Lochlan

Another shirt ruined by blood stains. It really was a good thing I was worth billions at the rate I went through dress shirts because having them laundered wasn't an option. It didn't matter how quiet the dry cleaning service promised to be, some loose lipped employee would spread the word that Lochlan Sloan regularly brought in bloodied clothes. And then half of New York would think I was some sort of batman vigilante type, while the other half would think I was in the mafia or a king pen. Neither was far from the truth.

Unrolling my shirt sleeves, I kept my attention on the moaning man propped against the dumpster. With a practiced move, I buttoned the cuffs of my sleeves and tugged them down before squatting in front of the pitiful creature I'd just beaten within an inch of his life.

"You're going to take the girl and leave the city, and you won't ever come back here, do you understand?" No answer. I grasped him by his thinning hair and jerked his head back. "Harry, I think you know there is only one right answer. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. Blood flecked spittle covered his lips, and it would be a miracle if he could see out of his right eye an hour from now. I should feel a little guilty about what I'd done. The con artist was out of his depth, hoping to make a big score, but it was clear he'd never used his fists to commit crimes. Just his wits, and it was his poor luck that every grifter in the country had the same idea.

"Just don't hurt her," Harry mumbled, clutching at my arm. "Please don't hurt my daughter."

Finally, some truth. Another point in favor of Harry deserving what he got. I stood and picked up my discarded jacket. Slipping it on, I buttoned the middle button and straightened my tie before pushing back my hair. Like always, it flopped back over my forehead with complete and utter disrespect.

"I don't hurt women, Harry," I told him. "But maybe you should remember that there are men out there who will, before you go involving your daughter in something so stupid. Now go."

He moved at a speed which was impressive for his girth and his current condition, and I counted to one hundred before strolling casually out of the alley, the cheerful autumn sun hitting me directly in the eye. I slid my sunglasses on while I fished my phone out of my pocket and called the first contact on my favorites list.

"You can turn the surveillance cameras back on. Yeah. We should be good, but just in case he gets brave, put James on him. Make sure he's out of the city by sunset."

Without waiting for an answer, I ended the call and moved through the throng of people, aware of the occasional appreciative gaze. Most who bothered to stare were tourists—the locals kept their heads down, earbuds in, and their steps quick. If I was your average local, I'd do the same, but years of training so I didn't have to live life with a bodyguard at my side meant I stayed on high alert, making mental notes in case anyone looked suspicious. Or—I zeroed in on the leggy brunette practically eye fucking me from the crosswalk—anyone who looked like they might be a good time.

With regret, I looked away. Now wasn't the time to be distracted. After all the chaos died down, I intended to indulge to make up for every missed opportunity, but god knows when that would be. Mrs. R's decision to renew the search for Marianna had shaken my world enough, and then she went and threw a grenade in it by offering a million dollars for information leading to Marianna's whereabouts.

Fingers curled into a tight fist as the familiar rage kindled in my chest. It wasn't the same anger I'd experienced while pummeling Harry in the alley. That had been all external. This was all internal. Self-loathing coated in acidic anger at my ineffectiveness. It was a war I'd been waging since the day Marianna disappeared, and what the Reeds didn't know was I'd never stopped searching for their daughter.

Recently, I thought I was finally close to some answers. Dead end after dead end led me to an associate of Karen Whitethorn, the nanny suspected of kidnapping Marianna. Joy had been questioned but had claimed to know nothing, but it would seem the passing years had loosened her tongue—that and my own generous offer for information. But Mrs. R's TikTok went viral and Joy vanished. Whether she'd been spooked or someone got to her, I didn't know yet, but I would soon.

My phone rang. Seeing the number on the screen, I grinned. "Thought you would be hungover for at least two more days."

Alex Reed laughed. It was a strained sound, which meant the asshole and my best friend in the world was very likely actually hungover.

"It's a Thursday, Lochlan." He tried to sound indignant and failed.

"Since when did you keep up with the days of the week?" A frustrated sigh made the speaker pop against my ear and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "What happened?"

"Mom called me an hour ago. Wants us to meet her at the penthouse."

"Fuck," I shouted. Not a single passerby jumped. "Another one already?"

"I know. Look, we've both tried to persuade her that this is bat shit crazy, but she said, and I quote, 'I would rather go broke and die in poverty than live in this lofty tower one more day without my Marianna.' End quote."

"Fine. What time is this meeting?" I flexed my fingers and blood pooled in the scrapes on my knuckles. Harry wasn't even out of the city yet. At this rate, I wouldn't be able to get rid of them all myself, but getting anyone else involved was risky. Even my crew didn't ask questions.

"At ten."

That was a little less than two hours from now. "I'll be there."

"Oh, and Lochlan. Be a dear and bring me some coffee. The good stuff."

The good stuff was at Cups, which just happened to be across the street. If the line was short, I might sit a few minutes before heading to Mrs. R's place. Any chance to clear my head was welcome, and I sagged in relief when I entered the trendy cafe and only one other person was standing in line.

"Can I get a cortado with a shot of vanilla?" The woman asked the barista, tucking a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear.

I couldn't see her face, but the voice sent shivers down my spine. I inched closer. Even though the air was heavy with the scent of coffee, I caught a whiff of something light and floral and maybe a hint of citrus. She paid for her drink and stepped to the end of the counter, her hair falling like a curtain around her profile, hiding her from me.

"Are you going to order?" The barista asked me in a tone that suggested she was repeating herself.

"Two double shot Americanos," I replied, turning on my full charm to make up for my rudeness. Glancing at her name tag, I added, "Winter."

Winter did not look won over. She took my money and went about pulling shots to finish the orders, and instead of finding a table like I'd planned, I joined the woman to wait for our drinks—if only to solve the mystery of what was so intriguing about her because she certainly wasn't my usual type.

Her clothing was oversized, hiding her shape, but she was tall. Five foot ten at least. A tall woman always drew my attention. At six foot three, I towered over most people, and while there was nothing wrong with a petite woman, I often couldn't enjoy myself because I was worried about hurting her. I needed someone who could match me in bed. Someone could withstand my appetites.

"Here you go," Winter said, dropping the cortado on the counter and returning to finish mine.

The woman picked it up and turned, jumping when she almost ran into me. When had I gotten so close?

"Shit, shit, shit," she said, setting the drink down and sucking on the space between her pointer finger and thumb.

"Are you okay?" I asked. Grabbing napkins, I thrust them toward her.

Prying her lips—perfect, pouty, pink lips shining wetly in the warm cafe lighting—from her hands she took the offered napkins. "I'm fine. Just a little splash."

"Sorry about—" I trailed off when she pushed her hair out of the way, and I saw her entire face for the first time.

Beautiful wasn't the right word, though she was beautiful. Striking was closer but somehow still off the mark. Brown eyes rimmed in sable lashes watched me warily. They seemed almost over sized, with the whites of her eye visible beneath the iris. Her nose was slender and slightly upturned at the end, and was it my imagination or was there a blush staining her high cheekbones?

"I really want to tell you to take a picture because it'll last longer, but I pride myself on being a little more original than that."

"Two double shot Americanos," Winter interrupted.

"Thank y—" She had already moved onto the next customer.

"Excuse me," the woman said, inching around me to head to the exit.

Shifting so she brushed against me, I smirked at the sharp intake of breath. "A picture might last longer, but I'm actually a kinesthetic learner."

She paused. "What does that mean?"

"I remember things better if I use my hands."

"I walked right into that one," she said with a laugh.

"Kind of like you walked right into me?"

Her grin faded, and her mouth fell open. "There was an entire cafe. You were standing directly behind me. Personal space is a thing, you know?"

"So is spacial awareness."

"Oh, my god. You're impossible."

We exited together. In the short time since entering, gray clouds pushed across the horizon, blocking the sunshine and dropping the temperature by several degrees. This evening, everyone would go home and pull out their gloves and hats, and it was unlikely they would be put away again until late spring.

The woman trembled as the wind gusted. Her light sweater was more for looks than function. Shrugging off my jacket, I draped it around her shoulders. "Here."

"That's unnecessary, really. I shouldn't be outside too long."

I shrugged. "Maybe I just want you to have to look me up to return it later?"

The comment earned an eye roll chased by a cheeky grin. "You could just ask for my phone number."

"Would you give it to me?"

"Probably not," she replied. Her eyes narrowed in concern, and she brushed her fingers over my wrist, the featherlight touch heating me up more than some women's kisses. "What happened?"

"What?" Three splatters of blood on the cuff and raw and bruising knuckles. Shit. "Hazard of boxing, I guess. Should've listened to the guys at the gym and bandaged it, but I was in a hurry."

She didn't look like she believed me, but the mention of being in a hurry had her checking her watch. "I've got to go."

"Wait," I called out as she sprinted toward the nearest subway entrance. "I can offer you a ride."

No, I couldn't. I was running behind and hadn't I just told myself this was not the time for distractions? This woman was that with a capital D.

"I'm good!"

"At least tell me your name," I shouted down the stairs. "I'm Lochlan."

"Nice to meet you," she replied, waving a hand over her head but not looking back at me. "I'm late."

"Good try, buddy," a homeless man said as he walked by with his cart and dog.

Digging out my wallet, I handed him a hundred. "For lying to make me feel better."

Thirty minutes later, I entered the lobby of Mrs. R's building. Typically, coming here felt like home, but today, I willed the elevator to slow down. Nothing good could come of meeting this false Marianna, but there was no changing Mrs. R's mind, so the least I could do was be present and protect her from all the con artists, but when the doors dinged and slid open, my thoughts weren't on the imposter in the penthouse. They were on the coffee shop girl, and the mystery of what she looked like beneath the baggy clothes.

"Get it together," I said out loud. It was time to focus on the serious business at hand and not the girl I would never see again.