Then I laughed.
It was absurd. The whole thing. The violence. The near-death. The fact that Ellsworth had somehow tracked me down and pulled off a rescue like it was written into his job description.
"Dinner was great," I said, still laughing. "Right up until the attempted kidnapping."
Ellsworth's mouth twitched. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."
I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the roof of the car.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
Merrick had found me. That meant the others knew where I was. Which meant Paris wasn't safe anymore. Had it ever been?
Which meant Mila wasn't safe.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut.
I'd dragged her into this. Not intentionally. But proximity to me was dangerous. And tonight had proven it.
Merrick wouldn't stop. He'd keep coming. And if he thought Mila mattered to me—if he'd seen us together—he'd use her.
My hands curled into fists.
"Ellsworth," I said, voice tight.
"Yes, sir?"
"How did you know where I was?"
"GPS tracking in your card, sir," he said smoothly. "Mr. Dane thought it prudent."
Of course, he did.
Micah. Always three steps ahead.
"I need you to do something," I said.
"Of course, sir."
"There's a woman. American. Lives in the Marais." I rattled off Mila's address, my chest tightening as I said it. "I need her protected. Discreetly. She can't know."
Ellsworth was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "I'll arrange it."
"Thank you."
We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the city sliding past the windows like a fever dream.
Finally, Ellsworth spoke again. "May I ask, sir—what exactly did you do to provoke such a response?"
I huffed a bitter laugh. "I existed."
"Ah," Ellsworth said, as if that explained everything. "One of those."
"Yeah. One of those."
We pulled up in front of The Sanctuary, and I climbed out, every muscle in my body tense and sore.
Ellsworth lowered the window. "Shall I prepare anything for you, sir?"
