“Clearly.” I move closer, slow and deliberate. Each step calculated to tighten the noose without rushing. “The cleaning service sent you, at midnight, to a restricted facility?”
“Building management—”
“Don’t.” I let the command crack through the air between us. “Don’t insult us both with lies we know are lies.”
I’m close enough now to see details. The way her pulse jumps in her throat. The slight tremor in her hands she’s trying to hide. The defiance burning in her eyes despite the fear.
She’s wearing a cleaning uniform two sizes too large, dark hair pulled back, minimal makeup. Trying to disappear into anonymity. It doesn’t work. I would recognize her anywhere now—the set of her jaw, the way she holds herself, the intelligence that shows in every micro-expression.
“What are you doing here, Elena?”
The question is softer than it should be. Almost kind. I’m curious what lie she’ll choose, how she’ll try to explain the inexplicable.
She hesitates. Calculates. Realizes lying will only make this worse.
“Research,” she says finally. “For a story I’m working on.”
“A story.”
“Investigative journalism. Looking into corporate malfeasance, shell companies, that sort of thing.”
The lie is better than I expected. Almost believable, if I didn’t already know exactly what she stole and why.
“You thought breaking into a private facility, accessing secured terminals, and stealing proprietary data was the best approach to journalism?”
“I prefer thorough research.”
“Thorough.”
I’m directly in front of her now, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that I can smell her perfume underneath the cleaning chemical smell—something subtle and expensive that doesn’t match her disguise.
“Is that what you call corporate espionage?”
“I call it exposing criminal activity.”
The words hit like a slap. Bold, stupid, suicidal. Accusing me of crimes in my own building, surrounded by my men, with stolen evidence in her pocket.
I should be angry. Should feel threatened or offended or ready to end this conversation permanently.
Instead, I’m fascinated.
“Criminal activity,” I repeat softly. “In my building. Using my systems. That’s a bold accusation from someone currently committing multiple felonies.”
“I’m not—”
“Breaking and entering. Identity fraud. Corporate espionage. Theft of proprietary information.” I count them off, watching her face pale with each charge. “Should I continue or have you understood your situation?”
Her breath comes faster now. Fear breaking through composure. Her chin stays lifted, her gaze never dropping.
She’s terrified and she won’t surrender.
God, I want to break that defiance. Want to watch it crack under pressure, see what’s underneath when pride finally fails.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“Now?” I tilt my head, studying her. “Now you come with me. We’ll have a conversation about what you found, who you planned to share it with, and exactly how you thought this would end.”
“And if I refuse?”
