“That would have been useful information ten minutes ago.”
“Would have been funny information never,” Dmitri said. “Watching you fight with the coffee maker was the highlight of my day.”
“How long are you staying?” I asked, before Luka could throw the pot at Dmitri.
“As long as it takes.” He looked at Ash. “We already cleared our schedules. We're here until this is resolved.”
Ash nodded. “We got a hotel room downtown. Close enough to respond if anything happens, far enough that we're not in your space around the clock.”
“You don't have to do that.”
“Yes, we do.” Luka's voice was firm. “This is what family does, Troy. We show up. We stay. We handle things together.”
The word family hit differently coming from him. Luka wasn't sentimental. Didn't throw that word around casually. Which meant he meant it.
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Wait until we catch whoever did this.” Luka took another sip of the coffee I'd made and nodded approval this time. “In the meantime, we work the problem. We find the answers. And nobody else gets shot at.”
“And if they try again before we get there?”
“Then we make them regret it.” Luka's smile was cold. “I'm very good at making people regret things.”
I believed him.
Dmitri stood and stretched. “I'm staying here tonight. On the couch. Tomorrow I'll bring more equipment and set up proper security.”
“Declan's going to love that.”
“Declan will deal with it.” Dmitri grinned. “It's his house, but you're more important than his comfort right now. He'll understand.”
I hoped he was right. But knowing Declan, there was going to be another conversation about boundaries and autonomy and all the ways this situation kept getting further out of control.
I was already tired just thinking about it.
EIGHTEEN
CUT LOOSE
DECLAN
The numbers on my computer screen had stopped making sense about twenty minutes ago. Figures that should have added up didn't. Client schedules that had been perfectly organized yesterday now had gaps I couldn't account for. The bills that needed paying sat in a stack to my left, mocking me with their pristine white envelopes and the past-due stamps printed in red ink.
I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. Failed.
My office was too quiet and too still. I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. The weights clanked in the gym below. My breathing was coming too fast and too shallow.
I looked like shit and knew I looked like shit. I'd seen myself in the bathroom mirror this morning and barely recognized the man staring back. The cut above my eyebrow from the fightwas healing but still visible. The bruises on my ribs were worse, all dark purple and mottled, spreading across my entire left side in a pattern that made every breath an exercise in pain management.
I picked up my pen. Set it down. Picked it up again.
The client files in front of me needed reviewing. Treatment plans needed updating. Insurance forms needed signing. All the administrative bullshit that kept the center running and kept me employed.
But my brain wouldn't cooperate.
I'd already missed my nine o'clock. Completely forgot Marcus had an appointment until Mara knocked on my door fifteen minutes after he'd left, asking if everything was okay. I'd lied and said I'd been on an important call. She'd nodded but her expression said she didn't believe me.
That wasn't like me. I didn't miss appointments. Didn't forget clients. Didn't let the administrative side of things fall apart because my personal life was a fucking mess.
