Masked Innocence

Seventeen

“So, give me the scoop on Brad.” Olivia gripped a cold bottle in her hand and smiled at me over the dark rim. Olivia was my closest friend, though I’d never admit it to Becca, who sat to my right.

I blushed and picked at the label on my own beer, a Michelob Ultra. “Nothing much to tell,” I said, evading her direct gaze.

“Come on!” Becca said, tossing her perfectly cut and dyed hair over her shoulder. “We just listened to a fifteen-minute snooze fest on O’s history class, for God’s sake. Give me something good. Are you guys official yet?”

“Yes. As of last week, yes.” I set down my beer and looked into their expectant faces.

Becca squealed and clapped her hands; Olivia’s response was, as expected, less enthusiastic. “Are you sure about this, Jules?”

I met her eyes squarely, loving the fire behind them. “Yes, I am. Why are you so against it?”

“Yeah, O, Brad is, like, awesome!” Becca chimed in, though I didn’t know that Becca’s endorsement was going to help my case with Olivia. If there was a disaster on two legs anywhere in a five-mile radius, Becca would be going after him and frothing at the mouth.

Olivia sighed, setting down her beer and squaring off for confrontation. “First, you don’t know much about him. You met him two months ago. Second, you were warned by at least five people to stay away from him, that he was a philandering sex addict. Has anyone who knows the man suggested he has any redeeming qualities?”

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. The girl made some good points. There was a reason she, along with Becca and I, would be headed to law school after graduation. I hadn’t been completely honest with the girls about Brad, for more reasons than one. But I wasn’t sure if giving full disclosure would help or hurt their opinion of him.

“Olivia,” I began, trying to formulate a reasonable response. “While I work at CDB, I have to keep our relationship a secret. So I haven’t met many people who would vouch for his redeeming qualities. But you’ve known me three years. Do you think I have poor judgment in people? I’m not blindly throwing myself into this relationship with stars in my eyes and blinders on. I’m approaching this hesitantly, and seeing how it goes.” I shrugged. “If it doesn’t work out, I haven’t lost anything but a few weeks of my summer.”

“I would have followed that reasoning if you were about to end your internship, but you’re taking a job there now. You can’t keep this relationship a secret and expect it to work.” She had gone past concern and moved into preaching, a transition I wasn’t crazy about since her logic was sound.

“Ignore her,” Becca said, waving a hand dismissively in Olivia’s direction. “Tell me about the sex—and don’t think about holding any details back!”

Olivia butted in, intent on ruining any fun. “Yes, tell us about the sex. Are you using protection?” Her eyes narrowed, and she watched me closely.

Jeez. “Yes, Mom, I am using protection,” I spat out. Becca elbowed Olivia and then leaned forward.

“Jules, I say do as much with that beautiful man as you can. And when you are done with him, pass his number on to me!”

I grinned at Becca and stuck my tongue out at Olivia. “Lighten up on me. I’m twenty-one. I’m allowed to make a few mistakes.”

Her eyes sharp, she took a swig from her beer and met my offhand look head-on. “I just don’t like it. He seems...dangerous.”

KENT BROWARD HEARD the elevator ding and looked up from the legal brief, listening for a hint at who had arrived. He hoped it wasn’t a member of his staff; privacy was needed for tonight’s meeting. His palms perspired, and he wiped them quickly on his dress pants. He clenched and then relaxed his fingers, willing the tension to leave his hands. Shit had officially hit the fan.

The man walked down the carpeted hall, headed for Broward’s open door. He glanced in dark office doorways, the wing silent and still. It was as the attorney had said—empty. He held a briefcase loosely in his right hand, an expensive suit hanging perfectly on his muscular frame, the fabric swooshing slightly as he walked. An air conditioner clicked on, the cool air welcome on his hot skin. He was always hot. His stride was relaxed; no tension tightened his body. Killing was not new to him.

The man walked into the office without knocking. Broward was sitting at his desk, his head cocked, and he jerked to his feet when the man entered. The man turned, closing the door, and Broward spoke as soon as the lock clicked into place.

“Jesus Christ, what are we going to do about this?” Broward ran his hands nervously over his shaved head, and covered his face. “This is bad, this is very bad.” He pointed to the man. “You. You got me into this!” His voice had reached a shrill level.

“No.” The man’s deep voice filled the well-appointed room. “The money got you into this. Don’t blame me for your poor decisions.” He set his briefcase on Broward’s desk and unclipped the latches.

Broward wrung his hands and looked at the man. “Look, as soon as you told me, I closed the accounts, I hid the trail. Now you gotta get me out of this. Permanently out. I don’t want anything to do with this business or this family anymore.”

The gun came out of the briefcase, fast and deadly. The man saved his witty comeback and made his statement by squeezing the trigger.