Alessia (Casella Cousins #4) - Kathryn Shay Page 0,24
She got a fruit plate from the fridge and she and Pete sat. He asked, “How long am I grounded?”
“Let’s see. It’s the end of November. You’ve been grounded, two weeks. Is that enough, you think, for smoking pot and lying to me?”
The kid she loved dearly surfaced from inside the rebellious teen. “Probably not. But the school’s sponsoring a movie night this weekend. The teachers are chaperoning. I wanna go, Mom. Please.”
Drained, sad, and exhausted, Alessia didn’t have the heart to say no. “Yes, you can go. You’re grounded until then. But that’ll be the end of it if I get a promise from you not to smoke marijuana until you’re of age and have the right to decide for yourself.”
“I promise, Mom.”
Would that ever happen, though? When she was in high school, she and Billy drank on occasion. And had sex, she reminded herself. But now the latter was more prevalent and smoking pot was the new drinking.
She’d deal with that when she had to. Before he went upstairs, he asked, “Mom, are you okay? You seem sad.”
Truer words were never spoken. She’d been a fool to let Derek Davidson do this to her. “I’m fine.”
And she would be, she promised. She’d pull herself out of the quagmire of loss and be herself again.
* * *
The date with Jane was excruciating. Derek sat in her high-end apartment, which was way too expensive for the salary she made. The couches and chairs were stark white leather and the rugs were Persian. Equally, the tables were an expensive teak.
Jane herself was dressed for seduction tonight with her blond hair down and tousled, her voluptuous body draped in some slinky purple material. She had too much makeup on her face.
“I’m so glad you came, Derek.” Her voice was a purr. “Did I tell you I’m going to a conference this weekend?”
“No, you didn’t.” How had they missed this? “Where is it?”
“In Albany. I hate them, these administrative get-togethers.”
“I thought teachers loved conferences.”
“They’re boring.” Her gaze perused him. “You look good. Different somehow.” He’d gone home and gotten the expensive jeans and green cashmere sweater because he figured that would impress her.
“Yeah. My one and only good outfit.”
She kept watching him. “But you look tense.”
“Do I?”
“Uh-huh. I know just the thing.” She rose and crossed to a five-by-five inches, small ceramic case. From it she took something. He didn’t see what until she turned around.
A joint.
Jesus. Could this get any worse? Because this operation was so important, he had leeway to do what was necessary, “Let’s share one, okay? I don’t want to get too high.”
She sat down next to him and lit it. He took shallow puffs but felt the effects. And the skunky smell filled the air, probably seeped into his clothes.
When they finished, she smiled sexily. “There, you’re more mellow. Just what I want.” She stood and took his hand, pulled him up.
He followed her down the hall, cursing fate and his duty to serve and protect. When they reached the bedroom, she went to the huge bed and drew her top over her head. A sexy black bra pushed up her breasts. “Take your clothes off, too, sugar.”
Feeling ill, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
* * *
As soon as Jane Carlin texted him on Thursday night that she was at the conference, he left the college café. He’d asked her to let him know when she arrived in Albany, so he didn’t worry about her safety. She’d loved that, not knowing it was a ruse.
He took the elevator to her second floor. There, with no one around, he wandered nonchalantly down the hallway. When he reached the office, he donned gloves, then used his lock-picking tools to get in. He didn’t turn the lights on but went to the desk. A hint of her expensive perfume still lingered in the air.
Of course, when he booted up the computer, a ping, resounded in the small office, seeming unnaturally loud. Ignoring it, he took out his phone and typed in the password the FBI had culled—he didn’t know how they got it—and he clicked into documents. What would she name the file, if she did indeed keep track of her operation at the school? His studied each folder, tried several for the better part of an hour, then clicked into one named 1-2-3-4-5 that was buried within a folder, within another folder and yet another. There was only one page in it. Five entries on the paper. He stared at list.