Nausea threatens to cripple me, sending cramps coursing through my lower torso.
This cannot be a coincidence.
It says after an anonymous tip, they are looking into conduct while Dennis was in office. And now suspicions have been cast on to Graham and his motivations for running for mayor.
It makes sense. After what Stuart said about Dennis and the NYPD commissioner and their shady deals, the fact that Graham isn’t just his friend, but his son, throws a whole new spin on things.
They wanted Graham to be mayor. And if he wasn’t, they wanted the next best thing to ensure things ran how they wanted—A mayor who was on their side, by choice, or force.
I can’t believe anyone would go to those lengths to try to get to Reed through me. But someone did. And the sickness in my gut tells me it’s them.
I throw my phone back into my purse and speed up, weaving in and out between people as I race to get to The Songbird, my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing quickening. Reed said Bea knew about that night. She must have told them. Then they found the video footage somehow. It’s the only explanation. And Reed must have found this all out.
Oh, God.Reed.
He’s having to deal with this. He probably doesn’t know what will happen next. Whose hands that video will end up in.
It can never be allowed to happen. He would rather die.
Maria heard him say it.
He must be going out of his mind. I need to get to him. I don’t know what I can do. But I have to get to him. To see him. To know he’s okay.
It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t called me and maybe doesn’t want to speak to me. I just need to know that he’s okay, I need to—
I round the corner, my heels slamming against the concrete as I break into a run. A black town car is up ahead, in front of The Songbird, and the doorman is holding the rear door open. I can’t make out much else because there’s a swarm of press, wielding cameras, spilling out from the sidewalk and into the street. I’m so close when a sudden rush of voices explodes, firing question after question.
“Mr. Walker, do you have any comments on Dennis Vincent?
Mr. Walker, how well did you know your opponent, Graham Hutchings?
Is it true you and his girlfriend dated twelve years ago?”
That’s when I see him. A flash of mahogany waves, visible above everyone else’s heads. A deep navy-blue suit peeking through a small break in the crowd. A forest green tie.
Then nothing.
The car door closes.
I ignore my blouse sticking to my back, and the beads of sweat rolling down between my breasts.
All I can focus on is that car and the man inside.
“Reed!” I try to shout, but my voice comes out coarse from all the crying I did last night. I try shouting his name again, only managing to reach my own ears as the roar of the press shouting their questions through the car’s blacked out windows fills the street.
My shoulders slump forward, and I suck in fast, uneven breaths as the car disappears.
I pull out my phone and dial.
“Maria?” I wail the second it connects.
“Harley. Where are you? He’s just left.” She sounds out of breath, too. But I doubt she’s been running up Park Avenue in heels. I stop walking to fan myself with my free hand, hanging back from the main entrance where the crowd of journalists is still present.
“I know. I saw the car. I was stuck on the subway. What’s going on?” I shake the neck of my blouse, welcoming the cool air to my skin.
“Come in the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you.”
I spin on my heels and dart down the side alleyway, throwing my phone back into my purse.