Page 48 of Untamed Sinner

I should be relieved. Distance is good. Distance is necessary. Instead, I'm wondering who she's texting.

I lean back in the chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. This is exactly why I came down here—to get away from her, to reset, to remember who I am and what I do. I don't get distracted. I don't lose focus. I complete contracts with precision and detachment.

Except there's nothing detached about the way I feel about her. I know how to end contracts. I have no idea how to end whatever this is.

The encrypted line rings.

I glance at the screen. The number is blocked, but the routing signature is familiar. It takes me a second to place it: Whitaker, Crowley & Pierce's secure relay.

I answer on the second ring. "Hendricks."

"Mr. Hendricks." The voice is smooth and cultured. “This is Thomas Ashford.”

"Mr. Ashford," I say, keeping my tone neutral and professional despite my surprise. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you directly."

"I don't typically make these calls," Ashford says. "But given the circumstances, I thought it prudent to check in personally."

Elbows on the desk, I lean forward. "What circumstances?"

"Time, Mr. Hendricks. You have five days left on our contract."

If it were up to me, I’d have already canceled the fucking contract, but I know Mandy still thinks I’m going to turn her over to Ashford. The deadline isn’t news. Ashford calling me personally to reinforce it is. "I'm aware of the timeline.”

"Are you?" There's an edge to his voice now. Not anger—something sharper, like urgency. "Because from where I'm sitting, it appears you've made very little progress."

I don't let the accusation land. "I've been gathering intelligence. Reed is careful. She doesn't leave a trail."

"She left a trail in Billings three days ago."

"I'm aware," I say, keeping my voice even. I have no doubt that he knows she took out Pemberton. She practically left a calling card. "I've been following the lead."

"And?"

"And I'm closing in." It's not a lie. She's outside, but I’m not telling him that.

Ashford is silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his tone has shifted—less impatient, more calculating. "Mr. Hendricks, I hired you because you have a reputation for results, but I need to know you understand the stakes here."

"I understand you're paying me a quarter million dollars to locate Amanda Reed."

"It's not about the money." His voice drops, and for the first time, I hear something raw beneath the polish: desperation. "She stole something of great value to me and I want it back."

Finally, we’ve arrived at the crux of the matter—the notebook. “Recovering stolen property isn’t stated in my contract.”

“Because I want the woman. She’ll return my property once I talk to her. I’m planning on offering her a sizeable reward.”

He’s lying. I can hear it in his voice.

"She’s in danger, you know," Ashford continues. "Not from me, of course. There are a lot of people who will do whatever it takes to get what she stole."

Hearing the threat, I sit up. "Are you saying someone else is looking for her?"

"I'm saying you're not the only one with a deadline, Mr. Hendricks. And if someone else finds her first, they won't be as generous as I intend to be. It's in her best interest that you convince her to come along willingly. I'm sure a man of your skills can be persuasive."

I don't respond. There's nothing to say. He's backed me into a perfect corner. "I'll find her," I say finally, my voice flat.

"Five days," Ashford says. "After that, I'll have no choice but to pursue other avenues. It’s with her best interests in mind, you see."

The line goes dead.