Millie

I spent the first night in Lochlan's apartment in a state of misery. Hating myself for getting into this situation and being everything he accused me of being. But most of all, hating him. Not even for the reasons I should—like the way he manhandled me for one. Rather, it was the way my body responded, and if I hadn't been aware of his presence in the other room, I would have used my hand to finish the job he started with his knee in the parking garage.

To make matters worse, Marcus advised me he was sending my suitcases over with Lochlan's driver, but he would stay elsewhere for the foreseeable future. When I saw him again, I planned on throttling him until he begged for my forgiveness. It was his fault we were in this predicament in the first place, and not one day in the middle of enemy territory, he abandoned me. It was enough to make me wonder if he was taking this seriously, but if he couldn't take a life or death situation seriously, there was nothing that would convince him to change his ways.

Then again, The Butcher would just kill him... I would be lucky if that's all that happened to me. The man had made it very clear that he had plans for me if we failed to make our payment.

Miraculously, I fell asleep—or maybe it wasn't so much a miracle as it was the 800 thread count sheets and down comforter. On the guest bed, no less, which made me wonder what sheets Lochlan had on his bed.

"Shit," I groaned, throwing my hands over my face as unbidden images involving his bed sprung to mind.

Wiping downward, I smeared any makeup remaining on my unwashed face and threw my legs over the side of the bed. New York's gray and glinting skyline, backed by cloud threaded blue, greeted me, and I shuffled to the window, placing my hand on the cool glass while I observed the world outside. As much as I loved living in Portland, there was an energy to this city that vibrated through my bones, and it was a shame I wasn't here to enjoy it.

It was tempting to stay in this room until I was certain Lochlan was gone, but I knew little to nothing about the man, including his schedule. It was a Friday, but he might work remotely or not at all. The cozy bed beckoned, but I couldn't figure out how to work the curtains. Even I couldn't sleep in a room this room this bright. Scrolling through my phone while wearing yesterday's clothes with fuzzy teeth was also unappealing.

Which meant I had to leave the room and risk running into my jailer. Because that's what he was. The prison bars might be gilded, but it was a prison all the same. Not a single part of me believed he offered his home out of the goodness of his heart.

Cracking open the door, I glanced both ways down the hallway before tiptoeing toward the kitchen. At the end of the hallway, my heart sank when I heard his voice. It washed over me like low, rumbling thunder, making me shiver, and only curiosity kept me from tucking tail and running back to my room.

"No. I don't like it, but I don't see how we have a choice. Mrs. Reed won't use anyone else. Yes. Yes. Okay. Thank you." A crack of flesh on a hard surface echoed through the apartment. "Fuck!"

I jumped backward, my shoulder bumping into the wall and dislodging a photo. All hopes of vanishing without being seen disappeared as glass shattered at my feet. The glimmering fragments shot across the hardwood floors, and when I heard Lachlan's footsteps near, I made the foolish decision to step toward my room and right on top of a shard.

"Ow," I hissed, grabbing my foot as pain lanced through my heel.

"What the hell happened here?" Lochlan demanded, anger twisting his features when his eyes fell on me.

"I'm sorry. I bumped into the photo on the wall." A piece of glass pierced my other foot, and I swayed, trying to keep my balance while also not putting weight on my injuries.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," I lied, wobbling as I tried to shuffle around the mess. Tiny heartbeats pounded in both feet.

"You're bleeding. Stop moving." He grunted—a sound somewhere between disgust and rage when I didn't listen—and scooped me up, toting me to the kitchen and depositing me unceremoniously on the counter. "You're a fucking disaster magnet."

"Excuse me," I huffed as he rummaged in a drawer for a towel. "If you're referring to the incident in the coffee shop, we've already established you caused the accident."

Lochlan dipped his head down, but not fast enough for me to miss his smirk. He raised my leg, gripping the back of my ankle, and studied the bottom of my foot. Cleaning gently around the wound, he pinched the end of the protruding shard and tugged it free. The relief was immediate.

"I think that's all in that foot." He lifted the other and cursed. "This piece is in deeper. Don't move. I'll be right back."

Biting back a smart reply and the urge to do the exact opposite, I leaned back on the counter while waiting for him to return. There wasn't much to see from this vantage point, but from what I remembered last night, the aesthetic of his apartment wasn't at all what I'd expect for a wealthy New York bachelor. Not only was the space cozy rather than cold and ultra modern, there were multiple personal touches like photographs and Christmas cards on the refrigerator.

Lochlan returned with an arm full of supplies. Peroxide, bandaids, triple antibiotic, and tweezers. The silver tweezers flashed bright beneath the bright kitchen lighting, and I curled my toes in dreadful anticipation. I considered myself to be a fairly tough woman—fairly skilled in self defense and not afraid of much—but I did not handle injuries with a lot grace. Well, the injuries themselves weren't the problem so much as the fixing and stitching.

"Relax," he said, tapping the top of my foot and making me flinch.

"I really don't think this is necessary. It'll work its way out, eventually. Just slap the bandaid on it and call it a day."

Blue eyes pinned me in place, and he pinched the tweezers together tauntingly. "Sure. Let's do that, and then you can have your foot amputated when it gets infected."

Blowing a raspberry, I rolled my eyes. "It's a chance I'm willing to take."

"You're being ridiculous."

Once again, I jerked away from him when he reached for me, and with a determined set to his chin, he lunged for my foot, capturing it in one hand while using the other to push me down on the counter. For a moment, he looked triumphant, but then another expression stole across his face. Something very similar to the look a predator wore when stalking its prey.

I gulped and took stock of the position we were in. Five points burned on my chest where the pads of his fingers pressed into my flesh, holding me in place. One leg dangled over the edge of the counter, while the other was raised high and bent at the knee, and Lochlan was wedged between my thighs, his grip on my leg tightening as if he were trying to get control of himself.

"Are you going to let me get this out?" He asked with a rasp in his voice.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. It should be easy to answer him. To tell him yes, he could get it out, and I wouldn't struggle. But all I could think about was how easy it would be for him to hook his hands beneath my knees and put them around my ears while he pounded—Nope. I had to stop letting my hormones run away with me.

"It helps if you think of something else while I dig it out."

The pressure on my chest disappeared, but I didn't sit up. While the tweezers scraped along the bottom of my foot, I stared at the ceiling, grateful for the opportunity to catch my breath. It was ridiculous the effect this man had on me. As someone who swindled people for a living, it was paramount I was always in control, and this was the biggest con I'd ever pulled. I couldn't afford to lose the upper hand.

"What were you talking about on the phone? Ow!"

The tweezers went deep, and I raised up on my elbows, giving Lochlan a nasty look, but the asshole didn't even have the decency to look apologetic.

"Eavesdropping?"

"No. You're loud, and I overheard the last part. You didn't seem very pleased with whatever the person on the other end told you."

A dark lock of hair fell over his forehead, and his lips pursed in concentration as he gently pried the glass from my foot. I had to hand it to him. Aside from the purposeful jab, he was being very careful to not hurt me.

"The doctor Mrs. Reed wants to use for the DNA test is out of the country until the end of the month, and as I'm sure you're aware, the longer this drags out, the worse it is for everybody."

"Oh." I laid back down before he could glimpse the relief in my face. "Why not use someone else?"

"Because we trust Dr. Chen, and discretion is important."

"It's not like Mrs. Reed is trying to hide the fact she's searching for her daughter."

A plink sounded on the counter. Then a cool wipe of a cloth on both feet was followed by the application of the triple antibiotic. Two bandaids later, and I was patched up.

"Thanks," I muttered, hopping down and wincing immediately. Those were going to be tender.

Lochlan immediately reached for me, then recoiled just before he made contact. "No, she's not hiding it, but searching for her daughter is one thing. Finding her is something else entirely, and if that information was leaked, it could be dangerous."

"Why?" I asked as I stared at his hands, now clenched at his side.

He scoffed, and all the careful concern and gentleness he'd displayed while tending to my wounds melted into a mask of cold cruelty. "Do you think Marianna was kidnapped randomly? The Reed family has enemies that wouldn't be happy if she ever turned up."

"Is that why you're so against this hunt for her?" I gripped the edge of the counter and waited for his response.

He paled, and his blue eyes glittered harshly. "No. I'm against this because I think it's asking for heartbreak. Because Marianna is dead, and maybe you should think about that before you go signing up to play her. Someone out there killed her once. I'm sure they'd do it again."