Incriminated Read Free

up at 5 am, a light sheen of sweat sticking to my skin from the tossing and turning I had done all night.
    I had no idea what on earth I could do about the situation. I had considered the idea that maybe it was just the bluff of an incredibly hurt woman, and for that I couldn't blame her. However, the more I turned the idea over in my head I decided "bluff" probably wasn't in her personal dictionary.
    How could I have been the only one she ever found out about? Alec had been so familiar with Genovese's routine that he hadn't even questioned his motive when I went to his office that night. Clearly, I had come after a long line of conquests. But if that was the case—how had she never known before?
    Was I the only one that ever said no? Perhaps, things had never gone this far before.  If there was no trouble with his conquest things went smoothly—no one ended up kidnapped, or dead.  She said the pictures were found after they searched his office—if he was alive she may have never had a reason to be in there before.
    Sighing, I slipped on a pair of sweatpants and went to the kitchen, pulling a home-made cinnabon from a small container on the counter. I turned the Keurig on and loaded it with my most recent addiction, White Macadamia flavored coffee. Once the scent of brewing coffee filled the air I leaned back against the counter and considered my options, taking a generous bite from my pastry.
    I could call Michael. He would know what to do, and would recognize the severity of the situation. Maybe he'd even be able to set the situation straight. But if I let him back into my life, was I opening doors I wasn't ready for?
    I could call the police—but how would I explain my involvement in the situation? Would they really be satisfied with "the crazy wife of the late Mr. Genovese wants me dead for NOT sleeping with her husband BECAUSE he had a bunch of pictures of me?"
    What if I went to her myself and tried to explain? The second the thought stewed in my brain I quickly dismissed it. She had no reason to believe me, and I didn't have any concrete proof. I couldn't show her any tangible evidence that I had never been with him and there was too much of a chance that it would implicate Michael and tie me to the scene of the crime. Even now I still didn't know how Michael staged the whole thing, but I was eternally grateful that enforcement seemingly had no idea I had been in that apartment.
    I knew I couldn't do anything that would call legal attention to me. I didn't want the investigation reopened, with press screaming my name to anyone that would listen. My parents had just barely relaxed from my original disappearance; swallowing down my obvious lie of winning a trip to Hawaii from work. My getting a cellphone had helped the situation a lot, and now I didn't go a day without talking to one of them.
    So what did that leave? Did I really have no other option but Michael? With realization setting in I sighed and pulled my phone out, pressing "Call" on his contact before I had time to talk myself down. The phone rang once before I heard his voice echo through the phone, hoarse and familiar all at once.
    "Gabriella."
    "Michael—I need you to come over, it's important—" I started to explain, before I was interrupted by a "be there in half an hour" followed by silence. I sighed and put my phone on the counter, finished my coffee then ran to the bathroom to shower.
    After a 15 minute shower, I toyed with different items in my closet before I settled on a form fitting t-shirt and a pair of light denim shorts. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and after debating with myself decided not to put any make-up on. I didn't owe him anything and definitely had no desire to impress him.
    Just as he had promised, there was a quiet knock at my door half an hour from when we spoke. I opened the door and stared at him for a moment, unable to stop the slideshow of memories from peeling through my brain. My eyes traced his perfect nose, his