Page 52 of Framed

I resisted the urge to sigh, in case she overheard. What Scooby-Doo bullshit was this? Did she decide to investigate Jonathan on her own or something?

Shaking my head, I followed her along the hallway. Once or twice, she’d pause, and I’d duck into a doorway to avoid her gaze while she scanned her surroundings. But on the whole, Scarlett was concerningly easy to tail.

If I could follow her this easily, I hated to think who else might.

At the stairwell, I almost lost her, but I caught a faint whiff of her usual scent and realized she’d gone upstairs. She still smelled the same as always, like sweet vanilla and brown sugar. My mouth watered against my will.

Up on the second floor, Scarlett was already headed back to the stairwell. I ducked back down half a flight, hiding beneath the shadow cast by the steps’ overhang. She walked right over my head, her breath shallow and tight. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine we’d come here together, and there was no space between us. Like she was right beside me, her breath ghosting across my lips with every motion of her chest.

Then I heard a creak, as she pushed through the door onto the third floor.

What the hell is she looking for?I took the stairs as quickly as I dared, careful not to make any sound. At the top, I pushed through onto the same floor my father worked on. Just the thought made me grit my teeth.

Then I noticed what direction Scarlett was walking. Toward a light at the end of the hallway. A familiar one.

My father’s office light.

For a moment, I paused, Scarlett’s lithe form forgotten. It was past four in the morning now—long past office hours. Not that my father bothered to keep those religiously. He had lackeys to do most of his actual work for him. He just showed up to cheese for the photo ops.

My earlier nerves ratcheted up a notch, a bad feeling stealing over me.

I followed Scarlett up the hall. She reached the door first, and I heard a faint intake of breath. But I heard other things, too, far louder. The telltale creak of furniture and heavy moans of a woman in the throes.

Scarlett turned to hurry back up the hallway, and I barely had the presence of mind to duck into a side doorway. She rushed by me, but for once, I didn’t follow her. I needed to see this. I needed to know.

I followed Scarlett’s tracks up to the door of my father’s office, just in time to watch him help a woman to her feet from where she’d been bent over his desk. He brushed her hair back from her forehead, and my gut sank.

Veronica. My father was still fucking his high school sweetheart. The woman he’d abandoned the minute she got pregnant with my sister. A woman who was now, as far as the outside world knew, happily remarried to another man, William Stewart, an influential politician who was known throughout the whole state.

Jesus fucking Christ.As if we couldn’t get any more soap opera. I balled my fists, fury overtaking my common sense. I dug in my pocket for my cell, not caring if either of them noticed the glow of my screen. I raised it, aimed through the gap, and started to record.

I caught a video of my father leaning in to kiss her. Another of Veronica grabbing his bare ass, before she slapped it, laughing, and turned to grab her underwear. They were draped over his desk lamp.

Finally, some sense of self-preservation overtook me. I spun around to leave, though not before I got one last close-up of my father’s face. I didn’t want any doubt about his identity, when I used this video for…

Well. Whatever would suit me best.

I knew my father. He lived and died by his reputation. And right now, he was playing up the sad single father to everyone who would listen in a thousand mile radius.

Nobody would take his side if they knew he was an adulterer. Nobody would take his side if popular, influential William Stewart threw all his influence into getting my father branded persona non grata in these parts.

Downstairs and back in my car, I watched the taillights of Winter’s car drive away. I pulled onto the road behind her and speed-dialed Briggs.

At least this time, he actually answered. “Sleep. I know this is a foreign concept to you,” he moaned.

“Did you know?” I demanded.

He yawned. “Know what?”

“About my father and Veronica Stewart.”

A long, long pause. When he spoke again, Briggs sounded more alert. “Where are you?”

“Where the fuck do you think?” I snapped. “We’re not playing twenty questions. I asked you first. Did. You. Know.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s a yes or no question.” I gripped the steering wheel so hard I was surprised it didn’t break off under my palms.

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