“The biggest problem you have is not me or Seth. Whoever set up your fake identity left huge, gaping holes. Anyone with a keen eye can find that out and we can fix that.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, that can’t be right. That’s impossible.”
“It’s how we knew you aren’t who you claim you are,” I say, wondering whom she trusted this completely, but I don’t push for that answer. I’m not going to push for any answers until I get her alone, where I now know I should have kept her. “It’s how someone else will figure it out too. Let’s go back upstairs and I’ll show you.”
“No. No, because you think if you get me back upstairs, I’ll tell you everything, and I won’t.”
“Whoever you trusted to protect you isn’t protecting you,” I say. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need you to be my hero.”
“Well, I’m going to be, whether you like it or not.”
A knock sounds on the door and I curse at the poorly timed interruption, before we hear, “There’s a line for the bathroom, Shane.” I grimace and call out, “One more minute,” and refocus on Emily. “Whatever this is, we’ll find a way out of it.”
“I need you to—”
“Let you go? Sweetheart, you matter way too much to me for me to let that happen. That’s why thinking you betrayed me gutted me. I’m not letting you go. Not a chance in hell.”
“You can’t afford to take a chance on me, Shane. You can’t afford the risk that I represent, that you don’t even understand.”
I cup her face. “I’m taking care of you. End of conversation.” I kiss her, a deep, gentle stroke of my tongue that I follow with another, and another, and then another, until she moans, her hand flattening on my chest, the other at my hip. And I can taste her fear, her guilt, but more so, I can taste her submission, not to me, but to us. To a bond neither of us expected or looked for, but it happened, and while it’s indefinable, it is also undeniable.
Another knock sounds on the door, and a loud, “Shane, damn it!” as I tear my mouth from Emily’s, stroking my thumb over her lip. “Whoever made you this afraid is going to be sorry,” I vow, but I don’t give her time to reply, caressing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to embarrass you. Hide out in one of the stalls so you won’t be embarrassed when the doors explode with women. I’ll be outside waiting on you.”
I start to move away and she grabs my arm. “Shane,” she whispers. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
I reach around her, cupping her backside and pulling her to me. “I’ve got you,” I say, and her hand settles on my cheek.
“But who has you, Shane? That’s what I’m worried about.”
“You. More than you know.” I kiss her, hard and fast this time, and then I walk away, opening the door and exiting the bathroom, really fucking pissed at myself for making this about me and my family, not her. Entering the hallway, I’m greeted with several glowering women and Rita, who pulls me to the archway and out of the path of the door.
“You now owe me,” she hisses. “My boss was furious.”
“He’s my friend,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.” I reach into my pocket and hand her an extra hundred. “A bonus.”
She glances down at it and her eyes go wide, her glower fading to satisfaction. “I’ll guard the door any time you like,” she says, her lips curving. “But I’d rather be the woman that made you go in the ladies’ room.” She laughs, rushing away, while Seth steps in front of me in her place, and considering his tie is missing and his short blond hair looks in disarray, this can’t be good.
“What’s her story?”
“It’s not about me or the company,” I say. “For now, that’s all I’m prepared to share.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am,” I say.
“Well then, moving on to another problem. We need to talk about allegations made by your plastic surgeon pal.”
He means Eric’s patient’s claim that our pharmaceutical brand is being used to package illegal drugs, and I have a good idea where this is headed, though the timing of the conversation is curious. “If you’re telling me you want me to ask him for the patient’s name—”
“I don’t need a name. Eric said the patient was the estranged wife of a professional athlete and while he has numerous sports connections, only one patient fits that description exactly.”
I should have known he’d already have the answer. “Who is it?”
“Do you know Brody Matthews?”
“Pro pitcher from Denver,” I say. “Everyone in this city knows him and I’ve met the guy. I don’t know where this is going, but I read people and I like this guy. He’s another Eric. He walks a straight line and he doesn’t cross it.”
“Yeah well, this straight arrow suffered several injuries this past year, punched a fan tonight at a game, and is married to one of your pal Eric’s patients. And I found this in his nightstand.” Seth produces his phone from his pocket, and shows me a photo of a medicine bottle with our label on it, the drug name Ridel. The same one we’ve suspected is being used by my brother and the Martina cartel to run Sub-Zero through our facilities.