The sheer arrogance of his offer leaves me speechless. My mouth opens, but no retort comes out. Before I can gather my wits, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet finality.
I stare at the closed door, fury and frustration warring in my chest. Even now, after all these years, he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
Chapter 7
The scent of Eve’s arousal still fills my nose as I step into the elevator despite the thorough shower I took moments ago. My reflection stares back at me from the polished doors—composed and controlled, yet my eyes betray the hunger that hasn’t been fully satisfied. I could have done round two easily, and three, and four.
I press the button for the security floor, one level down from my penthouse. The soft hum of machinery fills the space, but my mind drifts to an hour ago—to steam rising around Eve’s naked body, to her gasps echoing off tile walls, to the way she arched against me.
“Fuck.” The word escapes through clenched teeth.
She’d tried to be quiet about it, sneaking to the bathroom—the one place without surveillance. But I knew. Of course I knew. The same restlessness that drove her there had been coursing through me since our kiss in her studio.
When I heard the shower start, something primitive took over. I didn’t plan to follow her. But the sight of her clothes scattered across the bathroom floor, the steam curling under the door…
The elevator stops, jarring me from the memory of her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails scoring my back. I adjust my black cotton pants, irritated by how easily thoughts of her affect me. This wasn’t part of the plan. She’s a liability, a puzzle to solve, and a revenge to complete. That was it.
But the way she’d screamed my name…
The doors open, and I force my features into their usual mask of indifference. Whatever happened in that bathroom stays there—locked away with the rest of my weaknesses where it belongs.
I step into Marcus’s command center, letting the door click shut behind me. The stark fluorescent lighting and humming electronics create an atmosphere worlds apart from my penthouse above.
“What have you found?” I ask, positioning myself against a steel desk. The metal feels cool under my fingertips, grounding me after the heated encounter upstairs.
Marcus barely looks up from the circuit board he’s examining. “Your girl’s good. Professional level good.” He gestures to Eve’s laptop. “That machine’s been wiped so clean it squeaks. And I mean properly wiped—not amateur hour deletion.”
“She’s not my girl.” The words come out sharper than intended.
He raises an eyebrow but continues. “The phone’s a burner. Basic calls, few texts. Nothing suspicious except how unsuspicious it is.” He swivels in his chair to face a wall of monitors. “Look at this.”
Security footage shows Liv lying still in bed, her breathing steady and even. Too steady. Too even.
“She’s faking,” I say, studying the feed.
“Caught that, did you?” Marcus’s tone carries a hint of approval. “Been watching her breathing patterns. They’re too regular for REM sleep.”
I lean closer to the screen. “What else?”
“Her devices are clean because they’re decoys.” He picks up her phone, turning it over in his hands. “This isn’t her real phone. The laptop? Probably hasn’t touched it since we modified it. She’s operating on something else, something we haven’t found.”
“Clever girl.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“More than clever.” Marcus sets down the phone. “This is tradecraft. The kind of operational security you see in people who’ve spent time in seriously dangerous places. War zones. Failed states. Places where one mistake gets you killed.”
I process this information, remembering Eve’s casual mention of her work abroad. “Show me the contents of her bag again.”
Marcus pulls up photos on another screen. Everything is cataloged, labeled, and photographed. Normal items. Too normal.
“Nothing hidden in the lining?” I ask.
“First place I checked. Nothing. If there was something, she placed it somewhere else.”
I study each image, thinking of Eve’s precise movements in her studio. “She’s got something. Something small enough to hide, important enough to risk keeping.”
“Want me to do another sweep of her room?”
“No.” I straighten up. “She’ll notice. She’s too careful not to notice.”
