“Did you drug me?” My voice is sandpaper.

  He lifts his chin, walking in and going to the desk, where he crosses his arms, studying me. Fine, he doesn’t have to answer. Seconds pass, and he doesn’t speak. His wolf eyes narrow, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to decide what to say or if he’s waiting for me to confess.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Somewhere no one knows to look.” His voice is rough and smokey, and I remember. Scar’s secret room…

  He places a hand on the desk beside him, lifting the ledger I stole and holding it in the air. “What do you want with this?”

  My eyes narrow, and I purse my lips. Now it’s my turn for silence, primarily because I’m not sure the safest answer. Also, because I’m not a snitch. Not that I’m loyal to Natasha. I’m simply not sure I’ll get what I want by cooperating with this guy.

  He slaps it down on the desk again, rising to his full height. “You lied to my partner. You spent six weeks running a con. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “It’s exactly what I think. I know who you are, Rainey Sidorova.”

  Nodding, my eyes fall to the floor. Guilt by association. No matter what I say, I’m the enemy, so I might as well show my cards. I’m not getting out of this chair without his help.

  “You think you know me, but you don’t. I’m not part of their criminal organization. I was brought into it as a child, against my will, just like you were, and I want to get out like you did.”

  “I wasn’t brought into it against my will.” His tone is sharp. “I joined Simon because I lost everything. Then I learned who they were and what they did, and I walked away. But I was never free until he died. Now you’re here. Why? Are you trying to drag me back?”

  His eyes are deadly serious, and I know his story. The last time I saw him, I was hiding in Gibson’s, trying to fade into the curtains, and he was making a deal with the devil.

  “I’m trying to find the people who killed my father. They took everything from me, and I want to bring them down. If you would be willing to come back, I could use your help.”

  “Sounds like a convenient lie to me. You broke into Hugh’s home, stole this ledger, and booked a one-way ticket to Manhattan. You expect me to believe you want my help?”

  “No.” My chin drops. He’s right. There’s no way he should believe me. “I can only tell you the truth.”

  “The truth.” He huffs a laugh. “Pretty sure you never learned the meaning of that word, little girl.”

  My stomach sinks. “Then what’s the point in holding me?”

  “For starters, you’ve evolved into a clever spy as well as a liar, and I want to know why. I want to know what Natasha is after in this ledger, and I can’t have you running back to warn her.”

  “Natasha is trying to revive their operation. She wants to be the leader, and she thinks that book is going to help her do it.”

  “Their operation is dead. The men are all gone, and nothing is going to bring it back.”

  “She’s determined to try. She wants to be the leader, and she thinks that book will give her legitimacy.”

  He’s silent, pushing off the desk and walking to the wall, where pictures of Victor and Simon are marked off in red. For a long while, he studies the photographs as if he’s thinking about my words. He was in this world long before me, so perhaps he’s remembering something—or reliving it. Finally, his chin drops, and he exhales deeply.

  “I want them to stay dead.” He’s chillingly calm. “I’m done looking over my shoulder. I want peace. I want to live my life and raise my family without fear.”

  “You’ll never have that as long as any of them remain. Neither of us can.” I study his massive frame. Even with his strength, he can’t stop a bullet, and he knows it. It’s the only leverage I could possibly have. “Simon killed my father, and I’m trying to prove it. Help me.”

  “Simon is dead.” He turns to face me. “It doesn’t matter if he killed your father; he can’t be punished anymore.”

  “But the machine is still in place. It’s damaged, but Natasha is more dangerous than you think. She will put it back together, and they will come after you.”

  “I know what Natasha wants.” Scar’s voice is grave. “She wants the same thing as you. She wants the man who killed her father.”

  “That’s not all she wants. She wants everything, the money, the power, the glory, all of it. Nothing is going to stop her.”

  “Something will stop her.” His ice-blue gaze lands on mine, and I know what he means, or more precisely who he means. “I’ll return this ledger to your boss. In the meantime, you’re not going anywhere. I have someone coming to keep an eye on you, and he won’t let you get away with shit.”

  “Who…” The question slips out on a nervous whisper.

  He continues, “I know your type. I know you’re trained to lie. Now he’ll know it, too.”

  “Scar?” A male voice echoes from the front of the house, and my heart freezes.

  No…

  “Back here,” Scar calls.

  I’m not ready.

  Panic grips my throat, and I can’t breathe. Fear shakes my ribs like bars on a cage, and I jerk against the handcuffs as the low thud of boots grows closer in the hall, as dread rises like bile in my stomach.

  “Don’t. Please…” It’s a desperate plea for mercy, a supplication from the bottom of my soul as my shoulder rises, and I shrink lower. “Please please please…”

  My voice cracks, and my vision blurs as the door shimmers and starts to move. An invisible sledgehammer swings as it opens, and when our eyes meet, it slams into my heart, smashing it into a million pieces.

  22

  Dirk

  Eight o’clock came and went, and Reanna never appeared. Scooping up my phone, I sent a short text. I will come to your dorm and get you.

  Hunger drove me, and my dick demanded satisfaction. Campus was empty, and a fantasy of storming into her room, throwing her over my shoulder, and carrying her to my bed made me smile. She does like it rough…

  The text I received next wasn’t what I expected. It was Scar. I need you to get back to Hamiltown now. I caught the intruder.

  “Fuck,” I growled, typing a fast reply. Tonight’s bad. Can it wait until tomorrow?

  Gray dots, and his reply is short. Need you back here now.

  In any other situation, I’d argue I’m off the clock, I have prior commitments, but in spite of his overprotective tendencies these days, when Scar says it’s serious, it is.

  Exhaling heavily, I send her a final text, Must go to H’town, but want to see you tonight.

  I don’t even bother packing a bag. I head for my waiting Jeep and floor it down the empty highway. Traffic is light, and in less than an hour, I’m pulling up to Scar’s house.

  The one-bedroom cottage is usually open and well-lit. He built it in a clearing on the edge of town near the woods, and just about everything in it is hand-made by him. Tonight, as I park in the driveway, it looks like no one is home.

  Stepping out, a chill is in the humid air, and the damp makes it feel colder. The clouds are growing thick, and the weather is changing. Dry leaves fall in the occasional, sudden gust of wind, and my boots crunch as I walk up the gravel drive. It smells like fall, and the metallic taste of rain is on my tongue.

  I’m frustrated to be back here without seeing Reanna. I’m worried that she hasn’t replied to any of my texts since yesterday. I don’t think she’s in trouble, but she did mention unfinished business and revenge. The idea something might have happened has me on edge, and I want to wrap this up here and head back ASAP.

  The front door is unlocked, and I open it slowly to a dark kitchen. “Scar?” I call, stepping inside and looking all around.

  “Back here.” His low voice echoes from the small room in the middle of the short hall.

  It’s a secret office he keeps locked at all times. It contains his old files from when he wasn’t on the good side of the law. It also contains records we’ve collected, items we hold onto for leverage, and maps of the cases we’ve worked on as well as other things. Hell, there’s no telling what all is stored in there.

  Reaching for the doorknob, I turn it, opening it quickly and stepping inside. “What have you got to show me…?”

  My voice dies, and I feel like I’ve stepped through the looking glass. I see what’s before me, but my brain won’t make it make sense.

  Scar is leaning against the small desk with his arms crossed and his brow lowered. He’s holding the slim ledger Hugh got from Simon’s rat, the same one I spent weeks researching at the start of that twisted case.

  I don’t know why he has it, and I don’t care. It’s the person sitting in front of him, the woman handcuffed to a chair, I can’t understand.

  It’s Reanna.

  Her head is bowed, her long, dark hair hangs in silky curtains past her cheeks, and she doesn’t look at me when I enter.

  “Scar, what…” I take a staggered step forward. “What the hell?”

  “Recognize this?” He holds up the book.

  “Of course. What about it?”

  He pushes off the desk and walks straight to where Reanna sits, gripping her chin and lifting her face to me. Our eyes meet for half a second before she closes hers, and a lone tear hits her cheek.

  “You’ve never met this one in person—at least not using her true identity.” Scar’s voice is a rough growl, a hint of his almost-gone Russian accent lacing the words. “Dirk Winston, meet Rainey Sidorova, Natasha Petrovna’s right hand. She was sent here to retrieve this book and bring it back to her boss in New York.”

  My stomach twists, and disbelief fights against his words. “Rainey?”

  “She’s not my boss.” Her teeth grind. “I’m not her right hand, that’s Rick Ivanov.”

  The sound of his name flashes rage in my chest. “Rick Ivanov is the guy who blackmailed Hana.” My muscles shake. “The one who drugged and abused her.”

  “It would seem they’re comrades.”

  “We’re not…” Rainey snaps, and Scar releases her chin with a flick of his wrist.

  “I’d advise you to speak carefully.”

  Turning away, I heave out a breath. Fury knots in my throat, and humiliation burns my chest. My fingers curl into fists, and I’m struggling for control. I’m struggling not to turn around and slam her against the wall.

  “I’m going to New York to get to the bottom of this. Hutch is coming with me. He’s already ordered the private jet.” Scar takes a key out of his desk and hands it to me. “I need you to keep her here while we’re gone.”

  “Wait… I can’t stay here,” Rainey’s voice is desperate. Her eyes flicker from him to me, but I turn away from her. “I need to go with you.”

  “Your butt’s not going anywhere.” Scar collects his phone, his handgun, and the book before going to the door.

  “Weren’t you listening to anything I said?” Her voice breaks.

  “Yeah, I was listening. It’s a good story. It makes a lot of sense, and it sure lets you off the hook.”

  “No.” She struggles against the cuffs, but I follow Scar into the hall, shutting the door.

  He pauses, speaking low. “Keep her here, or she’ll jeopardize everything. Don’t let her out of your sight, and don’t listen to her. She’ll lie. It’s all they know to do.”

  Through the door, I hear her yell. “It’s not true. I’m not one of them. I’m trying to help.”

  My stomach cramps, and I’m so angry, I need to get away from that sound. “I’ll keep her here.”

  “I’ve talked to Hutch. He’s going to bring in Louie.”

  “The cop?”

  “Yeah. I’ll arrange a meeting at Gibson’s so you’ll be able to monitor everything. Listen, and if anything happens, get Louie on the line. He can get there faster than anyone.”

  “I’m on it.” I nod, following him to the kitchen.

  “Hana is staying with Blake. We’re planning to be back by the weekend, and we’ll deal with our captive then.” He takes a canvas bag off the bar, and stepping back, he grips my shoulder. “This time we’re getting rid of these assholes for good.”

  He disappears into the night, and I step out onto the back porch. I didn’t pack a bag, which means I need to go to my place and gather some things to stay here. Walking back into the house, I assess the situation.

  Scar’s cottage has only one bedroom, but with the anger churning in my stomach, I have no problem letting her sleep in that chair or on the floor. All of this has just happened, which means he’s leaving her needs in my hands. I can’t dwell on what I think she needs. She’s a prisoner, and I have to think like a warden.

  My boots scuff the wood floors as I return to the small office. My brain is slowly piecing together all the ways she used me, from the very first day she appeared in my office pretending to be a victim, pretending to need my help.

  She wasn’t a student, and she sure as hell wasn’t a victim. She was there so she could get here via me. Only, I’m sure here is not where she intended to be—according to Scar, she had a one-way ticket to New York.

  All the texts I sent, her unfinished business… I was never going to see her again.

  Closing my eyes, my jaw grinds remembering how I waited for her in my office, eager, believing, ultimately worrying. Fuck. Standing in that hall, those feelings morph into something bitter and raw in my chest. Placing my hand on the door, I hesitate, breathing deeply to fight off my base desire to hurt her for hurting me.

  I don't enter the room. I don’t want to look at her. I only open the door a crack.

  “I’m going to my place to get some things. I’ll be back.”

  She doesn’t answer, and I pull the door closed again.

  Turning the key in the lock, I place it on the ledge above the door. Walking out to my Jeep, I look across the vacant yard at the tall trees swaying in the wind.

  Scar’s place isn’t too far from mine, and I’d give anything to be wearing running shoes. I want to run long and hard. I want to do something that will burn these feelings out of my chest. I want to get away from the flicker trying not to die, the pain that reminds me I loved her.

  Gripping the sides of my forehead, I close my eyes against it. I’m not going there. I’m a professional. I’m trained to deal with all kinds of shit, and that’s all this is. More bullshit.

  Parking outside my house, I push back on the memory of bringing her here in the dark, the way her eyes lit and she ran around admiring the ancient weaving machines. I walk past them without a second glance, jogging up the steps to the main level. I resist remembering how she turned, amazed at the work I’d done here, sliding her fingers over my furniture as she walked around the place.

  Going to the armoire, I take down my bag, stuffing underwear, jeans, and extra shirts for me. I take out a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee for her. It’s getting cold. I take the corduroy blazer I wore home off the back of a chair, tucking my hand in the pocket.

  “Fuck,” I growl, when I pull out a micro thong.

  Fury twists my insides, and my fist shakes as I tighten it over the scrap of elastic and silk. Surges of need knot my stomach, as if my body doesn’t understand why this is a bad thing. I throw the offensive undergarment in the small trash can beside my nightstand.

  More lies, more manipulation.

  The bed is unmade, and my eyes linger on the rumpled pillows and twisted sheets. She played her part very well. I haven’t fucked like that in… ever.

  Scooping the book off my bedside table, I go to the bathroom and grab my deodorant and toothbrush. I’ve got to get out of this place.

  Maybe later, when all this is over, I’ll burn it to the ground.

  Scar’s place is as I left it when I return, and I drop my bag in the kitchen, reaching inside for the extra pair of boxer briefs, a long-sleeved tee, and sweatpants I brought for her. Seeing her won’t get any easier, and I decide to rip off the Band-Aid now.

  I take a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and go to the small room. Taking the key off the ledge, I unlock the door and open it abruptly. Her head shakes, and she seems to rouse from sleep. Her eyes are smudged like she’s been crying, and I don’t care. The pinch in my stomach is a liar. Just like her.

  “I brought you some water.” I place the bottle on the floor. “And these.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice is raspy, just above a whisper.

  The keys to the handcuffs are on the desk, and I pick them up slowly. “I’m going to unlock those, and if you start anything, I will finish it.”

  Fixing my eyes on hers, she only meets my gaze briefly before nodding. I can only assume the ferocity of my feelings is apparent in my eyes. She’d be a fool to try anything.

  Stepping closer, the faint scent of jasmine surrounds me, and I part my lips to breathe through my mouth. I don’t need her scent lying to me.

  I unlock one cuff, freeing her hand but leaving the bracelet hooked to the chair. Moving to the other side, I do the same, and her arms drop limply at her sides before she lifts them, slowly crossing them over her chest.

  Straightening, I step back. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is just above a whisper, and she reaches down to take the water bottle.

  “This way.” I wait as she stands slowly, a little wobbly.

  She holds a moment, swaying slightly in place, and I do not reach out to help her. When she’s ready to walk, I lead her to the small, windowless half bathroom in the hall. Stepping inside, I do a quick sweep, checking for razors or scissors or anything that could be used as a weapon.

  Finding nothing, I step back and allow her to go inside. “Don’t lock the door or I’ll kick it in.”

  Again, a silent nod is her only response. She closes the door, and I carry my bag to Scar’s bedroom. I don’t have a choice but to sleep in his bed, and I glance around for what I might arrange for her.

  Returning to the living room, an oversize wicker basket sits at the end of the couch. It’s filled with blankets, and I lift out all of them. Carrying them to the room, I arrange a pallet on the floor near the wrought iron and stone nightstand.