Behind the Green Curtain (29 page)

“The neighbor thought you were
breaking in,” he explained, as he passed back by Amelia.

‘Probably because she was,’ Caton
responded in her head, a small smile intruding upon her grim mood.

“I was worried,” Amelia admitted,
and the smile widened against Caton’s will.

“Next time, call the super,” the
officer advised.

“Good advice,” Amelia returned,
though Amelia and the officer both seemed to know that, should there be a next
time, Amelia would handle it exactly the same way.

“Have a nice day.” The officer
sounded surprisingly sincere as he walked out, despite the inconvenience of
being called to a scene without a crime. At least, none that he could detect.

“You too,” Amelia returned. “Thank
you.”

Though Amelia managed to return the
door to its proper position, it refused to stay closed. Improvising, she rolled
the fire extinguisher against it with her foot, standing back to admire her
handy work when it held the door temporarily shut. Abashed grin playing at her
lips, she glanced over at Caton, and looked so adorably culpable, Caton could
do nothing but laugh.

~ ~ ~

Not long after finding herself back
in Amelia’s arms, Caton found herself back in bed.

Amelia insisted she eat, so they
had to wait for takeout. Then, she insisted she pay to fix the door, so they
had to wait for the repairman. By then, it was late evening and the sun was
starting to set as Caton returned from her shower to find Amelia kicking her
shoes off and pushing her jeans down her legs. Watching the last of Amelia’s
clothing join the rest, Caton trailed her to the bed, offering no resistance
when Amelia’s hands went to the towel tucked at her chest and eased it apart.

Worn terrycloth falling to the
floor, the instantaneous sensation as her bare skin pressed against Amelia’s
shook Caton to her core. As Amelia’s eyes searched her face, she could tell she
was looking for something in particular, and it showed, Caton was certain,
every thought and emotion written clearly on her face for Amelia to read and
exploit.

Caton didn’t realize she had ceased
to breathe until Amelia moved to push down the blankets. Sucking in a
desperate, pained breath, she let Amelia pull her down to the mattress, giving
in to the feel of Amelia’s slightly chilled skin warming rapidly against her
own.

Amelia’s hands on her were the
same, but different. Slow and without desperation, it was as if they had all
the time in the world. Which, Caton well knew, was painfully untrue.

Still, when Amelia kissed her,
Caton kissed back. When Amelia dropped her lips to her neck, Caton tilted her
head back, offering more. When Amelia’s fingers entered her, Caton let herself
be consumed. And, when Amelia’s breaths grew wanton in her ear, Caton wanted
nothing more than to satisfy the anguished desire, to give Amelia everything
she wanted or needed.

Falling atop Amelia, exhausted, but
not quite content, as Amelia’s body shuddered beneath her, Caton trembled as
Amelia’s arms closed around her, holding her closer, tighter, as if she would
never let go.

~ ~ ~

Waking some time later, Caton could
feel the lateness of the hour. Shifting to see beyond the rise of Amelia’s
body, she looked at the clock, sighing at the rules of their lives. “Amelia,”
she uttered, shaking Amelia’s shoulder firmly enough to rouse her. “It’s late.”

Eyes sleepily parting, it took
Amelia a moment to process the information. “Then go back to sleep,” she husked
at last.

Gaze going once again to the clock,
Caton was certain Amelia didn’t understand. “Don’t you need to go home?”

“No,” Amelia uttered, appearing
perfectly coherent as her fingers ran up Caton’s spine in the darkness, where
the tension vibrated just beneath her skin. “Just go back to sleep, Caton.”

Lifting her head with some effort,
Amelia pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips and turned onto her side,
tugging Caton’s arm around her and falling almost instantly back to sleep.

Uncertainty weighing, Caton watched
another minute tick by, before molding herself against the smooth back, lips
coming to rest against the addictive skin of Amelia’s shoulder. Breathing in,
she was soothed by the familiar scent, by the curve of Amelia’s body, and by a
feeling so overpowering, she couldn’t give it name.

Chapter 43

Caton didn’t try to fool herself
again. What Amelia wanted, Amelia would get. Whether it was a quasi-date at her
favorite restaurant or impromptu sleepovers. If Amelia asked, Caton said “yes”
instinctively. It was the only thing she ever wanted to say to her. Thinking
had done nothing but fill her head with torment, while leading to no
constructive action. It was easier, she had discovered, to simply do.

So, when Jack was invited to a
gallery showing for the daughter of a business acquaintance and Amelia was sent
in as emissary, allowing Jack to make a good impression without actually having
to give up his own time, Caton agreed to accompany her without thought.

Heeding the cocktail attire dress
code with flair, Amelia was, as usual, the most stunning woman in the room. No
one failed to notice her. Though, as far as Caton could tell, Amelia failed to
notice anyone, save for her. Every time she looked up, Amelia’s eyes were on
her, slinking down her in such a way that Caton’s body positively thrummed
without a single touch.

“Excuse me, Amelia.” A woman
insinuated herself into Amelia’s attention half an hour after they’d arrived,
and Amelia put on her public face, the one that smiled without ever really smiling.
“Would you come talk to Mr. Johnson for a moment? He wants to ask about Jack.”

“Yes, of course.” Amelia glanced
apologetically at Caton, though Caton wasn’t sure if it was because she was
about to be abandoned or for the mention of her husband. “I’ll be right back.”

As she moved away, the chill on
Caton’s skin indicated just how close Amelia had been standing, how warm
Amelia’s hand had been on her back, and Caton shivered without her presence.
Eyeing the bar at once, she made her way to it, ordering up the only courage in
the room with a twist.

“Is she as much of a bitch as Jack
says?”

The voice as unwelcome as the
question, Caton’s insides curled in response. Refusing to look back, she failed
to spare herself the confrontation when Jenna swung into view, a smug look on
her overly made up face.

“Oh... you’re friends,” Jenna
stated with some amusement, eyes moving over Caton’s tight expression, and
Caton returned her gaze to the bar, hoping the bartender was doing more tending
than listening. “More than friends?” Jenna added, waiting for a response Caton
didn’t provide.

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere
fucking Jack?” she muttered instead, wondering how in the hell Jenna deduced
her relationship with Amelia in the time they had been at the gallery, when she
hadn’t even noticed Jenna amongst the minglers.

“Does he know?” Jenna countered.

“No, why?” Caton glanced at her
with distaste. “Are you going to tell him?”

“It would help build trust,” Jenna
returned casually, and a muscle twitched in Caton’s jaw as she tried to decide
whether it was worth the fallout to tell Jenna exactly what she thought of her.

“Caton.” At any other time,
Amelia’s voice may well have alleviated the tension, the hand that slid across
Caton’s lower back may been comforting, but the way Jenna followed the touch
with such amused fascination made it feel unsavory.

Glancing to Amelia, Caton watched
her eye Jenna with an oddly neutral expression. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Just saying hello,” Jenna lied.
“We did work together. Lovely dress, by the way.”

“Go away,” Amelia responded, and
though she did so with a disbelieving scoff, Jenna did as she was told.

Potential repercussions smacking
her square in the face, Caton felt sick as Amelia moved in front of her, hand
sliding from her back to her side.

“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked in
concern. “Did she say something?”

Raising her eyes to Amelia’s, Caton
felt short of breath, and wondered if one could develop asthma in her thirties
within twenty seconds. “She knows.”

Her own gaze rising with more
interest than concern, Amelia glanced in the direction of Jenna’s departure.
“How?” she asked.

“Apparently, it’s obvious,” Caton
returned, and Amelia looked between them, taking in the lack of space, the way
her hand rested against Caton’s hip leaving little to the imagination, though
she made no effort to pull away. “So, now what?” Caton asked, realizing as she
asked that she was terrified of how Amelia might answer.

“I don’t know,” Amelia returned at
last, reaching back to pluck a glass of champagne from the bar and taking a
sip. “Do you want to look at the rest of the art?”

Laugh disjointed as it poured
unexpectedly over her lips, Caton enunciated, “Jenna knows.”

“I heard you,” Amelia returned.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Caton
asked. Her own heart pounding rapidly in her chest, she felt an inordinate
amount of fear, as if they had been caught together in the trap of a serial
killer. “You don’t think she’ll tell Jack?”

“I don’t know what she’ll do.”
Amelia shook her head. “Whatever she does, though, there’s nothing we can do
about it.”

They could stop, Caton’s mind
supplied instantly, make sure when Jack went looking, there would be nothing
for him to find. Meeting Amelia’s eyes, though, she couldn’t even suggest it,
and was more relieved than she should have been when Amelia didn’t state the
obvious solution either.

“So, do you want to look at the
rest of the art?” Amelia asked again, head tilting toward an adjoining gallery.

“Yeah, whatever,” Caton shrugged
helplessly, not sure what else to do. Grabbing the harder spirits the bartender
had left on the bar for her, she put half the drink away as she let Amelia lead
her across the room. Not seeing Jenna anywhere as they passed through the
cluster of rich people, Caton couldn’t shake the knowledge she was there.

Passing through the curtain Amelia
held apart for her, Caton was given respite from the eyes and ears of strangers
and foes alike, as the dissonant hum of too many people talking at once faded
into the background.

“There’s no one back here,” she
declared.

“I know,” Amelia replied from
behind her.

“Are we supposed to be back here?”
Caton questioned, glancing around the hushed space. The dim light of the
gallery casting ominously upon each work, the sculptures looked like monsters
lurking in the shadows.

“I got permission,” Amelia replied.
“I wouldn’t want the police to show up again.” Arms closing around Caton’s
waist, she took a step that carried her gently into Caton’s back. “You look amazing,”
she whispered, lips pressing to the exposed skin at Caton’s neck.

The majority of her acquiescing
instantly, one stubborn part of Caton rebelled in fear. “No, Amelia.” The words
sounded foreign together as Caton pushed at the arms at her waist, whirling to
hold them at bay.

“Really?” Amelia returned, trying
and failing to keep a smile from appearing.

Of course, Amelia knew she didn’t
mean it. Not wholeheartedly. Or, at the very least, couldn’t sustain it. She
was far too aware of Caton’s weakness, far too aware that she was Caton’s
weakness.

“I tell you that Jack’s... whatever
the fuck she is to him... knows we’re sleeping together, and you think that’s a
good time to provide videographic evidence.” Caton gestured into the darkness.

Even knowing there had to be
cameras everywhere, it was a ridiculous argument. The storage room at the
Halston Palace also had its closed circuit, and that hadn’t stopped her from
letting Amelia have her way. Realizing she had no basis for the argument, Caton
dropped her hand helplessly.

“I wasn’t planning to ravage you on
the marble floor,” Amelia said in a tone that almost made Caton wish that was
exactly Amelia’s intent.

“Because you’ve never done anything
like that before,” she returned, not sure if she was scolding Amelia or trying
to tempt her.

Sliding her hand from Caton’s loose
grasp without effort, Amelia palmed her hip, pulling Caton closer. “I just
wanted to be alone with you,” she replied. “Just for a minute.”

Hands falling to Amelia’s arms as
they closed around her again, Caton didn’t pretend that she wanted anything
other than to lose herself in the embrace. Jenna’s presence had been
disquieting, though, and it lingered, tainting the moment between them.

“Amelia, I...” Caton started
without forethought, no idea where she might end up.

“Shhh,” Amelia breathed at once,
moving in to capture Caton’s lips in a kiss that was meant to make her forget
everything else.

For a while, it did.

Chapter 44

If she was going to get caught with
her hand in the cookie jar, Amelia was going to consume as many calories as she
could first. Meeting Caton’s rational, but dismal, concern that Jack would find
out about them with the suggestion that, if Jack was going to find out anyway,
she may as well spend the night, Amelia effectively put her own worries to bed.

The first night she had stayed at
Caton’s, Jack asked where she’d been, but, as someone who knew the answer
better than anyone, he didn’t need to push. As expected, he was relatively
unconcerned, which was only fitting. Though, it was undoubtedly less fairness
and more prudence that guided his lack of response. If there was one thing
Amelia knew without a doubt, it was that, if the hammer came down, it would do
so on Jack’s terms, when it was of the most use to him. It wouldn’t be while
Amelia was playing diplomat at his public appearances or pulling together his
business associate’s fundraiser in a pinch because the company the man hired
“fucked the nugget,” per his colorful explanation.

Finalizing the menu with the
dessert shop’s owner, Amelia thanked the woman and stepped outside, glancing
toward the print shop where Sole was taking care of last-minute changes. Seeing
Sole nowhere, she made her way to the nearby bench, the unseasonably mild day
feeling even warmer as she sank into the sun and pulled her book from her
purse, reveling in a moment when she had no other option but to relax and wait.

She wasn’t even three paragraphs in
before footsteps approached, and she glanced up, curiosity turning to vigilance
as she watched a large man she didn’t recognize loom nearer. Heeding to
caution, Amelia glanced around, noting the man loading bags into his car in the
parking lot and the woman piling books into the display window of the bookstore
five feet away.

“Amelia?” the man questioned,
though he seemed to know well who she was, and Amelia went on alert.

“Yes,” she said carefully, walking
the fine line between not giving the stranger too much in case he was a threat
and being polite in case they had met in the past and she simply didn’t
remember.

“I’m Marcus Slater,” he stated.
“I’m with the Business Regulatory Commission. I need to ask you a few
questions.”

Not sure if she should feel more or
less at ease, Amelia dropped her eyes to her book, thoughts swimming too
rapidly to pull them into coherence. “All right,” she uttered, knowing there
was little choice in the matter, and moved her bookmark back into place with a
deliberate movement that afforded her the opportunity to take a breath, before
sliding the book back into her purse and giving the man her full attention.

When Slater settled into the open
space beside her, the bench bowed slightly and Amelia put her hand on the green
metal slats to steady herself.

“You handle a lot of fundraising
for your husband, don’t you?” he asked.

“That depends,” Amelia returned
haltingly. “Who do you think my husband is?”

“I know who your husband is, Mrs.
Halston,” Slater returned, and Amelia tempered her reaction as any hope of
mistaken identity was extinguished by Slater’s unrelenting gaze.

“Yes,” Amelia acknowledged. “I do”

“Do you handle the finances?”

Question leaving little room for interpretation,
a silent sigh raised Amelia’s shoulders. “No,” she returned. “I create a budget
and the company cuts the checks.”

“So, if someone were to add things
or take things away from the statements, you would never know?” Slater
inferred.

“No.”

The answer seemed to line up with
Slater’s expectations. Nodding, he glanced up, finding something of interest in
the sky behind Amelia’s head, watching it for a moment before he dropped his
eyes back down to her. “Has anyone ever asked you for anything unusual when
you’re doing all this fundraising?”

Laughing lightly, Amelia shifted on
the bench, hoping it appeared more physical than mental discomfort. “They’re
fundraisers,” she returned. “They are nothing but unusual. Ridiculous ice
sculptures, sexual party favors, thirty-two-dollar-a-gallon coffee. That’s the
game.”

“Yeah, of course,” Slater responded
reasonably. “But no one has ever asked you to do anything illegal?”

The specific question more about
her than about Jack, Amelia wondered who was truly Slater’s target. Over the
years, she had been asked for everything, from cocaine to underage prostitutes
to snuff films. It was always easiest to play off such requests as jokes,
because there was nothing she could do about the predilections of others, and
she preferred not to think about what people would do when they could get away
with it. Those who could afford the best attorneys played considerably faster
and looser with the law. Slater had to know that.

Amelia had never obtained anything,
though, other than disgust with humanity, in regards to those requests, and she
knew better than to be baited into lying. “Why are you asking this?” she
countered instead.

“Just looking into a few things,”
Slater declared.

“You’re looking into Jack?” Amelia
asked.

“Do you think there’s a reason I
should be?”

Opening her mouth to respond,
Amelia didn’t know what to say. She was hardly the person to defend the finer
points of Jack’s character when she was one of the few people who ever saw his
truest lows. Looking up at footsteps considerably lighter than the ones that
had brought Slater into her presence, she was grateful to see Sole arriving
just in time.

“Is everything okay?” Sole asked,
concern showing clearly on her face.

“Everything’s fine,” Slater
responded before Amelia could, sparing Sole a passing glance before returning
his observant gaze to Amelia. “Listen, I’m not saying your husband is or isn’t
in trouble, but if you notice anything strange or think he might be in over his
head, you give me a call.” Holding out his card, Slater’s jaw tightened when
Amelia didn’t take it, and he placed it on the bench between them as he stood.
“Have a good day.”

Watching Slater walk off without
swagger or satisfaction, the meeting felt uncommonly low-key. Amelia had
answered her share of questions about Jack, those of hotshot young agents
looking to make their names and move up the ranks at unforeseen paces, only to
fail miserably and end up looking even more like rookies.

Marcus Slater was far from a gung-ho
novice. Each line on his face was probably carved there by a criminal he’d put
away at great expense to himself, and his face was nothing but lines. He was a
veteran, he was clearly intent on Jack, and, picking the card up from the bench
beside her, the paper dry and dull between her fingers, Amelia assumed there
was good reason.

~ ~ ~

Back at the house, Amelia climbed
the stairs slowly, each step resonating in her head. She had realized in the
car what was different about Slater. In the past, the agents she’d dealt with
had always seemed desperate for her answers, pushing and prodding to get her to
slip up, to give them something they could use.

Slater, he didn’t seem to need her
at all. It was more like she was supplementary. It would have been nice for him
to have her on board, but she wasn’t required to navigate. Which meant Slater
already had direction. With or without her.

Dropping heavily into her chair,
Amelia fished Slater’s card from her purse, looking at the no-nonsense text and
wondering what kind of trouble Jack had gotten them all into.

“Hey.” The warm voice pulled her
back into the present, and Amelia looked up to find Caton drifting into her
office like a warm breeze on a bitterly cold day. “I finalized the guest list,
and confirmed you can get the tables you want. Apparently, they’re heavier, so
there’s an extra delivery charge.” Raising her head with an easy smile, it
faltered instantly on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Amelia shook her head.

“Amelia, I can tell something is
wrong,” Caton declared, stepping forward to drop the papers in her hand onto
the corner of Amelia’s desk, before continuing around it to lean next to
Amelia, close enough that Amelia got dizzy from the swift change in her mood.

Feeling Caton’s concerned gaze from
above, she slid open the desk drawer and tucked Slater’s card into a stack of
less-interesting business cards she hoped would conceal its true purpose. “I
just had a conversation I wasn’t expecting while I was out,” Amelia admitted.
“With an agent from the BRC.”

Glancing up, she was just in time
to see the surprise on Caton’s face transition into concern. “What did he say?”

“He was asking questions about
Jack,” Amelia recounted. “About what I do. About the money. The usual.”

Watching Caton work her lip between
her teeth, it occurred to Amelia not everyone had extensive experience with
federal investigators, and it probably sounded far more frightening than it ever
ended up being in the end.

“And what did you say?” Caton
asked.

“I didn’t.” Amelia shrugged. “I
don’t know anything. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she tried to convince them both.
“What were you saying?”

Looking around blankly, as if she
couldn’t remember why she had entered, Caton’s gaze finally landed on the
papers on the desk. “Oh,” she recovered. “Just that we’re good to go on
everything.”

“Good,” Amelia said. “Now we can
pass the whole mess off and it can go back to being someone else’s problem.”

Though she delivered the words with
her most dazzling smile, Caton didn’t buy the stage show. Her eyes sliding
downward, they saw right through Amelia’s act, before at last returning to
Amelia’s. “He upset you,” Caton stated gently.

Heart slowing, body dulled, Amelia
dropped the pretense at once. “No.” She shook her head. “This isn’t my first
investigation. Jack never tells me anything, and he always gets out of it.”
Pausing on the point of revelation, she remembered she didn’t have to keep
things from Caton, that she didn’t want to keep things from Caton. “Sometimes,”
she went on quietly. “I just wish I knew what was going on in my own life.”

When Caton’s gaze fell away, Amelia
realized how she sounded. The last thing she wanted from Caton was her pity,
especially when Caton offered so many better things.

“But,” Amelia stated, spinning her
chair in Caton’s direction, hand sliding up the flexed muscle of Caton’s thigh.
“I don’t have to know right now.”

Well aware of what she was doing,
Caton still allowed Amelia to divert her attention. Her hands dropping to the
armrests of Amelia’s chair, she dipped down until Amelia could reach her lips.
Tasting the faint traces of coconut, Amelia smiled in earnest, wondering what
treat Caton had helped herself to while they were out.

Easing away, Caton moved one hand
to the top button of Amelia’s shirt to gingerly flick it open. Another button
undone, and Amelia couldn’t remember why she was trying to sidetrack Caton in
the first place. Slowly, Caton worked the remaining buttons apart, hand
slipping between the sides of Amelia’s shirt to tease down her stomach, coaxing
Amelia’s body instantly back to life.

“I swear,” Caton murmured, voice a
caress on Amelia’s senses. “Sometimes, I can barely stand to look at you. You
are so fucking unreal.”

Hand at Amelia’s abdomen turning
over, Caton’s soft, warm knuckles traced the pattern her fingertips had drawn,
and when Caton looked up, her awe was evident, sincere, and Amelia fell into
her, lips converging on Caton’s, every neuron rushing to the single point where
their mouths met.

Within seconds, Amelia was relieved
of the rest of her clothes, doing her part to help without registering it. Knee
crooking over Caton’s shoulder, her foot found leverage on the desk, her hand
in Caton’s hair, as Caton relieved her of all residual tension.

Like this, nothing else mattered.
Together, all the ill-fitted pieces clicked into place, and everything else
became the distraction. They were right. It was the world around them that was
wrong. With all Amelia didn’t know, that was the one thing she knew without
question. In her office, in the middle of the afternoon, she unraveled,
willingly, letting Caton take her apart, knowing then that Caton would expose
the deepest depths of her. It was only a matter of time.