Page 112 of Seven
"If you want, I could do it for you," I offered, voice as gentle as I could make it.
He stiffened, and I realized my error.
"No," he said, not harsh, but firm. "Not yet."
The silence that followed was loud.
Then he walked over to the table and settled into a chair too.
We sat across from each other in the half-dark, city lights slashing the walls and ceiling with faint illumination. He was a silhouette, and I was nothing but nerves and confusion. I didn't know where we stood as far as the kiss went and I needed to talk about it. However, the logical part of me understood this wasn't the time or the place. He seemed to be going through some personal crisis.
Still, I wanted to reach across the table and touch the side of his face. I wanted to take the envelope, break the seal, and read him his own story.
Only I knew better.
Some things had to wait.
So instead, I sat back and watched the way his fingers drummed an uneven beat on the tabletop. This had never happened before.
"I'm here if you change your mind," I offered, and that was all.
He nodded once, and I realized this was the closest thing to trust I was ever going to get from him.
For now, it was enough.
The silence kept thickening. I was afraid if I spoke more, I'd break something fragile between us. Maybe the thing that let us be in the same room, after everything that had happened.
"I found a way to finish the job," Seven said without any warning.
The shift was so abrupt I almost thought I'd imagined it.
He got up and paced back and forth along the far wall, every step measured, like he was counting off a punishment. "I met a woman who gave me information about Valmont's secret hobby."
"What kind of hobby?" I knew he didn't mean real hobby, like painting or stamp collection.
"He engages in questionable activities of a sexual nature in a private club." Seven stopped, eyes flicking to me. "Getting inside to record the evidence is the next step. We can release it to the public after if you want. Or do whatever else you deem appropriate."
My pulse skyrocketed. Everyone knew Caius Valmont was married to Celine Vandermere for a reason. Politics. If what Seven said was true and the footage were to leak online, Valmont's career would be ruined. I felt a spike of adrenaline at the thought.
"Problem is," Seven continued while walking in circles, "security at that place is next-level. And there are no cameras inside. So we can't tap in their system. We can't transmit video either. They have jammers. I need to get in and make the videos myself. Physically. But I haven't found the way yet. Anyone who enters the club is searched and checked against their database. And since this isn't a place that has a rotation of hundreds of people every day, they'll be suspicious of me."
"Then what do we do?"
He didn't answer at first. I let the silence hang. "I'm still looking for ways to get inside without being seen. Or we might need to wait," he finally supplied.
I swallowed. "For what?"
"For Valmont to slip. For the right moment."
It was the answer I least wanted to hear.
"How long?"
"He knows someone is after him. He also knows you are somehow connected to this. He just doesn't have the full picture. That's why he's ramped up the paranoia. It might be weeks or even months before he comes up for air and before the security at that place loosens."
"Is that the only way?"
"The only one I can think of for now until I find other access."
