The downloads folder, the trash bin, and any other possible location where the files might have been relocated.
Nothing.
Confusion mixes with the first stirrings of alarm. It took weeks to compile data on security rotations, guard schedules, and bypass codes I’d called in favors to obtain. I double-check the account I’m logged into, verifying I haven’t somehow accessed a guest profile or restricted version of the system.
But no, it’s Rowan’s account, the same one I’ve been using to review the job specs since Rowan green-lit the job. But the files are gone.
My pulse quickens as I set the tablet back on the nightstand, possibilities cycling through my mind. Was there a security breach? Or were the files moved to protect the sensitive information while I was compromised during Heat? Or did something more concerning happen?
I need to talk to Rowan and figure out what happened to those files. The job is scheduled for tomorrow night, and without the schematics, we’re flying blind.
I shove my feet into my slippers and head toward the kitchen, unease building with each step. This isn’t right, and after years of survival depending on my ability to sense threats before they manifest, I’ve learned to trust that feeling.
Laughter comes from the kitchen, mingling with Rowan’s deeper rumble. When I enter, I find Lena perched on a stool at the island, her dark hair swept into a neat ponytail, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug.
My steps falter as I register the brand-new outfit she wears. Subtle gold threads catch the light in her cream sweater. Designer jeans mold to her lean frame, with what appear to be real leather boots hugging her small feet. Around her neck sits a new nape guard, a match for mine in quality, the sleekblack leather with silver hardware obviously from a specialty shop.
Rowan leans on the counter beside her, his own mug in hand, their postures mirroring each other in a way that causes my chest to tighten. They both turn as I enter, conversation ceasing. I sense that I interrupted a private moment between them.
“Youareup! I thought maybe you’d be passed out.” Lena bounces off her stool, crossing to me with arms outstretched, but stops short, her nose wrinkling. “You still smell like Heat.”
Embarrassment warms my neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She waves a hand. “No! Sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine.” I step past her to the coffee pot, and my hands shake slightly as I pour myself a cup, the rich aroma failing to settle my nerves. “New outfit?”
Lena tugs at the hem of her sweater, a shy smile playing on her lips. “You will not believe Saint’s home! Did you know he’s mated to a billionaire? And they live in amansion. His cousin-in-law, Milo, brought in a stylist for me, and we had a spa day!”
A new thread of unease slithers through me. I’ve never met the people she’s talking about. When Rowan said Saint would take care of my baby sister, I thought that meantSaintwould be the one whoactually took care of her, not some random stranger.
Lena, unaware of my thoughts, twirls to show off the ensemble. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
My throat tightens as I calculate the cost of what she’s wearing. It has to be a week of wages from my old jobs, probably more. Money I could never spare when we were struggling to keep the heat on.
“Very nice,” I say, the words ashy in my mouth.
Rowan’s hooded eyes track the exchange, picking apart the tension in my shoulders and the careful way I sip my coffee to hide my true thoughts.
“Ididtell you she’d be receiving the billionaire experience,” he says, moving to the refrigerator. “Are you still hungry? I can cook you a more substantial breakfast.”
The casual reminder grates on my already fraying nerves. Yes, he’d said it while I was half delirious with fever, but he understands how serious I am about Lena’s safety. Or at least, I thought he did.
I set my mug down harder than necessary, coffee sloshing over the rim to pool on the counter. “No, I’m fine.”
I grab a paper towel and wipe up the spill in jerky strokes. “Did this Milo person buy you the new nape guard, too?”
Lena’s fingers rise to touch the leather at her throat. “No, that was Leo. He said the clinic-issued ones are garbage.”
Another person I’ve never met, stepping into the provider role I’ve filled alone for years. Another reminder that what I gave was never enough.
“You didn’t need to replace it.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “The clinic one worked fine.”
Lena’s smile falters. “It was chafing my skin. Besides, you replaced yours. Why can’t I replace mine, too?”
I ball up the paper towel. “If it was chaffing, you should have told me, and I would have gotten you a different one.”
“Are you doing okay?” Lena asks in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “I was worried when Rowan said your Heat came out of nowhere. Are the new suppressants not working?”
