After a minute, he glanced back and watched her walk toward Broadway Bistro, the restaurant she frequented but never invited him to. He suspected she was seeing someone else. She’d canceled their date at the last minute on Friday, saying she wasn’t feeling well, then hadn’t returned his texts over the weekend, except once to say she needed rest.
Paul hadn’t seen her in the office that morning and he thought she was avoiding him. He hurried after her, not bothering to be discrete. Camille never looked back, so he followed her to the restaurant, admiring the way she carried herself, shoulders back and head up. Paul envied her natural confidence.
From inside the restaurant doorway, he saw her take a seat in a booth where another woman waited. Were they lovers? Paul saw the hostess eyeball him, so he stepped back outside. Okay, so she’d met a friend for lunch. It didn’t prove she wasn’t seeing another man or that she wasn’t breaking up with him.
He spent the rest of his lunch break walking around the block, sweating in the ninety-degree heat. He figured he burned at least three hundred calories.
Back inside, he went through security and stepped on the elevator. An older co-worker named Marlie was on board. She leaned over and pushed the button for the third floor. “By the way, Paul. I’ve been meaning to say that you look terrific. You’ve lost a lot of weight and it really shows in your face.”
“Thanks.” Did she not realize he’d had two cosmetic procedures? Was she unobservant or just trying to be polite?
“What’s your diet secret?” She smiled and touched his arm.
“I’ve been taking a supplement called MetaboSlim.”
Marlie looked alarmed. “Health websites say there’s a chemical in that stuff that is really bad for you. I think it cause changes in your brain chemistry.”
“But it’s FDA approved.”
“That doesn’t mean much anymore.”
Paul was irritated with the conversation. It wasn’t her business. “I’m only taking it temporarily. I’m almost at my goal weight.” The elevator stopped and he stepped off without saying anything else. He’d tried to quit the MetaboSlim recently, but the first day without it, he’d become too depressed to function. Now he was trying to cut back slowly.
At five, he strode down to Camille’s office and walked in as she prepared to leave for the day. “Can I walk you to your car? I’d like to talk.”
“Of course.” She smiled, her beauty taking his breath away. In that moment, Paul believed everything would turn out well.
He waited until they were in the parking lot to speak. A few other employees were getting into their cars, but they seemed focused on going home.
“Camille, are you breaking up with me?”
“No. It was just one date and I wasn’t well.” Her tone was sharp.
“You’re angry with me because I haven’t managed to get Morton fired.”
“Not angry. Just disappointed.” Camille climbed in her car and rolled down the window. “Can you make it happen?”
“I’m trying, but I’m not really a hacker and I can’t get into his WorldChat page. He pays for extra security and changes his password every day.”
“If I get a sleazy photo of him, can you post it somewhere it doesn’t belong?”
“Of course.” He would find a way. Paul hated admitting to his lover that he was failing the one thing she’d asked of him. “We’ll see each other this Friday? At my place?”
“Sure.” She drove away without offering him a ride home.
After an unsatisfying dinner of humus, celery, and low-fat crackers, Paul went to his NetCom and searched for the commissioner again. There had to be something he had overlooked. He remembered Camille’s offer to track down a sleazy photo. At the time, he’d been pleased by her offer to help, but the more he thought about it, the more worried he grew.
Too agitated to sit longer, Paul changed and went out for a run, taking his Taser with him. He carried it in a water-bottle pouch in his shirt. The weight was annoying, but worth it for the security. His missed having Lilly at his side, but in the long run, her absence was for the best. A little white lapdog didn’t match his new image. As he jogged through the neighborhood, he kept trying to imagine how Camille would obtain a sleazy photo of Morton. Then it hit him. Camille planned to seduce the commissioner to get him naked. Would she have sex with him too?
Paul sprinted back to his apartment, grabbed his keys, and drove like a madman across town. A thunderstorm shook the night and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the empty roads. Paul didn’t care. Let it rain. Let it hail! Nothing would stop him.
He reached the new suburb and slowed down, not wanting to attract attention. He passed Morton’s house and spotted Camille’s car in the driveway. No! Paul pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Every nerve and muscle in his body wanted to run into the house and confront them.
What if they were screwing?
The thought filled him with despair and rage. Little bursts of pain flared in his temples. He gulped in air and willed himself to think rationally. Just because Camille was here didn’t mean she was sucking Morton’s dick. She was just trying to get an incriminating photo. He wanted desperately to believe that.
Paul climbed out of his car and softly closed the door. He jogged down the sidewalk, inhaling sulfur-scented air, and stopped at the corner of Morton’s property. He turned into the neighbor’s yard and ran along the hedge, looking for a break in the foliage. In the dark, it was hard to tell. He glanced at the neighbor’s house but didn’t see anyone rousing to check on him. The temperature seemed to drop by a degree with each step.
Paul found a low spot in the hedge and scrambled over, something he wouldn’t have had the agility to do six months ago. The landscaping was minimal, so he hurried across the grass toward a lighted room at the back of the house. As he neared, he hugged up against the brick wall and sidestepped to the window, grateful the exterior wasn’t surrounded with shrubs.
He peered in the window but it was covered with vertical blinds. Glimpses of flesh-toned movement gave the sense of two people in the room. Camille’s laugh bubbled up from the moving mass and it crushed him. She was in Thaddeus Morton’s bedroom! Paul sprinted to his car, climbed in, and fought back sobs.
The anguish passed, replaced by calm calculation. If she was screwing the commissioner, he’d shoot them both. Paul wished he’d brought his gun. The thought surprised him, but it hung there, waiting for further consideration. Could he do it? Paul shook his head. No, he couldn’t kill Camille, no matter what she did. He loved her too much. But he had worked long and hard to earn her attention and he wasn’t giving up yet.
The solution seemed simple. If he killed the commissioner, Camille wouldn’t have to screw Morton to get the job she wanted. It would be hers for the taking. He could arrange for that too. Getting rid of Morton would also guarantee that the prick never fucked his girlfriend again. Paul almost laughed at the beauty of it. Shooting Morton would be so much easier than trying to get him fired.
Paul started the car, feeling empowered. He vowed that from now on, he would control his destiny rather than let shit happen to him.
Chapter 33
Paul stared at the digital calendar in frustration. The commissioner’s schedule indicated he would be on vacation the week before the Gauntlet. Morton’s April 30 date said: Leaving for Eugene. Someone tapped on Paul’s door and he quickly closed the private calendar he’d hacked into.
His co-worker Marlie stepped into his office. “Hey, Paul. The payroll software for HHS employees is no longer calculating social security taxes. Can you take a look at it?”
“I will.” He waited for her to leave.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Thanks.” Her voice was timid, as if he’d just yelled at her. Paul didn’t think he had, but he wasn’t sure. He just wasn’t feeling chatty. He looked at his screen clock: 3:32. He probably had time to investigate and fix her little problem before leaving for the day.