Page 30 of Punishing Penelope
“Peter! No!”
Her voice is hoarse and full of terror—rightfully so—and the sound of it sends a shockwave of thrill through me, making me hard in an instant.
Funny how we ended up here. A slow evening is suddenly a lot less dull. All because of my dedication to my work, her insane devotion to hers, and one error from a seasoned detective who shouldn’t have left her alone in his office—stupid old fuck.
I saw the Bull stride down the corridor with long angry steps but didn’t think much of it, assuming he went for coffee and figured I could use a cup, too.
As I passed his room, something called to me. Even in hindsight, I don’t what it was, but that something implored me to look inside. Maybe it was the faint scent of her perfume or perhaps that mysterious pull I still feel whenever she’s around. I almost missed her, crouched by the cabinet, then she moved.
I lean closer and put my mouth to her ear.
“You can’t have the file, sweetie, but I feel generous, and I’ll give you two options. I can arrest you and put you before the judge on call. You’ll probably lose your job and be publicly humiliated. After the system is through wrangling you, you won’t find another gig on this side of the country. Smalltown backwater papers will be your tune from now on, and the lone county sheriff the only one to yap about.”
“Or?”
Her voice is uneven and unsure, which is music to my ears. I pull the hair away from her neck, baring her skin, then drag my fingers over the nape, reveling in how her breath hitches. There’s still something there—between her and me—I sense it and will use it to destroy her. Her trust in me will be her ruin. She won’t know what hit her.
I throw the bait…
“Or you follow me home for some catching up over a glass of wine.”
She looks over her shoulder and meets my eyes, a scowl on her face, then she slumps.
“Fine.”
“Which is it? I want to hear the words.”
“Wine, Peter! Duh!”
And I reel her in. She’s way too trusting.
“Let’s go then, you little thief.” I grab her bag and her sexy, form-fitted black jacket draped over the backrest of the visitor’s chair, then pull her with me.“Let’s go then, you little thief.”
Her eyes dart between mine, then her frightened look is replaced by relief that turns into a slight smirk.
The sight fills me with evil glee. She thinks she’s getting off easy. I have to fight not to laugh as I march her down the corridor, aiming for the back exit, so we won’t pass Detective Fraser on the way out and raise questions. He can wonder all he wants where Miss Wilder went.
The desks are empty, all but one, and young officer Ibrahim Youssef sits partly hidden behind his screen, his nose buried in papers. We pass by him unnoticed.
I know where the cameras are, which angles they cover, and how to sneak by them.
In the underground garage, I hold open the passenger door for my—still unsuspecting—former lover. She sits, gracefully folding her long legs a little to the side. I steal a moment to take her in. She’s gracious, stunning, clever, crazy, and the only woman I’ve ever loved, but nothing of that matters anymore. Fuck me, she’s become such a bitch, I can’t wait to show her exactly how pissed off I am.
Handing her the jacket and bag, I slam her door closed, look around, then hop in and drive off, pulling down her visor before we pass the camera I can’t dodge. No need for anyone to catch sight of who sits next to me.
I feel maddeningly beside myself,
as if all surface, all polish, and all civilized manners disappeared the moment I saw my chance. Pen has been on my mind my whole life, ingrained in my very being since long before I met her.
Back in our innocent youth, I had her. Then in a merciless flick of fate, I lost her. That same fucking god, devil, or fate—call it what you want—dangled her before me day after day as she stomped all over my work.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but we’ll find out soon enough because I’m punishing Penelope Wilder tonight. She’s an amazing writer and journalist—I’ll give her that much credit—but there are so many fucking other things she could aim her energy at rather than throwing dirt at law enforcement.
And she will.
After tonight, she’ll want to write about nothing but rainbows and unicorns.
Penelope