look full, even though I’d removed more than half of the actual seats.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard a familiar, teasing voice call out, “Expecting a big crowd, huh, Beth?” Nathan Evans, a popular political vlogger, asked as he strolled, casually cocky in his jeans and t-shirt. To be fair, all handsome men had a bit of a swagger. And Nathan was definitely attractive in a dirty-blond, blue-eyed way that had just never been my type.

“Nathan, you’re supposed to be waiting outside with the press,” I reminded him.

“Finally willing to admit I’m part of the press?” he asked.

“I’ve never had any problem admitting that,” I said, standing back to check my configuration of the chairs, then trying to hide the ones I’d taken out behind the bleachers where Michael wouldn’t see them. “Any idea how to close the bleachers?” I asked, thinking we would definitely not need more than one on each side, not all four of them.

“There’s a button right back here,” Nathan told me, showing me it, but reaching around me to push it himself.

This was the moment when, if I was just horny because I desperately needed the touch of a man, any man, I would have felt the spark of interest again. Especially given how worked up I’d been since the night before.

But there was just… nothing.

Actually, no. There was a slight annoyance that he felt like he could press up against me like he did.

So it was just about Elian.

The man I was living with.

Who I needed to avoid from now until eternity, lest I die of humiliation.

Great.

Just great.

“So tell me, Beth,” he said, seeming to enjoy how my eyes narrowed at the nickname, “when are you going to quit working for Westmoore, and sign up to work for the candidate who actually has a chance to win this race?”

“Senator Westmoore has as good a chance as anyone,” I insisted.

“The only chance he has is because you’re crafting his statements for him,” Nathan insisted, and I knew he was right. “Maybe I’ll ask him something that you didn’t think to jot down in your notes for him,” he said, looking smug.

And, damn him, how did he know that?

“The senator will surely have the answers to any questions you may ask.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Nathan said, smirking. “Looking a little tired there, Beth. It’s stressful to be at the helm of a steadily sinking ship, isn’t it?”

I was normally quippy, damnit. That was the job. Being able to think on your feet. To spin a situation in my favor.

The problem was that he was right.

Only he had no idea why he was right.

And that I was the one who planned on making this ship capsize.

“No one’s job is guaranteed,” I managed to say, my tone colder than usual. Which, it seemed, made him take that as a threat. His brows shot up. His shoulders squared.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, tone deceptively calm.

“I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“What skeletons you have in your closet. And who might be looking to drag them out and show them around,” I said.

It was a good veiled threat. Something he could never claim was proof that I was coming after him. But it got him off my back. Which was good because my patience was paper thin, and I didn’t have what it took to be sharp and peppy for him.

I just hoped Michael was ready as I heard the doors finally open and people milling in as I walked out of the gym.

I made my way into the locker room that the senator was using as a prep station and was about to remind him of the time when I got a look at him.

Good God.

The makeup artist made him even more overly tanned. He looked like leather. And, what’s worse, she’d used too much highlighter under his eyes which gave him a crazed look.

I was sure the expensive cameras that the newspeople and vloggers carried would also pick up on the way the makeup was settling into the creases of the senator’s wrinkles, which only made him look older.

“Big crowd, right?” Michael asked, pulling off his paper bib before I could suggest the makeup artist run a wipe over his face before he headed out there.

“It’s what the team was expecting,” I told him. It wasn’t a lie. Even if he took that to mean he was going to get some sort of presidential reception.

The senator gathered his cards that he slipped into his pants pocket, so he could discreetly put them on the podium as he waved and charmed the cameras.

I followed him out, but stayed in the doorway of the locker room, not wanting to be accused of trying to pull focus away from him as he smiled his too-white grin and waved the hand that had the Rolex. Like he wasn’t supposed to be running a campaign of caring about the common man. You know, the kind who would never be able to afford a watch like that despite working sixty-hour weeks. While he worked a few days a week and spent the rest of his time wining and dining his donors and screwing his mistress.

I reached toward my shoulder, wanting to grab my phone so I could text him in case he stumbled. He kept his cell on the podium next to his notes just for that reason.

But my shoulder was empty.

My vision flashed back to arriving and needing to put my bag down on one of the benches to fetch the mouthwash strips I kept in my purse for the senator since he’d clearly had a drink or two in the office already that morning.

I must not have picked it back up when I’d rushed out to fix the chair situation.

I could literally live out of the damn thing, keeping it stocked with protein bars, a small bottle of water, mints, deodorant, makeup, wet wipes, medicine, bandaids, hair ties, a stain stick, lip balm, eye drops, money, a power bank, my tablet, and a notebook, even a change of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag in there in case of a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction, or a sudden event that I wasn’t properly dressed for.

Feeling naked without it, I turned back into the locker room while Michael still waited for everyone to take their seats and calm down, knowing I had a minute before he could possibly need me.

It was exactly where I left it, and I plunged my hand in to grab my phone before I started to zip it closed.

It was right then that I heard something.

A shuffling.

There was no reason for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. This was a pretty public event. And it was a school, besides, and there was likely maintenance staff around as well as a security guard to make sure no one was messing around with school property.

I had no expectation of privacy in the locker room. Hell, even the makeup artist was probably hanging around to gather her things.

Still, though, paranoia had my stomach twisting and my heart hammering before I could even swivel my head around and try to find the source of the sound.

“Hello?” I called, wincing at how much I sounded like one of those stupid girls in a horror movie even as I did the exact same thing one of those dumb girls would do… started to walk around the rows of lockers, looking for the source of the sound. Instead of, I don’t know, going back out into the gym where I would be safe.

A sick sensation rose up my throat as I heard the shuffle again, but this time coming from the row where I’d just walked away from.

Making my footsteps as quiet as possible, I inched forward toward the end of the row of lockers, intent on peeking around and trying to calm my nerves.

But as soon as I stepped out from the relative protection of the lockers, I saw him.

My mind flashed back to my apartment, to the figure all in black charging at me, hitting me, then issuing one final threat before disappearing again.

For a split second, I tried to tell myself that there were lots of people here, that there was no reason to assume he was here to hurt me.

Until I remembered it was summer.

And there was absolutely no reason for a man to be wearing a hoodie, with the hood up, unless he was trying not to be recognized.

Panic, already swirling, surged, making my pulse pound in my chest, throat, and wrists as a cold sweat broke out across my neck and back, chilling me instantly.

I needed to run.

But he was standing directly in front of my exit back into the gym, where I would be, hopefully, safe.

I opened my mouth, ready to scream, just as the crowd in the gym erupted in outrage, people yelling, cursing, the cameras likely catching all of it.

I was about to lose hope when I remembered that this was a public building that had to live up to fire safety protocols. Meaning there had to be another exit from this locker room.

Decision made, I turned and ran back into the row of lockers, finding myself dead-ending at the bathroom with its stalls that would provide only the illusion of safety. Anyone could get over or under them if they were determined enough. Why weren’t stalls full rooms?

On a whimper as the chaos seemed to reach a fever pitch in the gym, I flew down another row of lockers, then took a hairpin turn when I saw him appear, taking me back down the other way.

It was then I saw it.

A door.

Thank God.

I flew at it, for once glad that the senator was so insecure about his height, because I would be much slower in heels. And, I guess, I had to thank my mother’s side of the family for my long, athletic legs too as I flew through the door and into an empty hallway lined in nothing but lockers, minus the deadbolts that would be there during the school year.

As I ran, I silently wished for once that I was one of those petite, dainty women. The kind who could save themselves by slipping around a corner, climbing into an open locker, and just waiting things out.

Alas, I was not that.

So all I could do was run, ever aware of the pounding of feet behind me, not exactly gaining, but keeping pace, making it so that if I slowed at all, tripped, or paused to try to open a door, he might catch up to me.

I took a turn down the hall, seeing nothing at the end of my path but a staircase moving up.

My thighs started to burn, but I was safe if I kept moving, kept pace ahead of him.

Unless he had a gun .

A whimper rising up in my throat, I veered closer to the side of the hallway, hand slapping down on door handles as I went, but finding none that opened.

There was literally nowhere to hide.

I pushed myself faster, chancing a look over my shoulder, seeing my attacker losing a little steam.

He was bigger. Taller. Wider. Slower.

Saying a silent prayer that I wasn’t making a painfully stupid move, I threw my arms out into the stairwell door, then made my way up, thanking myself for the many hours spent on a stair climbing machine at the gym in an attempt to get one of those high, round butts that looked really good in tight workout pants like the influencers I saw all over social media.

Because I flew up those stairs, my heartbeat increasing, but not enough to slow me down.

And in the big, empty space of the enclosed stairwell, all I heard below me was panting as I made it to the top, charged through another door, then down a hall before my attacker could even get up the stairs.

The doors were frustratingly locked up here as well.

All except the one to the library. Since it didn’t have a door, just an open, welcoming doorway.

Figuring it was better than being out in the open, I ran in, rushing through the lines of books, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide.

Then, like someone was actually answering my prayers, I saw it.

Behind the circulation desk was an open door.

I didn’t stop to think.

Because it was a room.

One without windows.

And that was as safe as I could hope to be in this situation.

I rushed behind the desk, going into the room, and forcing myself to close it slowly so it didn’t make a sound.

Then, hands shaking, I flicked off the light before turning, looking for somewhere to hide. Because while my attacker might have been slower and less skilled in cardiovascular activities than I was, he was certainly much bigger and stronger. I imagined, if he was determined enough, he could break down a door if he saw me behind it.

It was a cramped, claustrophobic space without windows, the walls painted a prison gray. Given that school wasn’t in session, the space was almost clinically clean, not a stray book to be found anywhere.

But there was a desk with a solid bottom, the side facing outward would hide me from the window in the door.

I ran behind it, squatting low, and folding myself up as tightly as possible to fit underneath it, my knees crushing to my chest, making breathing difficult.

I tried to take slow, short breaths through my nose to keep myself quiet, paranoid that he would even be able to hear me breathing.

Safe, at least for the moment, I reached for my phone, ignoring the endless texts from Michael that had come in just over the past five minutes.

He was pissed off, sending me text after text in all caps.

WHERE ARE YOU?

ARE YOU TRYING TO SABOTAGE ME?

IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME, YOU’RE FIRED.

I ignored those, finding a different number, and drafting up a message.

HELP!

I made sure my volume was silenced, and I lowered my screen to as dark as possible, not wanting the light to give me away when I finally got myself relatively safe.

I was watching my screen, praying to see the dot-dot-dot that said he was paying attention, that he would come to save me, when I heard the pound of my attacker’s feet moving through the library, frantically trying to find his missed target.

“I’ll find you, you stupid bitch,” he snarled, sounding winded still from the steps as I curled myself tighter, as if I tried hard enough, I could just disappear.

With no way for the adrenaline to escape now that I was stationary, it had me starting to tremble, starting in my belly, then moving outward until my whole body was shaking so much that I didn’t trust myself to lift my phone again to check and see if Elian had responded to my call for help yet.

Suddenly, the handle of the door was rattling, making me have to press my hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering, from crying out, as my breathing went fast and shallow again.

Sweat on the back of my neck dripped down my spine as he pulled it harder and harder.

He knew I was in here.

He was going to get in.

Then I had no hope of escape.

Both his hands slammed onto the door, a frustrated, childish move.

But then… then he was retreating, his footsteps growing quieter as he moved away, retracing his footsteps.

I pulled my hand from my mouth, cradling my phone with both of my hands so there was no chance of dropping it, and seeing a message from Elian. Several, actually.

Where are you?

What’s going on?

Are you okay?

Tell me where you are.

Elizabeth?

I could practically hear the panic through his words as I tried to type with my shaky fingers.

Town hall @ Jackson Middle School. Man here. Chased me.

It wasn’t long before I got a response saying he was ten minutes away, telling me to just hold on, asking me if I was safe.

Hiding under a desk in the office in the library. He tried to get in, but couldn’t. Walked off.

He texted me again, telling me to stay put, to keep calm, that he was coming to get me.

I had no idea what was going on outside of this office, if the town hall meeting was still going on, if there was still a crowd of people around.

All I knew was that Elian was coming, that I would be safe with him.

But no amount of knowing that eased the adrenaline still coursing through me, making my heart race and my skin feel like it was vibrating.

I did manage to slow my breathing, focusing on slow pulls in through my nose and hard exhales out through my mouth.

Slowly but surely, I wasn’t gasping for air anymore, wasn’t terrified that my attacker might come back before Elian could get to me.

My phone lit up against my leg, making me reach for it, still worried the low light might be seen through the window.

But it was Elian texting me, telling me he was here, that the meeting was over, and the place seemed deserted.

Panic swelled again, the idea of my attacker in this sprawling building, maybe hiding somewhere, waiting for me to think it was safe and move out, of him getting Elian instead.

Are you alone?

The response was immediate.

No. Gotta sweep building. Give me twenty.

Twenty minutes felt like an eternity as I sat there, listening, wondering if I would hear a fight, would hear gunshots. There was nothing but the sounds on the street outside, though, as I sat there listening to my own breathing, my own heartbeat. Until there was a knock at the door that made me almost jump out of my skin.

As it was, I jolted, making the whole desk move in the process, fear surging through me once again.

“Elizabeth, open up. It’s me. It’s safe,” he assured me.

Slowly, I crawled out from my makeshift shelter, and got to my feet, my legs wobbly and unsteady as I walked to the door to disengage the lock.

I didn’t even need to reach for the handle, though. Because the door was pushing open, and then I found myself in Elian’s arms.

My own went around him, holding on tight, not caring how desperate it made me seem as I sat there, breathing in his spicy scent, and feeling his arm anchor around my lower back as the other went to the back of my neck, massaging gently at the tense muscles he found there.

“It’s alright. I got you,” he murmured, making a little shiver move through me.

He had me, alright.

More than he could ever know.

And I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about that.