“Probably more.” He caught her hand. “But if she’s been planning this long, she’s left breadcrumbs. Signatures in her work. She’s too pleased with her own cleverness not to.”
“So we dig.”
“We dig,” he agreed. “After the retreat. After we get your family somewhere safe.”
“They’re not safe now?”
“They still have the line of credit. As long as they don’t draw on it or sign anything else, they should be fine. But I’m having Derek pull their full contract history. Make sure there aren’t any traps we haven’t found.”
Ava felt cold despite the warm room, despite his proximity. “Could there be?”
“With Lilith?” His voice was grim. “Always.”
He pulled her back down against him, wrapping the sheet around them both. His arms were solid around her, anchoring.
“But right now, she doesn’t know that we know. That’s our advantage. She thinks she’s still controlling the game. Still moving pieces while we react.”
“And we’re going to let her think that?”
“Until we understand what she’s really after, yes.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Trust me. We’ll find a way.”
She wanted to argue. Demand they start immediately: drive back to the city, break into the archives, tear apart every file until they found answers. But exhaustion pulled at her, and his heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, and tomorrow would bring its own battles.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But after the retreat, we tear Peterson Holdings apart. Every file. Every contract. Every clause.”
“Every comma,” he agreed.
The pendant pulsed warm against her chest, echoed a moment later by the blue shimmer from his mark.
He pulled the sheets tighter around them, his arm secure around her waist. “Sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
She drifted off to his heartbeat and the distant ocean, their marks glowing softly in the dark.
She didn’t dream.
CHAPTER 11
Ava woke to sunlight warming her face and Victor’s voice filtering through from the living room.
She stretched, muscles pleasantly sore in ways that made her smile, and grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor. It smelled like him: cedar and smoke, a scent that made her want to bury her face in the fabric and never leave this bed.
“…completely ridiculous,” Victor was saying into his phone. “Couples sports? We’re lawyers, Derek, not Olympians.”
She padded out to find him standing by the window, already dressed in athletic shorts and a fitted black t-shirt. The sight stopped her in the doorway. She’d seen him in bespoke suits worth more than her rent. She’d seen him in silk pajama pants and nothing else. But Victor Morningstar in workout clothes, casual, human,normal, hit differently.
“Morning,” she said.
He turned, phone still pressed to his ear, and the hard lines of his face went slack. Warmth bloomed in her chest that wasn’t quite her own emotion.
“Derek, I have to go.” He hung up without waiting for a response. “Morning. Coffee’s on the counter.”
“Bless you.”
She poured herself a cup, savoring the first bitter sip, then noticed the schedule displayed on his phone screen.
“Please tell me that doesn’t say what I think it says.”
“Couples’ athletic competition.” He grimaced. “Grimm’s idea of team building.”
