Page 19 of These White Lies

“Like I could ever forget.”

My phone rings before she can respond, and when I see Finn’s contact on the screen, I hold up a finger. “Hold on.”

I swipe to answer but hear her heels as she steps into the elevator. She twiddles her fingers at me as the doors close in my face.

Fuck.

5

ELIZABETH

Compartmentalize. Breathe. Get back to the killer attorney your clients pay handsomely for. Don’t think about the fact that every time he looks at you, he’s thinking about…

My core clenches as memories of the night flood through my mind. I wasn’t myself that night. Wanton. Uninhibited. Vulnerable. Free.

The elevator hums as I descend to the lobby, hands clenched in tight fists at my sides.

Why did he have to remember?

Why did he have to say anything?

It was a long time ago.

I shiver.

This won’t work. I’ll have to tell Luke to get me someone else.

Will Brady tell him why?

The building’s lobby is empty, and I push open the glass doors, walking into the summer evening light. The humidity is thick, and it sounds like a thousand insects are having a party, clicking and chirping in the dense green trees that surround our parking lot.

I need a few more moments to compose myself, so I decide to wait for him by the car. Brady’s sleek sports car is parked onlyfifty feet away, the only one left in the lot. I scan the parking lot, but there’s no one around.

Iknewthey were overreacting.

Feeling a little better, I concentrate on getting my heart rate and breathing under control as I step off the curb.

Footsteps rush up behind me, and I snap my head around, expecting to see Brady. A scream lodges in my throat as a strange man in a hoodie and mask grabs my arm and pokes something sharp, hard against my side.

“Move,” he growls in my ear. His breath is hot, and he stinks of cigarettes as he herds me farther from the front entrance

My blood pressure spikes as a black SUV screeches to a halt in front of me, the back door already swinging open.

I fight back instinctively—elbowing, and twisting, yelling for help—but he’s too strong, and every second I’m being dragged closer.

If he gets you in there, you’re dead.

I throw my elbow back, connecting with something solid. The man grunts, but doesn’t let go. A sharp edge digs into my ribs, and I realize he’s holding a knife, not a gun. His other hand stays locked on my arm, forcing me toward the open door.

“Stop fighting,” he hisses. “Just tell them where it is, and they won’t hurt you.”

Wherewhatis?

I kick back, my pointy heel slamming into his shin. His grip loosens just enough for me to wrench back, and claw at his arm. I scream at the top of my lungs.

A dark blur hits us, knocking us sideways.

Brady.