Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elizabeth

I always found the senator frustrating.

Hell, that was probably being nice.

He drove me up a wall most of the time when he was in the office, spouting off his opinions and ideas that would get him nowhere because, well, they were not only antiquated—like the man himself—but they were getting crazier with each passing day.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep on my part—not to mention the debilitating fear I felt every waking moment—but I almost jumped down the man’s throat no fewer than ten separate times when he finally came into the office nearly toward the end of the workday on the third day after the shooting.

He was in rare form, ranting and raving about what he heard some daytime talk show say about him.

“It’s supposed to be about my politics,” he’d grumbled, throwing out an arm, and nearly slapping an intern across her face.

I’d caught a snippet of that show earlier, thanks to one of the staffers who always tried to keep us updated on what was being said about Michael.

Apparently, they’d made endless jokes about his line-less face, and his too-dark tan that made his too-white teeth look like Chiclets.

I actually had a little much needed laugh myself.

They were only expressing the very things we were all thinking.

I mean a few of the interns at one point had tried to come up with a plan to discuss the excessive tanning with the senator. In the end, though, no one had the balls to bring it up to him.

Which meant that Michael just kept doing what he was doing. And that made him fodder for the comedians and talk show hosts.

“Senator,” I said, trying for an authoritative, but calming voice, “how about we have a few minutes alone?” I suggested, and the staffers looked thankful as they gathered their things and scurried out of the room.

He started in again on the program, but I had just about enough of it, likely thanks to the telltale pressure I was feeling in my temples, leaving me to wonder if it was just going to be a headache, or if I had another all-night migraine ahead of me. So I needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Senator, how about you have a seat?” I suggested, waving toward the other side of the tufted leather couch I was seated on.

Normally, I attempted to stay as far away from the senator as possible.

What can I say? Sometimes—okay, a lot of times—men in power thought that any woman nearby was open game. I learned early on in my career to make sure I hurried right out of events as soon as all the official work was done.

I had no interest in getting felt up by a politician.

It wasn’t my goal to become one of these men’s mistresses or wife.

It didn’t help, in Michael’s case, that I looked alarmingly similar to his mistress. Same wavy blonde hair, same blue eyes, same general body type. The only real difference was she liked to pile on the glam, and I didn’t have time for my makeup to get all runny or smudged, so I went light on it.

The senator sighed as he wrestled his tie loose before dropping down on the couch.

“Why did you send everyone away?” he asked, and there was something slimy in the smile he shot in my direction.

“I need to talk about the more… sensitive matters involving your campaign,” I said, watching as he stiffened.

“Has Aaron caused more problems?” he asked, meaning his illegitimate son with the heavy cocaine addiction.

“Aaron is always… in touch,” I admitted. I’d given him my number early on, so he stopped calling the office, where other people might be willing to use that information against the senator.

To that, Michael shook his head, looking a little more human for a moment. “That was a mistake.”

“It might be smart never to call your son a mistake out loud. It’s not a good thing to get accustomed to saying, because it might slip out accidentally in the future.”

“He’s not my son,” Michael insisted, chin jutting out. “I have my boys already.”

He also had a daughter, but he never mentioned her. The two of them had a falling out twenty-some-odd years ago when she’d gone on a news program and begged everyone in Brooklyn to vote for anyone other than her father.

It was an incident that had fractured the family. He still didn’t speak to her. From what I understood, though, his wife was still very close with her daughter. She probably silently agreed with her daughter’s stance. But also liked the fact that her husband kept his Senate seat, because it meant he was busy most of the time, and left her the hell alone.

“Regardless, this isn’t about Aaron per se. I think it is just time we sat down and had a heart-to-heart about anything else you might want to tell me,” I said, closing my tablet, and placing my hands on it, folded over each other, looking welcoming.

“You want to know if I have any more dirty laundry.”

“We all do, Senator,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah? What kind of dirty laundry do you have, Beth?” he asked, and I wasn’t sure if he was actually being slimy, or if I was just taking it that way because I was tired and the headache was definitely taking a turn toward a migraine, judging by the way the sound of a phone ringing in the next office had me wincing.

“We’re not talking about me,” I said, lifting my chin, making my voice a little firmer. “I’m not running for a public office,” I reminded him.

“As unfortunate as it is, your private life is for public consumption. I need to know if there is anything else you have not told me yet. As you know, we are only a few months away from the election. This is the time when your political rivals will pull a card out of their sleeves to play. When there’s not enough time for me to fix it.”

He nodded at that, knowing how true it was. There were many times over the years he watched friends of his lose their seats because of random scandals.

“You know about Aaron. And my mistress…”

“I do,” I agreed, nodding, keeping my face impassive. You’ll find no judgment here . Even if I totally judged as much as the next person. If not more. Because someone on the inside saw all of the ugly things that no one else got to witness.

“Senator, I can’t protect you if I don’t know,” I told him, leaning forward again, using the little tips and tricks I learned in a psych class I took once, wanting to put him at ease.

“Well,” he said, making a steeple with his hands in this incredibly pretentious way I kept trying to tell him to stop doing.

Hope swelled, and I discreetly made sure my phone was recording. “I have sort of gotten myself involved with some—“ he started, but was cut off by a loud knock on the office door, making both of us jolt.

“What?” the senator barked.

The door opened, and one of the staffers was holding up a phone.

“It’s for you,” she said, looking sheepish. “Amber,” she said, making me close my eyes as I tapped off the recording app.

Damnit.

He was so close to saying it.

To ending this once and for all.

I could go to the cops.

They could… do whatever they needed to do.

And I could collect unemployment while I got a steady gig going for myself again.

All to have it thwarted by his very needy mistress.

“We’ll put a pin in this,” the senator said to me, tone pointed. Time for you to go.

I walked out of his office and into mine, grabbing some painkillers out of my drawer, and downing them with a fresh coffee one of the interns had brought me.

Then I sat in my office, just rubbing my temples as I tried to figure out if it would be possible to go back into his office later to talk to him.

That question was answered no more than ten minutes later, though, when Michael rushed past my office and into the elevator.

Off to see Amber, I was sure.

“Hey, Elizabeth, do you need anything else from me?” one of the staffers asked, popping her head in my door. She already looked like she’d done her makeup to head somewhere fun. Who the hell was I to stop her? We were standing on a sinking ship here. I might as well start cutting their hours.

“No, actually, can you tell everyone for me that it’s time to head out? Let’s call it an early night. We’ve been burning the candle at both ends,” I said, reaching for my phone to order a ride-share. I was going to power down my office, then walk out with the crowd.

There was safety in numbers.

And I still wasn’t convinced that someone wasn’t going to try to shoot me again.

“Another migraine?” she asked, wincing as she looked at me.

“It’s starting,” I agreed, powering off my computer, then making neat piles of my paperwork as she made her rounds.

Finally, as the crowd moved down the hall, I grabbed my purse and joined them, pushing myself into the center of them all, feeling a bit like a coward as the guilt swirled for putting them at risk.

But no shots rang out as everyone said their goodbyes, talking about their plans, as I threw myself into the ride-share and lowered down in my seat.

I didn’t remember the last time I left work before ten at night, but the sun was just setting as the car pulled up to my building.

“Early, Miss Riley,” Brian said, giving me his usual warm smile.

“Time for a little break,” I said, forcing a smile that I didn’t feel with the migraine starting to stab in my temples.

I felt like I breathed a sigh of relief as Brian closed the door behind me, feeling like I was out of harm’s way.

Until, of course, I was walking down the hall toward my apartment.

And saw my door cracked open. Not enough that anyone else would probably even notice. But knowing how paranoid I’d been the past few days, there was no way I would have walked away without the door being latched completely.

I mean, even on a normal day, I wouldn’t have been that careless. Kevin could have escaped.

Panic surged, the blood pumping hard, making my migraine reach a fever pitch, stabbing sensations into my temple and behind my eye.

I turned away from my apartment, fighting the desire to close my door before walking toward the elevator, mind on going downstairs to ask Brian if he would come and tour my apartment with me to make sure no one was around.

“Oh,” I said, jerking back when one of the apartment doors opened, and my neighbor moved out, dressed in basketball shorts and a moisture-wicking shirt, likely heading to the gym on the main level. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?” I said.

I didn’t technically know any of my neighbors. But I’d seen them in the laundry room and gym, or passed in the halls. We exchanged, you know, pleasantries. Nothing deeper.

Still, this was a man. A bigger one than Brian, even.

“What’s up?” he asked, not wanting to agree until he knew the details. I was pretty sure this particular neighbor was a lawyer.

“It’s just… my door is open,” I told him, waving back toward my apartment. “I was wondering if you could take a look around with me,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, straightening, shoulders squaring, chest puffing a bit. It was both sweet and a little bit funny how eager he was to be a hero. “Absolutely,” he agreed, closing his apartment door, then walking toward mine.

I followed behind, wincing at the lights in the hallway, even though they’d—thankfully—changed out the stark white LEDs for soft white ones.

“Stay behind me,” he demanded, all machismo as he reached to push open my door.

I was happy to follow his order, though, as we took a step inside my quiet apartment.

What struck me instantly was how much darker it was than it should be since I always left at least a few lights on for Kevin.

Sure, it was entirely possible that a bulb had blown out, but the way my hairs were standing on end said that it wasn’t that simple of an explanation.

I followed my neighbor as he walked into my living room.

It wasn’t until he walked into my bedroom ahead of me as I fell back, looking around for Kevin, that I was justified in my paranoia.

“Eliza—“ my neighbor started to yell, before there was a loud grunt, a slam, and a curse.

My heart tripped into overdrive as I took an automatic step back, the island in my kitchen jutting my back, preventing retreat, even as a form all in black came rushing out of the bedroom, coming right for me.

“No,” I cried out, hearing more curses in my bedroom.

He was still alive, at least. He could maybe still come to save me.

“We’re coming for you, bitch,” the man in the hoodie snarled before cocking back, and swinging.

The punch landed high on my cheekbone, the force behind it sending me flying to the side, crashing to the ground before I could even try to grab for the counter to slow my momentum.

I landed with a cry, my shoulder aching, as I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself from more strikes.

But they never came.

“Elizabeth,” my neighbor called, coming out of the bedroom.

I heard his footsteps near me, but he didn’t stop until he checked around, then closed and locked my door.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming up to me.

Unfurling from my ball, I sat back against my cabinets, reaching up to press a hand to my throbbing face.

“Yeah,” I said, looking up, seeing blood trickling from his nose. “Are you?” I asked.

“Nothing a little ice won’t fix. He was standing behind the fucking bathroom door,” he said, shaking his head. “Must have heard us coming in and panicked. We should call the police,” he said.

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” I said, shaking my head. “They won’t be able to do anything.”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted.

It was a sad fact in a city as populated as ours that the cops weren’t exactly going to go out of their way to try to track down a faceless burglar. It would probably be hours before anyone even showed up at my door to take a report.

“We should at least tell Brian and maybe put a note up on the board downstairs, so everyone is aware that someone who shouldn’t have been in the building broke into an apartment.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding, even if I was pretty sure I knew who was in my apartment, and that they likely weren’t a threat to anyone in the building but me. “That’s a good idea,” I added when he just kept staring at me. “Thanks for coming in with me,” I added. “Who knows what might have happened if you weren’t here.”

I had a feeling I did know.

And I wouldn’t be alive right now.

“Anytime,” he said, nodding. “Do you mind if I go and tell Brian?” he asked, eager to continue to be the hero.

“Please do,” I said, nodding.

“Do you need anything? Can I call someone for you?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” I said, pulling myself off the floor even if all I wanted to do was stay down there. “Really, thank you,” I said as I walked him to the door.

“Anytime,” he said, nodding.

As soon as he was into the hall, I closed the door and slid the locks before walking numbly into the kitchen, grabbing my purse off of the floor.

It was when I was placing it on the island that I saw it.

The edge of a white card that was stuck under a bowl of fruit.

Elian’s card.

I reached for it like a lifeline as I grabbed for my phone, then plugged it in before I could think better of it.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding distracted.

“You said to call if I ever need help. I, ah, I think I need help,” I admitted, sniffling as tears started to flood my eyes.

“Elizabeth? Is everything alright?” he asked, voice tight.

“Um, yes. But also, no,” I admitted, reaching up to wipe some tears off of my cheek as my body started to tremble as the adrenaline continued to move through me with nowhere for it to go.

“What happened?” he asked, and I could hear the beep as his car turned over.

“My door was open when I got home, and there was someone in here,” I told him, my hand going to my face, fingers and palm pushing into my eye that felt like someone was driving an icepick through it and into my skull.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. My neighbor came in to check it out with me. I don’t know if I’d be okay if he hadn’t,” I admitted. “He got a bloody nose…”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, making some sort of driving maneuver that had a chorus of horns objecting.

“He punched me,” I told him. Then, “I’m okay.” Though, it didn’t feel that way.

I could handle this situation when the only place I thought I was truly unsafe was on the street. But now that my own apartment was compromised, I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to function.

There was no way I could sleep, that was for sure.

“I’m on my way,” Elian said.

“He’s gone,” I told him, suddenly realizing there was nothing this man could do. So why the hell was I even bothering him? “There’s nothing you can—“

“I’m on my way. Tell your doorman to let me up,” he told me, then ended the call before I could object again.

I called downstairs, having to try twice—likely because Brian was talking to my neighbor—before I got him on the line, then explained to let Elian Lombardi up for me before unlocking my door.

I was halfway back to my kitchen, ready to grab an icepack for my cheekbone and my rescue medicine, when the nausea came on hard and fast, leaving me no choice but to run into the bathroom and retch.

I was still sitting on my bathroom floor, rocking in pain, when I heard footsteps making their way through my apartment.

If this was how I died, so be it .

I couldn’t muster any motivation to try to get up and run for my life.

“Elizabeth…” Elian’s voice said, tone soft. “Oh, baby,” he added at my pathetic whimper.