The Bad Judgment Series: The Complete Series (17 page)

I didn’t look up at him. I didn’t let myself. I was already crossing the line in a big way. And even though it wasn’t nearly enough, it was enough. For right now.

He held me in his strong arms for another minute and I could feel his face pressed into my hair. I made myself step back. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“My pleasure,” he whispered back.

We shouldn’t have said anything. But part of me just wanted to tell whoever was listening in on us to fuck off.

After we got ready we got into our regular positions and to my surprise, I
almost
fell asleep.

I kept thinking about the driver. And the lanky man with the dog. The white Range Rover, and the blond soccer-mom who was most likely not a soccer-mom. Who were they, and why were they following us?

The answer seemed clear, but in its clarity, it was too bright to look at: the government had sent these people. It was the government that was following us, listening to us. Had they killed the driver? A massive headache hit me at this thought, like it caused my brain too much pain. It did. I couldn't believe that possibility.

I was a patriotic person and I loved my country. I believed that the government did what it had to, to protect national security, and that maybe sometimes it had to use violence to protect our national interest. I didn't object to that. I didn't think I had better judgment than the government. Even though I didn't think the charges they'd brought against Walker were right, or in our national interest. He was brilliant and his company did brilliant things and they were ruining him. They were ruining his livelihood and there was no reason…

Unless. Unless there was a very good reason. And then maybe there was a very good reason for all of this craziness.

I sat up suddenly, clutching my temples because my head was pounding so hard.
What if Walker was dangerous? What if he'd done something really, really bad, and the government had a very good reason for what it was doing? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
I’d been so blinded by his charms and by my hormones that I hadn’t even really considered it as a possibility.

I took a deep breath and made myself reconcile what I knew.

All my research to date indicated that he was innocent. So there were facts to support my belief. On top of that, there were my feelings: everything in my bones told me that he was innocent. I couldn't believe that he'd done something that made him worth killing, worth killing the people coming into contact with him.

Unless it was something dangerous in a different way. Something he'd done that was dangerous, perilous, to a third party, but wasn't intended by him — almost as if he were dangerous by accident.

What if it isn't the government?
I asked myself.
It could be another government. Or another corporation. There could be a lot of people who wanted to ruin him, or hurt him, or take what he has for various reasons.

I sighed heavily and crawled down to the bottom of the bed. I leaned over the edge and immediately locked eyes with Walker, who was wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

“I need to ask you something,”
I mouthed.

“Write it
,
” he mouthed back, making the hand motion for writing. “I can barely see you.”

I got up and looked around the room, finding a pen and a pad of paper in the sitting area of the master suite.
Is there any reason you can think of that they're doing this to you?
I wrote.

He smiled a sad smile at me.
I'm pretty sure I know too much, but I'm not sure too much of what
, he wrote back.
I believe that this is the government's doing. I don't want to believe this, but I do. I think they want me out of the picture,
he wrote.
They want full access to my work.
I can't think of another explanation and as you might have guessed, I'm a pretty smart guy.

But why would they bring you into court and then try to kill you — or at least, kill people around you?
I asked, shivering, because I was definitely a person around him. But also because it didn't make sense.

I know there is a reason,
he wrote,
but I don't know what it is. Yet.

I nodded at him. We could both think about it, and we both would, until we were both mad. But now I needed to sleep. The weight of the day, the death of the pizza guy — who had died because I'd paid him, and because I had the misfortune to like that particular restaurant — weighed on me. I clutched the sides of my head again, wanting to make the memory of the day disappear, wanting to make his face go away from my consciousness forever.

Suddenly, Walker's face was pressed against mine, his hot breath in my ear. "Nic," he whispered, so silently that no one else could possibly hear, "come down here." I looked up at him, mutely, desire lurching in my chest, but I shook my head:
No.
He patted the floor next to him.

I thought with my head but then my heart, my usually reliable heart, just pushed my head out of the way. And so I dove down next to him.

My heart was pounding and he put his huge arm around me, pulling me across his chest. I could hear his heart beating. I could finally feel that bicep. I relished the feel of his chiseled, broad chest — but I couldn't think about it, or the fire that was burning all through me and especially between my legs, the need, the want, the desire. I refused to acknowledge it. I instead chose to think of the delivery man's face, the man who died today, and as silent tears coursed down my cheeks and pooled on Walker's chest, I vowed that no one was ever going to hurt Walker, more than he’d already been hurt. Not on my watch.

“
G
ood morning
," he whispered to me at six am. I awoke abruptly, realizing that my head was still on his chest, my limbs entwined with his. I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and let myself greedily take in the view of his enormous, bare chest; heat spilled through me and pooled in my belly.

And then I remembered everything that had happened.

I wanted to forget it all: the pizza delivery guy’s face and rumpled button-down shirt. The aching guilt that sat on my heart, crushing it. A pained look must have crossed my face, because Walker furrowed his brow and ran his thumb over my cheek. “It’s going to be okay, Nicole,” he whispered almost silently in my ear, and I could feel his powerful body underneath mine.

I wanted to wrap myself around him and climb right on top, slide him into me, and ride him all day. I wanted him to overwhelm me, possess me. He could make everything else go away. I was desperate to feel the divots near his hips with my fingers, my tongue — every ounce of my being wanted to do all that, and more — but I didn't.

I couldn't. Now, more than ever, I had to protect him. Even though sex was what I wanted — the deep ache between my legs made sure I was clear about that — I had a job to do, even though I wasn't sure exactly what it was at this point. Keep Walker alive. Stay alive. Keep the innocent people around us from dying. Save Walker from the federal penitentiary.

I reluctantly pulled myself away from him and stood up, immediately feeling cold and bereft. I wanted to go back down there and wrap myself around him, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t trust myself. So I pretended to knock on the door, ending the possibility.

Walker frowned at me from the floor. His eyes were hooded, like he’d been thinking the same thing I’d been thinking.

“Nic," he said, in his fake-normal voice, "you're an early riser."

I looked at him longingly and noticed, to my simultaneous delight and horror, that there was an enormous bulge in his boxer shorts. I felt my face burn. "I see you are, too," I mumbled, and that at least earned me a dark smile from him. He stood up and walked slowly to the bathroom, so I could take a long look...at his massive, naked shoulders, his enormous pectoral muscles, the long, lean muscles of his torso and his washboard stomach…to the luscious indents near his hips...right down to the line of his boxer shorts, where there was a very large, achingly large, protrusion that I couldn't take my eyes off. Even though my face was flaming, and other very private parts of my body were flaming, I still couldn't tear my eyes away.

“Are you hungry?" he asked, and gave me a small, knowing smile.

"A little bit," I said. It came out all squeaky and wrong, and I, blushed even more furiously.

"Me too," he said darkly, "but
I'm
starved."

I took one last look at that bulge and almost cried. My insides squirmed as I looked at what I desperately wanted and could not have. Not ever.

It was going to be a long day.

“All right, Walker, let's get going," I sighed, "we have a lot to do." That broke the spell. He nodded at me. “Wait for me
,
” he mouthed, and I nodded and sat at the edge of the bed. He came out a minute later in the same shorts and tee-shirt that he'd had on the day before; he looked sexy and rumpled and all of it and none of it bothered me at the same time.

“Me next,” I mouthed, pointing down to my pajamas. He grabbed my hand, making the now-familiar heat shoot through me, then led me down the hallway to the bedroom that was supposed to be mine. "We're going out for appointments today, right?" I asked in my fake-normal voice, not knowing if what I was saying mattered.

"Let's go see Lester, and then David," Walker said, shrugging at me as if to say
it doesn't matter — they'll know everything anyway,
and I nodded. “I’ll have to email my parole or whatever guy first, to let him know we’re going to my office, too.”

"That's a good plan," I lied. None of it was good. I was afraid to go anywhere, see anyone. I was afraid of what would happen to anyone we had contact with. I was afraid of being followed, being bugged...all of the above.

We needed to make a plan. We needed to make a plan and I had no idea what the fuck it was going to be.

"Just a sec," I said, regretfully releasing his hand. He sat and waited on the perfectly made-up bed that I had never slept in. I grabbed some clothes, picking out an extremely clingy dress, and headed into the bathroom. I took a shower, got dressed and put just a little makeup on in record time. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked ridiculous, like I had a rather hot date, which I supposed I did — with my super-hot client. And the people who were following us. And the people who were killing the people we talked to. And Lester Max, who probably thought I was sleeping with Walker. And, oh yeah, my boss.

I thought I looked pretty good, all things considered.

"Ready," I said when I came out. I selected a pair of flat sandals, just in case we had to run away from someone. Like Norris Phaland, when he took one look at me in this dress.

"You look nice," Walker said, appreciatively.

I smiled at him.

"Let's get breakfast on the way," he said, and grabbed my hand once again.

T
here was
no sign of the lanky man with the dog or the soccer mom in the Rover out on the street. No one pulled out behind us as we took Walker's BMW at a leisurely pace though Beacon Hill. The car was surely bugged, though, so I didn't feel like I could say any of the things that I wanted. Like:
I'm starving. You're hot. Do you trust Lester Max? Do you think we'll be able to speak freely in his office?
I doubted it. Blue Securities had probably been bugged, if whoever was following us was interested in the case, and they must be.

But I was still going to ask him the questions I needed answered. I had to. I had the distinct, sinking feeling that I was running out of time.

I looked over at Walker. "Nice day," I said, watching him check the rearview and side mirrors continuously. "Nice and clear out." He smiled at that, but kept his eyes on the road — the road in front of us, the road behind us, and the road on both sides of us.

“The forecast says it’s gonna get cloudy,” he said, in his fake-normal voice, and I knew exactly what he meant. I had a pit of dread in my stomach.

“Can you live with a scone for breakfast? From the good place?” he asked.

“As long as I can have two,” I said, looking for white SUVs.

“You’re the boss, Nic,” he said, and reached over and squeezed my knee. Fire shot through my belly. “You can have whatever you want.”

You. On a platter. Please.

“Works for me,” I said.

N
o one seemed
to follow us into the bakery. No one behind us on Beacon Hill, no one behind us in the Financial District. No one we could see, anyway. We ate and drove in silence, both of us clutching our respective coffees.

Walker pulled into one of the enormous parking garages and started climbing the levels.

“Does Lester have people working directly for him?” I asked.

“Just a secretary.” He expertly parked his car in between two massive SUVs.

“Is he expecting us?” I asked, following Walker to the stairs.

“Yes,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t really listening to me. He was looking around in a paranoid fashion. The garage was filled with cars, but it was quiet except for our footsteps. Walker grabbed my hand again and I squeezed his, then let it go. He gave me a disapproving look.

“It’s not safe,” I said, apologetically.

“No, it’s not,” he said, and firmly grabbed my hand again. I didn’t pull away this time. It wasn’t worth starting a fight with him; it was hard to fight with someone who, by his very nature, refused to lose. The people who’d killed the poor delivery guy should know that. Walker would not go down without a very ugly fight.

I shivered. “Not on the street,” I whispered, and he looked at me nodded begrudgingly.

We got to the street outside the building and he released my hand. He looked up at the skyscraper that housed his company and sighed. “I’ve never been away from work this long,” he said. “All of my people probably think I’m a criminal.”

“No they don’t,” I said. “They don’t think that. They’re probably confused, like the rest of us. They’re probably upset. But I’m sure they all want you back, running the company. Because you’re a good person, and you’ve done good things. You’ve built it to be something wonderful, and they all have their jobs thanks to you.” I risked it and rubbed his back. “Don’t worry about this now. You’ll make it right,” I said, and he turned to me. I wanted to grab him and hold him, right there on the street: he was so big and powerful, but he his face was contorted, as if seeing his company caused him pain. He was suffering, suffering in a multitude of ways. It wasn’t fair. I’d known for a long time that life wasn’t fair, but this was getting out of hand. It was one thing to lose your parents, to be wrongfully accused of a crime you didn’t commit. It was quite another to have that happen and then to be followed, to have an innocent person killed because they had the misfortune to cross your path, and to be afraid that you were going to lose not only your company and the respect of the people you worked with, but your own life.

I was afraid, but I was also starting to get pissed.

"I'm glad you're with me," he said. "It's selfish of me. But I'm still glad."

"Me too, Walker," I said. “It’s crazy, but me too."

I did one last check before we went in: no lanky man, no soccer-mom. No one who looked like they had carjacked and murdered someone innocent last night. I heard Walker sigh, saw him take one last look around the street, and then he straightened his shoulders and stepped through the revolving doors.

To their credit, everyone treated him normally. "Good morning, Mr. Walker," was echoed everywhere we went, from the receptionist in the main lobby of the building to the three receptionists in Blue’s waiting room. Even the people in the elevator, who certainly recognized him, just nodded good morning and averted their eyes.

I really wished I was holding his hand. If I was, I would have squeezed it.

"Mr. Walker, it's so nice to see you," said one of the receptionists as she approached us. She had gray hair and blue eyes and she smiled at him warmly.

"Hi, Holly," he said, and smiled back at her. His shoulders visibly relaxed; he'd been preparing for the worst. "I've missed being here."

“We’ve missed you too, Mr. Walker. It’s not the same. Mr. Max is ready to see you," she said, ushering us through the halls. The office was stark, very modern, with minimal furniture and no clutter anywhere. The walls were painted a pale blue. The floors were a dark hard wood; Holly's high heels clicked down the hall and Walker raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a brief, dark smile.

“Stop it,” I mouthed. He smiled once more, and then turned his eyes straight ahead and said nothing else.

Somehow the word must have gotten out that he was here, because people started coming to the doors of their offices to say ‘hello,’ shake his hand, and offer words of support. “We really miss you, here,” said one man, who gave Walker a crinkle-eyed smile. “And we all know these charges are a joke. You’re an innocent, good man. Everybody here is behind you. You should know that. We can’t wait for you to come back to work.”

"Remind me to promote you when I get back," Walker said, and clapped him on the back. "Seriously, it means a lot. What you said. Thank you."

The man nodded at him and went back into his office. It was easy to see why Walker's people were loyal to him: he had a way of making people feel special. Myself included.

Holly led us to a desk and a seating area at the end of the hall and took her leave, nodding at us pleasantly.

“Mr. Walker, it's wonderful to see you," said the woman who must be Lester Max's secretary. She was young and she was drop-dead gorgeous — long auburn hair, curves and a tiny waist that any woman would kill for, and a form-fitting dress to show it all off. It made me feel sad to look at her. And then, when I saw the way she was smiling up at Walker, with all her lady-parts strategically pointed at him, it made me feel mad to look at her.

"April," he said. To his credit, he did not smile at her lasciviously
or
look down her dress. She looked a little put out.

"Is Mr. Max ready for us?" I asked, beaming at her, suddenly feeling very smug.

She frowned and nodded at me, taking in my clingy dress and smiling face. "And you are?" she asked, her voice trailing off in a superior manner.

"Nicole Reynolds," I said, and held out my hand. "I'm Mr. Walker's attorney."

"A pleasure," she sniffed.

"Can you please bring us in some coffee, April?" Walker asked. "Attorney Reynolds gets a little feisty if she's not properly caffeinated. And you don't want to see that."

"No, I do not," she said, under her breath, and sashayed off to get us some coffee. Even though her ass looked amazing in her dress, I was still happy to see her go.

"She's pretty," I said, turning back to Walker.

"I hadn't noticed," he said, earning about a million more points from me and knowing it. "But I'm sure Lester noticed when he hired her."

"Noticed what?" asked Lester Max, casually leaning out of his office and eyeing my clingy dress.

“Hi, Lester,” I said, refusing to let myself blush under his stare. “We were saying that we noticed your assistant is very attractive.”

“April? Oh yeah, she is,” Lester said. “But she’s a total bitch.”

“You need something, Mr. Max?” she asked suddenly, appearing out of nowhere with a tray of coffee. I jumped, but Lester appeared unruffled.

“Just the
Advent
report,” he said. “And some coffee.”

“Done and done,” she said, giving Walker one last hopeful glance. I could feel Lester Max watching me, so I was sure to keep my face completely neutral, even though I wanted to do a fist-pump when Walker didn’t acknowledge her. Again.
I love you,
I thought. And then I immediately thought
oh shit.
Because I was pretty sure I
did
love him, but I hadn’t admitted it to myself up until this point.