One Night Stand by Clara Bayard Read Free Book Online

his business and my co-workers to transport drugs. And if he was doing it for Dr. Kent there must be others. He could be helping to move any manner of illegal materials all over the city.
    My stomach twisted in a tight knot and it was a struggle to keep myself upright. I was part of this. I'd taken the call, made the arrangements, and handled the payments.
    It took every bit of control in me to keep from throwing up. The cool air felt suddenly hot on my shoulders and I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide. But I couldn't. Because I was holding a big box full of drugs. In the middle of the morning where anyone could see.
    Panic filled me, spreading out from my gut to every extremity. I needed to call the police, turn in the evidence, give testimony, and do something, right?
    I'd be fired, of course. And possibly arrested or worse. I was born in this city and knew most roads in the drug trade led to organized crime. There were stories all the time about people like me, dupes who ended up jailed or dead for being in this situation.
    My mind flashed back to a year ago, the last time I'd felt this kind of hopeless terror. I was back in that car, shaking with fear. A low keening sound emanated from me and I curled up into a ball, praying for it to be over soon.
    Back in the present I was shaking too. I could barely hear or see anything as a smothering wave of hysteria crashed over me. I tried to remember by steps, struggled mightily to push back against the panic, but I couldn't. Helpless, I wrapped my arms around the pole, closed my eyes, and just held on, hoping that it would pass.
    And as always, eventually it did. I had no idea how long I'd been standing there or how many people had seen me, but it didn't matter. Sweat cooled under my clothes and I breathed deeply. The pain in my hand and my hip anchored me and I managed to get myself together and started moving.
    I walked the bike down to the bottom of the hill and climbed back on. I rode for a while without consciously knowing where I was headed, but I realized I'd been riding to the drop-off location. I'm ashamed to admit it was a relief. It let me cling to vague possibilities. Maybe I had it all wrong. I was no expert on drug dealing. There could be a perfectly reasonable and legal explanation for what Dr. Kent was doing. Who was I to accuse him?
    By the time I got to the address I'd convinced myself everything was fine. I ignored the voice in the back of my head that scoffed at me, called me an idiot and a coward. A thin, pale woman signed for the package and barely glanced at me, thankfully. I secured the delivery slip and walked back to the curb. I got on the bike again and rode back to the office slowly and carefully, concentrating on the strip of road ahead of me and nothing else.
    When I got back to work I braced for a confrontation with Mitchell, but the small space was as empty as I'd left it. Still uneasy, I went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and check on my injuries. There was nothing worse than a few scrapes, the only saving grace of this terrible morning.
    I went back out to my desk and sat down to check the messages. Another small blessing, there was nothing that needed my immediate attention. Braden and a few of the other messengers would be in soon, so I got thing prepped for them, going through the familiar motions without thinking about them.
    But when some of the guys arrived, joking and casual, my heart sank again. I couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. I couldn't ignore that something wrong was going on here. I had no idea who was in on it or if all the messengers were as clueless as me, but I couldn't keep putting them, unwitting or not, in a dangerous situation. I had to report what I'd seen, what I'd done.
    "Brae, can you do me a favor?"
    "Anything," he replied, fiddling with some piece of the bicycle he was constantly rebuilding.
    "I need to take care of something and it's kind of an emergency. Can you cover the desk for a few