Page 91 of The Love You Fight For
“What’s in the bag?” she asks, and I feel her foot knock the bag and box at my feet.
I smile.
“Jimmy Choo black velvet platform pumps with an open toe and a five-point-nine-inch heel.”
She whistles.
“How much did that set your father back?”
My smile grows.
“A grand for this pair, but I also ordered some platform-heeled boots and a pair of sandals, so about five when you factor in shipping.”
She shakes her head.
“You and your shoes.”
I shrug.
“You can never have lips too red or heels too high.”
Agent Sexton laughs and nods, even though I know she disagrees. I’ve never seen her in anything except loafers, and the woman is strictly a sunscreen-and-lip-balm chic.
I take another sip of my latte. She takes another of her Americano. Then she cuts right to it.
“I have an update,” she says curtly.
“I figured. Must be something important to insist on flying to Chicago to meet instead of waiting for me to get back to D.C. in two days.”
Her eyebrows pull together the tiniest bit, and that worries me. Usually, she’s a blank canvas when we talk about business. She’s ruthless and cutthroat with strategy, blunt when discussing risk and reward, but she rarely shows emotion.
“Okay,” I say after a breath. “Tell me.”
“We have a lead. It could be exactly what we’ve been looking for. And luckily, it’s in Ashton Cartwright’s possession.”
I nod and think it over.
“What’s the problem, then? You looked hesitant to tell me.”
She pauses, but her eye contact doesn’t waver.
“I’m worried about what you’ll do to get it,” she says finally, and then it’s my turn to furrow my brow.
“We agreed. Whatever it takes,” I say, and she arches a brow.
“Yousaid whatever it takes. I agreed before I knew just how far you’d go.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
Sometimes I forget that they often have someone shadowing me for security. That means every car screaming session, every back-alley breakdown, every anxiety pill refill, they know about. Briefly, I wonder if they also know about my destructive tantrum where I smashed every glass in my condo a few weeks ago, and then I realize they probably do.
If they don’t, they at least know about the forced kiss and groping that took place in Ashton’s car minutes before. That’s probably part of the reason Agent Sexton was so freaked out when I disappeared, and my father’s security started looking for me.
“What is it?” I ask finally, and she pulls a small picture out of her bag and slides it to me.
A small black external hard drive. I purse my lips.
“Ashton traveled to Richmond this past weekend,” Agent Sexton says, and I nod, steeling myself for what she’ll say next. “He had a meeting with his father. This was when the hard drive exchanged hands. We don’t believe Ashton knows exactly what’s on it. His father told him to hold on to it until after the fundraising gala.”
