I want to finish this quickly, to find whoever is behind this and kill the motherfucker, so I can return to her without constantly having to leave.
The elevator rises, smooth and silent.
The penthouse door clicks shut behind me. Fee's perched at the kitchen island, her laptop open in front of her, hair twisted into some knot that's already coming loose. She's still wearing my shirt. God, I love the sight of her in it.
Her eyes lift from the screen and lock onto the flowers.
"Did you leave this morning to kill a florist?" She leans forward against the counter, green eyes bright with mischief. "Torture them into making this breathtaking arrangement?"
I move toward her like gravity has shifted in the room, my steps pulled in her direction by some force I've stopped tryingto resist. It's becoming familiar, this inevitable draw toward her, like a bullet finding its target.
I can't help smiling. The kind of smile that's been showing up more since she carved herself into my life.
"No." I set the vase on the counter between us. "It wasn't the flower shop owner I tortured this morning."
Her lips part slightly.
Her gaze meets mine. I notice she's sitting at the edge of the stool, but not quite within reach. I walk around the counter and carefully reposition her stool, mindful of her crutch leaning nearby and her injured foot.
"How are the stitches today?" I ask, glancing down at her bandaged foot.
A slow smile spreads across her face. "Healing nicely, but missing being carried around." Her tone turns playful.
I get closer until I'm standing between her legs, my body just inches from hers. I lean in, my lips almost grazing her ear. "I can remedy that." My voice drops lower. "I'll carry you wherever you want to go. To bed. To the shower." I brush my fingers along her thigh and watch goosebumps form across her neck. "Against the wall."
Her breath catches slightly. I pull back, enjoying the effect I have on her, and turn the arrangement so she can see every angle. "White lilies, your favorite, as you've clearly stated."
Her fingers trace the elegant curve of a petal without touching.
"They represent beauty and elegance," I continue, watching her face. "Seemed appropriate for a woman who looks like sin in my shirt." I touch the delicate pink blooms woven through the arrangement. "Sweet peas. They mean delicate pleasure." Her gaze meets mine. I cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Seemed fitting after last night." My voice drops. "And what I'm planning for tonight."
Her fingers still rest against the white petals. Something shifts in her expression. The softness hardens into something sharper.
"You're assuming I'll be here tonight," she replies.
The words land quietly but firmly. My thumb stills against her cheekbone, reading the set of her jaw. The way her shoulders square.
I lower my hand from her face. My fingers find hers instead, wrapping around them.
"I want to be with my sister," she says, meeting my eyes directly. "But I also know this is bigger than that shipment you've been working on with my father."
My thumb traces the ridge of her knuckles. Small bones under soft skin. Hands that navigate code and conspiracy with equal skill.
"Morrison was framed." She says it like a fact, not a theory. "But I'm sure you might know that by now."
I focus completely on her words. I keep my grip steady on her hands, letting her feel my focus without interrupting.
"You guys might have looked through my laptop." Her chin lifts slightly. "But you didn't find the files I had on Morrison."
My thumbs keep tracing slow circles against her palms. Her intelligence never stops astounding me.
"Someone created a whole persona about him that doesn't exist," she informs. "He was framed to redirect attention." She leans forward against the counter. Our joined hands rest between us. "This shipment that the Basovs and my family are expecting will either be redirected, bombed, or maybe whoever's orchestrating this wants to use it as a distraction."
"Show me." I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "Show me everything you found."
"You're not going to lecture me about staying out of it?"
"No." I lower her hand but don't release it. "But this is why you can't leave. Someone wanted to kidnap you, Solnishko. Not kill you. Kidnap you."
