Surviving the Storm Read online

  The only room I'm forbidden to be in.

  Johnathan stops me as I attempt to follow Micah. Lying through clenched teeth, I shake his grip from my arm and pick up the pace as I walk out of the room.

  The house is darker than I remember it being. A burst of thunder overhead followed by a flash of lightning illuminates my path to the kitchen. A flashlight isn't a bad idea, actually, and there's one in the junk drawer.

  Clicking it on, I turn back to go in search of Micah and find him standing behind me.

  He grabs onto my arm in the same place Johnathan did, and I wince, causing him to release me quickly. Nodding in the direction of the dining room, I click the flashlight off and follow him around the corner. As soon as we're through the door, he presses us against the wall, crushing his body to mine.

  "This is a trick, Amelia," he whispers in my ear. The warmth of his breath against the side of my neck has me leaning toward him. "We're not safe here."

  Closing my eyes, I picture the look on Johnathan's face the moment he agreed to allow Micah to look around. A sly smile spreads across his face, and his left eyebrow raises slightly as if he had just come up with a brilliant idea. A plan of his own.

  He's nothing more than a puppet master, pulling Micah's strings until he finally snips them.

  "I think you're right, but he's not going to let me leave. Not without him."

  "I can protect you, but only if you leave with me right now."

  Thoughts of Micah's arms wrapped around me protectively are tempting. Probably because our bodies are touching. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my breasts. The hard curves of his muscles as he traps me against the wall.

  "Micah, I can't."

  "You can. I promise you I'll keep you safe. I won't let him do to you what he did to my sister." The sincerity in his voice causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. Concern. Fear. All for me. He can't help his sister anymore. What's done is done, but he can help me.

  Save me.

  And I don't think he'll give up until he does.

  "You still don't know what he did."

  "But you believe that he was involved."

  "We don't have much time," I finally say, sliding under his arm to escape him. I don't want to say aloud what I believe at this point. Admitting it means admitting I'm in danger as well.

  "Amelia," Micah says softly. I want to look at him, to see the way he's looking at me, but the sound of his voice scares me. There's promise and desire in it. A bad combination considering our situation. "I—"

  "We should really get started. I don't know how long we have," I state, finding the courage to look up.

  As I expected, he's staring at me with lust in his eyes. His chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. It's his lips that draw my attention, though. The way his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting them slowly. They glisten in the little bit of light filtering in through the window.

  I will not fall for this man. It doesn't matter how sexy he is. Or kind. Caring. It doesn't matter that his touch is electrifying or that my body craves his. That having his arms around me makes me feel like I'm home.

  I can't fall for him.

  It wouldn't be right.

  Micah finally nods his acceptance, defeat in his eyes, and we head in the direction of Johnathan's office. Micah's leading the charge, and when I pass my bedroom and notice Johnathan staring at the pictures on our bed, a plan formulates in my mind.

  "You get started. I'm going to stall him."

  I don't give him a chance to argue with me. He needs as much time unsupervised as he can get. We both know it.

  "Amelia," I hear Johnathan say softly as I step up beside him.

  If I were a betting woman, I'd say he's pretending as much, or more, than I am. There's a hint of concern in his voice. Almost panic. It's too much, though. It's not sincere.

  Nothing about him is. I can't remember even one time when he was completely real. Or maybe it's that everything seems like it was calculated. Part of some master plan.

  I've been played. Repeatedly.

  But it ends now.

  I'm not going to be a pawn in his game anymore. I'm done letting him control every aspect of my life. It's time he got a taste of his own medicine. The best part is he won't even realize it’s happening.

  So I talk. I ask. I want answers, but mostly I want to see how far he's going to take his lies. He's not going to confess all his sins right here and now, but he will let parts of the truth slip.

  As if he's rehearsed it, he tells me the story of the day she went missing. Where he was. What he was doing. Accounting for his actions mostly. Amongst all the lies—because if I'm being honest with myself, I have to believe he's lying to me—he professes his love for her.

  Not loved. Loves. As in, presently loves her.

  That little fact tells me more than he knows. It gives me a glimmer of hope, and when I talk to Micah, it'll provide him with hope as well. Because Johnathan made all of this happen. He's responsible for Monica's disappearance. If he wasn't, if his hands were clean, he wouldn't have been threatened by Micah's presence.

  And he sure as hell wouldn't have been angered by it.

  So the bottom line is this. She's still alive. Somewhere.

  "I'm sorry she's gone," I sympathize, putting myself in Micah's shoes in an attempt to sound sincere.

  "No, you're not," he replies, his voice firm, a hint of anger lurking beneath the surface. "You don't care about her at all. You're her replacement. You should be happy she's gone."

  Unsure how to respond, I take a step away from him, away from the pictures of Monica's beautiful face that will probably haunt me in my dreams until we find her.

  "Time's up," Johnathan roars at the top of his lungs, causing me to jump. Stumbling backward, I fall against the bed, my hand flying to my chest. My heart is pounding against my sternum, beating at a rapid pace.

  With his anger flying off the charts, he stomps out of the room and goes in search of Micah, his gun still in his hand. I race to catch up to him, but he's already in his office, pointing the gun at Micah's head again by the time I come to a stop in the hall.

  Micah has his hands above his head, a white piece of paper crumpled in his left hand. His eyes are wide with shock. The room is littered with papers. Every book has been removed from Johnathan's bookshelf. Drawers lie open, their contents discarded on the floor.

  He didn't waste any time. He dug right in and made a mess of the place.

  "Find anything?" Johnathan's voice is full of malice as he stares directly at Micah, ignoring the chaos around him.

  "I think you know the answer to that," Micah replies hesitantly.

  Johnathan's phone rings in his pocket, but he ignores it, keeping his attention focused on Micah. The ringing stops and starts moments later.

  "Don't move," he states as he moves the gun into his left hand and reaches for his phone with his right. "What? We're fine. No need to… Actually, yeah. I have a little situation I need you to take care of for me."

  Johnathan hangs up his phone and tosses it on his desk.

  "Change of plans. We have company coming over in a few minutes."

  "Who?" I ask before I think it through.

  When his head whips in my direction, I stand my ground.

  "Doesn't matter. Go change your clothes. You look homeless. Put on the gray dress you wore on our first date. And pull your hair up the way I like." When I don't make a move, he screams, "Now!"

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Micah nod. I don't want to leave them alone. There's no guarantee he won't shoot Micah the second I'm out of sight.

  Making quick work of my hair, I search the closet for the dress Johnathan requested, but a gray dress in the dark is hard to find. Everything looks black and gray. The flashlight reflects off something in the back of the closet, but before I can explore, I hear footsteps approaching.

  "Amelia," Johnathan screams, his irritation at my timeliness clear.

 
"In the closet," I holler back as I continue to look.

  Standing in only my bra and thong, I regret calling him into the closet the second I feel his fingers trail down my arm. He pulls me back to him and kisses my neck. I play along, making all the right noises at the appropriate times. He either doesn't care I'm faking my reaction to his advances or he's oblivious.

  His kisses begin to trail lower as he pulls the strap of my bra down my arm. He's about to unclasp it when I hear the front door slam.

  Micah.

  He left me.

  So much for protecting me.

  "We're going to have to finish this later. Our company has arrived," he states, reaching over my shoulder and pulling something off a hanger. "Here."

  Shining the light on the material after he leaves, I'm surprised to find I'm holding the dress I'd been searching for. Stepping into it and sliding the zipper up as far as I can get it without assistance, I reach for my shoes when I remember the shiny object I spotted before Johnathan came looking for me.

  Getting down on my knees, I crawl as far into the corner as I can and reach back, tugging on the cold metal object until it bumps into my shin. It's heavier and larger than I expected it to be.

  A briefcase.

  One I’ve never seen before.

  And it's locked.

  Three

  Johnathan

  ”I’d like you to escort your partner out of here," I state firmly, walking into the hall to find Garcia waiting for me.

  "What's he doing here?" he inquires, falling into step with me as we make our way down the hall.

  "Same reason he's always popping up where he's not welcome. Looking for evidence. Trying to make a case against me. And, just for kicks, trying to seduce my wife."

  I expect Garcia's steps to falter, but they don't. Nothing seems to rattle this man.

  If I say jump… he jumps.

  If I say shoot… he shoots.

  So if I say Ayers is attempting to seduce Amelia, that's what's happening.

  There's no evidence, of course, but I can only imagine he'd jump at the chance to be with Amelia, which is oddly satisfying. I have something he wants. Multiple things, in fact. The answers to all his questions and a woman that any man would be lucky to have.

  And she's mine.

  If she knows what's good for her, she'll stay away from him.

  I'm not blind to the charm and charisma the good detective has. The fact he's single is a mystery to me. When Monica and I first started dating, he was with a short, thick brunette. Heather, I think. They seemed in love, always fawning over each other at family dinners and when we went out to eat together.

  As far as I know, they were still together when Monica disappeared. Hell, they could still be together now.

  My gut tells me she left him. His obsession with this case, with me, probably drove her away. I'm sure he'd like to blame me for that too.

  For all his problems.

  He can blame me for whatever he wants. I don't care. Unless he can find a way to prove I was involved, he's going to die not knowing what really happened.

  Micah's sitting behind my desk, his feet firmly planted on the cherry wood surface, when we walk in. He looks comfortable, at ease. A complete contradiction to the way he looked when I left him moments ago.

  I guess not having a gun pointed at your head is enough to change a man's perspective.

  "Let's go," Garcia says, motioning for Micah to follow him.

  "No, I think I'm going to stay for a while."

  Ballsy bastard.

  "Ayers, I'm not asking. You're trespassing. The Senator can press charges, and the last place you want to be is in lockup. You can either leave on your own or I can remove you."

  My lip twitches as I watch Garcia and Ayers interact. Forcing back the urge to smile at the image of Ayers behind bars, I take in the scene before me. They're the worst partners. I'm not even sure why they were ever paired together. They've never gotten along. Hell, they don't even pretend to act like they like each other.

  Staring at Ayers as he boldly refuses to move, I notice the slight change in his demeanor. Following his eyes, I turn to find Amelia standing just inside the room.

  The picture of perfect.

  You'd never know that ten minutes ago she looked like she'd spent all day cleaning the house. Her hair is pristine, every piece perfectly in place. The gray dress hugs every curve, accenting her amazing tits.

  She even put on heels, bringing her closer to eye level with me. She doesn't fit as nicely against my body in those heels, but they're the perfect height for when I bend her over later and take her from behind.

  "I've asked you a dozen times to give this up, Ayers."

  Garcia's voice draws my attention back to Ayers, but he's still staring at Amelia. Maybe I'm on to something about him trying to seduce my wife.

  "And I've told you I'm not stopping until I get what I want."

  "And what is that?" Garcia takes a step to the left, blocking Ayers’s view.

  "The truth, Garcia. I want the fucking truth!"

  "You're not going to find that here. Let's go."

  Garcia is a mild-mannered man. He doesn't often get angry or irritated. If he does, he certainly doesn't show it. His voice is always level, emotionless. It’s part of what makes him great at what he does. He keeps himself in check, and his personal feelings are never on display.

  Right now is a different story.

  Grabbing Ayers by the arm, he yanks him out of the chair and to his feet. Ayers, who's at least four inches taller than Garcia, easily frees himself from his grip and pushes past him.

  Stopping next to me, Ayers keeps his eyes focused elsewhere as he whispers in my ear. "This isn't over."

  "I think it is," I call after Ayers as he storms out.

  The room is silent for a few beats. Once I hear the front door slam closed, I turn to face Amelia.

  "How long was he here before I got home?" Slowly approaching her, she takes a step back and presses her body against the wall.

  "Five, maybe ten minutes." Her voice is small, and she's staring at my forehead, avoiding eye contact.

  Lies. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get here.

  "What did he say he wanted?"

  "He didn't. He wasn't making any sense."

  "What. Did. He. Say?"

  I'm not interested in playing games with her right now. I want answers. I need to know what he said to her. I need to know what kind of damage control I need to deal with.

  I've never spoken about Monica with Amelia before tonight for a reason. The less she knows, the better. I'm not interested in answering her questions. I don't want to talk about what happened. Not because I miss her, which I do, but because I'm afraid I'll say something that gives me away.

  "He said he needed evidence about his sister. He was rambling something about your office. That's as much as I remember, I swear."

  Her entire body is shaking at this point. She looks like a frightened child who is bound to cry at any moment.

  "You realize he's looking for something that he won't find here. I had nothing to do with what happened to his sister. He can't seem to wrap his mind around that."

  My words are meant to soothe her. To assure her I'm not responsible for what happened with Monica. And they might have had I not sounded bitter and angry when I spoke them.

  Let's try that again.

  Pushing my anger aside, I gently run my hands up and down her arms in an attempt to calm her as I speak.

  "Look, I'm sorry if he scared you. It just… Put yourself in his shoes for a minute. I get that he's worried about his sister. I would be too. He's not thinking clearly, and he's convinced himself that I did something to her. He needs to move on. Wherever Monica is, she'll come home when she's ready."

  Much better.

  "I know. You'd never do anything like that."

  Her answer is lacking in conviction. She's still lying to me. Either she believes him or she's lying to me about what h
e said to her. Maybe both.

  If that's the way she wants to play this, let's play.

  "I know, baby," I coo, closing the gap between us and pulling her into my arms. Looking over my shoulder at Garcia, he's staring at us, a blank expression on his face.

  Let's hope he can read mine.

  Amelia has to go. We need a plan.

  She can't disappear like Monica, but she has to be disposed of.

  With only a few weeks until the election, I'm going to have to wait it out and take care of her after. I can't risk screwing this up. If I don't get reelected, the company won't have as much use for me.

  I'd become a liability.

  Disposable.

  "Garcia and I need to discuss a few things. Can you please pack yourself a bag? We'll stay on the mainland until this storm passes."

  "Sure," she says with a nod, pushing out of my arms and walking down the hall.

  Just as she's about to disappear from sight, the house comes to life, the light momentarily blinding me. Blinking until my vision is adjusted, I find Amelia long gone.

  Closing the doors and locking them, I take in my surroundings. Ayers did a hell of a job destroying everything he could. Papers are littered everywhere. He cleared my desk of everything except a lone pen that's sitting precariously in the center.

  Garcia begins picking up papers, flattening them, and placing them in piles.

  "Don't worry about that. We have bigger issues that need attending to, and I want to get off the island before the storm ramps up even more," I state with the wave of my hand.

  "They sent out an alert a few minutes ago increasing it to a tropical storm warning."

  Fuck.

  We need to go. Now.

  Which means I need to take a few things with me that I can't have destroyed.

  A loud crash comes from the other end of the house. Garcia and I both head for the door without a second thought, moving down the hall with a sense of urgency. As we round the corner into the living room, we find the source of the noise.