Page 25 of First Date: Divorce (Wyoming Marriage Association #1)
“K.D., it’s me. Eric. It’s—”
Her elbow connected with his diaphragm. He bent over, knowing she’d knocked the wind out of him. Thinking — hoping — that weapon she wielded of bone and quick-reactions hadn’t done more damage.
She had him by the shoulders. He figured her next move was a knee to his groin, and he couldn’t get out anything more articulate than a grunt.
So having her point what felt like a laser into his eyes represented good news. Because that meant she couldn’t hold him still to knee him in the groin.
No doubt an expert kneeing in the groin.
“Eric?” Barely audible, he still heard her surprise.
In further good news, in order to knee him in the groin now, she’d have to straighten him, because he was bent practically double.
The bad news? He couldn’t breathe.
“Your diaphragm is spasming,” her voice said in his ear. Somehow that phrase hadn’t figured into any of his wayward imaginings of having her mouth this close. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
She had one hand on his arm. The other moved the flashlight systematically. “There’s a cushion. If you can lie down on your stomach and stretch—”
Thanks to the nose in, mouth out, he had enough breath to say, “Uh-uh.” Then “minute.”
She allowed him half of that.
“You followed me,” she accused.
Still at a disadvantage, he did get out. “I left first. Here first.”
“How could you have left before—?”
“You were in the bathroom.” A complete sentence in one breath. Life looked better.
She made a huffing noise, and he envied her the breath.
“You sauntered down here and walked in and—”
“Uh-uh. Door was locked.”
“How’d you open it?”
He reached into his robe pocket and straightened enough to hold a plastic card in the narrow stream of light from the flashlight she methodically cast over the small enclosure. “Misspent youth.”
This time she clicked her tongue.
That sound he might have been able to make. Didn’t take a lot of breath.
“It’s a janitor’s closet.” She sounded disgusted.
He knew how she felt.
“No safe,” he agreed.
She swung the light around and into his eyes. This time he put a hand up to shield them.
“So you did see that on the plans.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And didn’t say anything about it.”
“Neither did you.”
Another huff. That was showing off.
She shifted the light and continued her survey. By the time she finished, he’d started to feel like his lungs hadn’t permanently gone on strike.
“Dead end,” he said.
“Eliminating false trails helps find the real ones.”
“According to Cully, we shouldn’t follow trails. Just present ourselves as bait for the mole to spot, serve up to Bledsoe.”
Their eyes met for a long moment.
He said, “You’re thinking what Cully doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Neither of us could tell on the other for doing more than being bait without the accusation being thrown back at us,” she said.
“That’s cynical. Though completely true.”
The corners of her mouth curved. “Truce?”
She extended her hand.
He met her hand. They shook. He didn’t release the clasp.
“Okay, we better get— Shh,” she ordered, even though she’d been the one talking.
Voices.
Too distant to make out words. But definitely coming closer.
She turned off her flashlight.
They stood still in the darkness. One male, one female voice. He thought the female one—
“Ms. Smiley,” K.D. murmured.
“Perfect nickname,” he said, barely above a breath.
“…I thought I caught a shadow in a counseling room. We have so many confidential papers, we can’t be too careful.”
“Some could be more careful,” said the male voice.
“That’s all in the past now, Albert. I’m sure Melody is being more careful, and I know she deeply regrets any possible implications you were responsible.”
Interesting.
The male — likely a security guard — humphed. “Appreciate your speaking up for me, Miss. And don’t you worry about a thing tonight. I’ll be right here until five o’clock.”
Eric laid his hand on K.D.’s shoulder, then put his mouth close to her ear and said, “Trapped.”