His gaze flicked to the notebook, then back to my face. “That what spooked you?”
“Yes.” I hesitated. “And no.”
He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair like he belonged here already, like he’d stepped into strange apartments late at night a thousand times before.
Probably had.
“Show me.”
We moved into the living room. I sat on the sofa, notebook open on my lap. Kane stayed standing for a second, scanning the room automatically—windows, door, sightlines—before finally sitting beside me.
Close.
Too close.
Our thighs brushed.
Heat shot straight through me.
Ridiculous.
I forced my attention back to the pages, flipping to the entries that had unsettled me.
“This,” I said quietly. “Rose wasn’t journaling. She was tracking someone. Meetings. Locations. Notes about being followed. Arguments.”
Kane leaned in slightly, shoulder pressing into mine as he read.
His presence was overwhelming. Controlled. Focused. Dangerous in a way that made every nerve in my body wake up.
“She thought something was wrong,” I continued. “Or someone was wrong. And then this.”
I turned to the torn page.
“… if he finds out, it’ll get ugly. Need to tell someone.”
Kane’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Who’s ‘he’?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I swallowed. “Said it mattered if anything happened.”
He studied the page a moment longer, then leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as pieces clicked together in his head.
“Étienne. Do you think he’s in trouble?” I asked quietly. “Or … involved?”
Kane considered that, expression unreadable.
“Don’t know yet. But tomorrow we find out.”
Tomorrow.
Relief and nerves tangled in my chest.
“We’re just … going to show up?”
“Not exactly.” A faint smirk touched his mouth. “We’ll scope the place first. See who comes and goes. Figure out what we’re walking into before you knock on anyone’s door.”
The casual way he said it made something inside me settle.
