When I get to the kitchen, the door stands open, and I fly through it, scooping my boots up on my way down the short flight of steps, and running as hard as I can for the tree line.

  I don’t stop running until I’m a good distance away from the house, and then I pull up my ride-share app, ordering a car and quickly following my map to the highway. Fifteen minutes of hiding in the woods later, a lone Chevy Equinox appears, and I dash out of the woods to hop inside.

  The driver gives me a mildly suspicious glance, but I smile brightly. “Heading back to school!”

  With a shrug he turns the wheel, and we’re headed back to Thornton. After a few miles, I open my bag and take out the book. All this work, and it’s right here in my hands.

  20

  Dirk

  The noise of my phone vibrating pulls me from a deep sleep. At first I’m disoriented. The bed is empty, and looking all around, I see no sign of Reanna anywhere. Then I notice her bag is gone.

  My phone continues to vibrate, and I pick it up, expecting to see it’s her.

  It’s Scar calling.

  “Hey, bro, what’s up?” I turn in the bed, putting my feet on the floor.

  “You still in town?” His raspy voice is low, and I can tell something’s up.

  “Yeah, I’ve got the week off, but I was planning to head back…” Now, looking around and finding Reanna gone.

  “I need you to come to Hugh’s as soon as you can.”

  I’m out of the bed at once, pulling on my boxer briefs and scooping up my jeans. “I’m on my way. Is everything okay? Is Hana…”

  “Hana’s good. She’s coming back this evening with Blake and Hutch.”

  “What’s going on?” Walking to my armoire, I notice a yellow Post-It on the floor beside the nightstand.

  Picking it up, I see a note, Something came up. Had to head back to Thornton. Will text asap. -R.

  “Come over, and I’ll fill you in.”

  Frowning at the note, I nod. “Give me five minutes.”

  We disconnect, and I tap out a quick text. Don’t like waking up alone.

  I hit send and pull a brown sweater over my head before stepping into my boots and scooping up my keys.

  Scar’s in the kitchen with Norris when I arrive, and a platter of fresh scones is on the bar.

  The old butler is flustered, but he’s a pro at taking care of this house and Hugh and Hugh’s guests. “Would you like some coffee, Mr. Dirk?”

  “Sure, thanks.” I don’t even bother asking him to drop the Mister for the hundredth time. “What’s this all about?”

  Scar steps forward, placing his phone on the cypress bar between us. “I came home early this morning, and I was headed to my place when the motion detectors went off.”

  He taps the screen, and Hugh’s golf cart appears, driving away from the front of the house towards the barn.

  Frowning, I back it up and lean in to try and get a better look, but it’s too dark to make out the driver. “Someone took a joy ride on Hugh’s golf cart?”

  “That’s what I thought, so I came to investigate.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “Parked behind the barn.”

  “So they didn’t steal it.” I glance from him to Norris and back again. “It could’ve been teenagers pulling a prank. If they returned it, no harm done, right?”

  “Except I noticed the back door wasn’t closed all the way. So I came in the house to check on things, and someone was inside.”

  “Oh!” Norris emits a terrified sound. “I can’t even think of such a thing!”

  “You saw someone in the house?”

  “I didn’t see them. A pair of Doc Marten boots were at the back door, so I came in and when I entered Hugh’s study, the intruder took off running for the back door. It took me a minute to realize where they were, and by the time I caught up, they were gone, boots and all. Still, I could probably pick up the trail.”

  I cross my arms, leaning against the bar. “You’ve got to start locking that door, Norris.”

  “Mr. Hugh is going to hate that. He likes Hamiltown being the kind of place where doors don’t have to be locked.”

  Scar and I both shift our stance, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. It’s my six-foot-four, Viking of a partner who states the obvious. “Hamiltown might be that kind of place, but with all the shit we’ve been through, Hugh’s property is not.”

  “Was anything missing?” I step from the kitchen into the living room, where nothing appears to be disturbed.

  “So far I haven’t detected anything missing.” Norris scurries around topping off everyone’s coffee cups. “I’d like to think it’s just mischievous teenagers, bored on a Saturday night. Perhaps they were drinking alcohol or smoking marijuana. They’re all doing that now.”

  Scar’s brow lowers, and I know he’s not about to let it go. My phone buzzes, and I take it from my pocket. When I see the message on the screen, my stomach tightens. It’s Reanna.

  Sorry to leave. Hope I can explain soon.

  I wait for more, but nothing comes. I’m not sure what to make of this message, and after the last few days, I don’t like this change, this withdrawal.

  “Doc Martens are preferred mostly by young people, but adults also wear them. They were a smaller size, but the brand has unisex sizing, which again, points to a teen. Or a female.” Scar’s still going on about whoever broke in, so I slide the device back into my pocket and try to focus on what he’s saying.

  When I look up, he’s watching me. “You good?”

  Forcing my face to relax, I nod. “Yeah, it’s all good.” It’s not, but I can put my concerns on hold.

  “Oh, Mr. Dirk,” Norris suddenly joins the conversation. “Weren’t you supposed to have a guest for the weekend? Shall I make more coffee? Breakfast?”

  “Ah, no, that’s okay, not necessary.” I slide my hand over the tension in my stomach. “She had to head on back, so it’s just me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The older man gives me a sympathetic face.

  “Yeah, me too.” Scar gives me a knowing grin. “I was looking forward to meeting this mystery lady.”

  “No mystery. Just bad timing.” Even I’m not convinced by my tone.

  Reanna is surrounded by mystery.

  “Well, if you won’t be needing me,” Norris straightens, tipping his chin, “I have to prep the house for Mr. Hugh’s return.”

  We assure him we’re fine, then head out the back door.

  “They waited until everyone was gone, which means they’re watching us.” Scar has become hypervigilant since Hana became pregnant. I know it’s rooted in his past, but I think he might be overreacting this time.

  “I’ve been over here every day working with the horses. It was probably kids playing a prank, maybe truth or dare.”

  “Check it out.” He gets down on one knee, pressing his fingers to the tracks left in the soft ground. “They ran straight to the woods, like they knew where they were going.”

  More indication to me it’s local kids. Everyone is familiar with the woods around this area—either to meet up for keggers or to make out or just to make mischief. I know he won’t sleep until he has the answer, so I half-heartedly play along, my mind an hour up the road in Thornton.

  While Scar takes off into the woods, I take out my phone, studying the screen. I could tell something was troubling her last night. My mind drifts to my question, What are we doing?

  Did things get too close? I told her I could help her.

  Chasing has never been my style, and I’m not a high-pressure guy. As much as I hate it, the right thing would be to give her space.

  The day passes slowly with no text, no word. I humor Scar in his search for clues. The intruder took off on foot and ran through the woods, where he or she took a break to change clothes or retrieve a bag. The array of leaves tells him they searched for something here.

  It’s pretty amazing the way he can piece such things together from sticks and leaves, scuff marks on the lichens growing on exposed tree roots. I can find just about anything or anyone on the web, dark and light, but Scar’s part bloodhound.

  Hutch always bragged about his abilities when they were in the military together in eastern Europe. My brother was a Marine, and Scar was his assigned translator and scout. He never said it, but when Scar showed up in our office wanting to join our team, it was the best day of my brother’s life, until Blake entered the picture.

  The sun is lowering when Hutch, Blake, and Hana arrive, and they come straight to Hugh’s. Scar filled him in on what we’ve been able to uncover so far.

  “I think we might be overreacting,” I suggest gently.

  Hana waddles up to her broody husband, and he relaxes for the first time all day. “I can’t even remember the last time I drove that golf cart,” she says. “Where did I leave it?”

  “It should’ve been parked in Hugh’s garage.” A touch of scolding is in Hutch’s tone.

  Blake puts her hand on his arm as if to say it’s okay. “Wherever it was, it’s here now. Isn’t that the important thing?”

  “Except someone was in the house.” Scar’s deep voice is ominous, and Hana’s eyes blink wide.

  “That’s a little terrifying. Should we have Uncle Hugh stay with us a few days until we’re sure it’s not… someone bad?”

  Her dark blue eyes flicker from her husband to me to Hutch, and my brother shifts in his stance. “Hugh has a bodyguard. I can call the sheriff and see if they’ve had any reports of breaking and entering around town lately. We could put them on alert to what happened.”

  They’re doing everything right, and my restlessness has reached an all-time high. “I’ve got to head back to campus for the night.”

  “What?” Hana’s the first to complain. “We just got back. You can’t leave.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Maybe. “I just remembered… I forgot to do something.”

  My brother and Scar are watching me like they know I’m full of shit, but I kiss Hana and Blake’s cheeks and jog out to my waiting Jeep.

  Before I get on the road, I send one text. Miss L, Report to my office at 8 tonight. Don’t make me come find you. -Professor

  21

  Reanna

  Campus is empty when I arrive, and I don’t stop until I’m locked in my dorm room, completely alone. I sit on the bed and carefully take out the book that’s been burning a hole in my messenger bag the entire drive home, the entire trip across campus, to here.

  It’s almost anti-climactic when I open the cover and music doesn’t play, lights don’t shine from the pages. To the average observer, it would appear to be a simple list of names with numbers in columns beside them, a basic accounting record.

  The difference is I know all of these names by heart, starting with the most significant, Petrovich, owner of all the accounts and recipient of the deposits. VP-K is written small, in ink on the inside cover, which means Victor Petrovich kept the records. Simon gave the orders.

  Sliding my finger down the rows, I read their assets, their deposits, their withdrawals, and their payments. Sidorov, Devney, Ivanov, Lourdnikov, the names continue, page after page, spanning a period of more than twenty years, until my heart stops at the letters ZP, Zander Petrovich.

  Natasha thinks I don’t know who he is, but I’ve been sneaking into the office at Gibson’s for years, searching through documents, reading and trying to find this information. I’ve seen the birth certificates, and I know what I have in my hands.

  The dates line up, along with the word Terminated. It’s an enormous sum of money, property, assets, and it was simply moved in two bullets and two strokes of a pen to VP and SP. Right here in his own ledger, he had the nerve to record what he did.

  Victor Petrovich was a monster, but he was the uncontrolled, ragey type of demon. Simon Petrovich was Satan, calm, always in control, the leader.

  I know Zander was part of it, whether by choice or by coercion. I don’t know if he was trying to get out, trying to get clean. I only know we were hiding, living a different life far away from their evil. We lived quietly, simply. We had a happy home, full of love, until they gunned him down in cold blood, before my eyes.

  I have the proof he was part of it now, the proof they terminated him and took everything he had, including me. All that’s left is to prove they lied. They were thieves stealing their brother’s birthright, and as much as I hate it, I have to go back to New York to finish this.

  Lying on my side, the memories of that last day wash over me again, playing with my nesting doll, lining up all the pieces, the grandma and the mamma and the sisters, all the way down to the little baby no bigger than a grain of rice. I was so terrified I’d lose her. Then the shooting broke out, and I scooped them up so fast.

  I ran as hard as I could on little child legs, but when I got there, it was too late. He was gone, and I was taken like so much collateral to that enormous house in Minsk then to New York. I was property, a pawn in their game. I’m still not sure why they didn’t kill me, too. Is it because I was a little girl? Is it because they thought I’d never find out? Is it because they believed I was too weak to matter?

  Closing my eyes, I remember his dark hair and ice-blue eyes. He had the kindest smile. He taught me to sand and paint the furniture he made. He taught me to hunt and to track and to build a fire. I can still feel his large hands guiding my small ones, his patient words as I learned. We would sit, and he would tell me about my family of strong men and women, conquerors who helped settle that brutal terrain. He told me I was like my mother, fierce and protective, a fighter who loved with all her heart. He told me she loved me. He told me I could survive anything.

  My phone buzzes, waking me, and I realize I fell asleep.

  I’m not in the mood for Natasha’s crap, so I leave the device on the bed and walk to the window, gazing out at the lavender twilight settling on the horizon. I’m cold, and my chest aches. I want to see Dirk.

  Resting my forehead against the windowsill, I try to think of a way I could ever see him again. We didn’t get a proper goodbye, but I don’t want that. I never want to tell him goodbye. I still cling to that dream like a subconscious wish. You don’t have to fight alone anymore…

  If only that were true, but it’s not.

  My heart hurts, and I know the way my story ends. I’m always alone.

  Opening my laptop, I book a plane ticket to New York departing early in the morning. I know I won’t be coming back here, and sadness is a hollow space in my chest. The confirmation comes through, and I send the boarding pass to my phone. It’s when I finally pick up the device and see two notifications.

  One is the ticket and the other tightens my stomach. Miss L, Report to my office at 8 tonight. Don’t make me come find you. -Professor

  I have just enough time to shower.

  Damp wind sweeps the dead leaves across the sidewalk, and I’m in a low-cut sweater, short skirt, and thigh-high tights as I race across campus. A cold change is coming, and the swirling air is driving rain ahead of the front, but I’m not even wearing a coat.

  My body is flushed with the heat of anticipation, lust, and need. I move like a woman obsessed, my vision focused on the tall building ahead and all the dirty, wicked, forbidden delights waiting for me inside it.

  I shouldn’t do this. It’ll only complicate things, but I’m an addict. Rational thinking has left my mind, and my body demands my drug, his strong arms, his full mouth, his rigid cock.

  Lights are scattered along my route, but small patches of darkness remain under trees and near bushes. I’m oblivious to all of it. The campus is deserted, and I have no fear of being caught flying to him, no need to sneak.

  I’m across the central lawn when I notice a dark shadow moving near a tree a few paces ahead of me. The hair on my arms prickles, and I have a flashback of the hay maze when student actors lurked in the dark corners waiting to rush out and scare us.

  Only those were actors with rules and limits, and I’m alone on an empty college campus in the middle of the night.

  Slowing my pace, I fall back on my self-defense training. I know the best defense is avoiding danger, and I shouldn’t race up on a lurker hiding in the bushes. It could be nothing, or it could be someone with bad intentions. Still, I’m not about to turn around with satisfaction so close to my grasp.

  I’m breathing fast, walking slowly, when an involuntary shiver moves through my limbs. I have to pass that tree in order to enter the building. Squaring my shoulders, I decide to go for it, holding my head high and walking fast, purposefully to the door that will lead me to him.

  I don’t get five paces when the figure steps out in front of me, directly in my path. Blackness shrouds his features, but even obscured, I know who he is. His long hair is pulled back, and I manage to get out a short scream before the cloth is over my mouth and nose, and the world goes dark.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m alone in a small room with a desk and chair facing bookshelves. My head hurts, and my vision is foggy. My mouth is dry and tastes like a penny. Silence surrounds me.

  It takes several seconds of blinking to make out this place. A narrow, black filing cabinet stands beside the desk and bookshelves. The opposite wall is covered with maps and pictures and letters. It reminds me of something out of a crime movie where clues are arranged on top of notes, and everything is tied together with yarn wrapped around thumbtacks.

  Shaking my head, I try to stand, but only rise an inch before being jerked back down by my wrists. I’m handcuffed to the chair, and I have no idea where I am.

  The last thing I remember is…

  The doorknob rattles, and a key is inserted. A click, and the wooden door opens inward, revealing Scar Lourde standing in the doorway, scowling. I’m not afraid of him, although I suppose I ought to be. It’s hard to be afraid of anything with the pounding in my temples.