Page 17 of Captive Ruin

“A bit more challenging than usual. Good.” He gives me a shrewd look. “Why do I get the impression there’s something else?”

I pause, rocking back in my chair, wondering at myself. Then ask the question anyway. “The girl last night. I assume you now know where she lives?”

“I do.” Haynes’s reply is carefully bland.

I make my decision. “I want a profile on her, too.”

“Who is she?”

“Amelia.”

“People usually have a surname.”

I clench my jaw. “That’s what I want you to find out.”

Haynes arches one eyebrow, which for him is akin to wild surprise.

“You don’t know who she is,” he goads. “How interesting.”

“Your point?” I bite out.

“The girl goes out on the terrace with you and comes back in looking like she had a very good time. You didn’t know her name, and now you want a full profile. This sounds like a personal request.”

“I’m not asking for your opinion,” I growl. “I want everything about her. Who she knows, who her friends are, favorite restaurants, her financial position—everything.” My fingers grip the edge of the table. “If she has a… boyfriend.”

“And if she does?” Haynes asks, a little too quickly. “Want me to dissuade him?”

“No.” If she has one, that’s for me to deal with. “While you’re at it, get some cameras in there, wired for audio.”

“Every room?”

“Obviously every room. Route the feeds to my personal drive.” I give him a pointed look. “Ensure I have the only access.”

He holds his hands up. “I won’t peek, not my jam.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Haynes pushes himself straight. “It’s good to see you taking an interest in something again, Lukas.”

“Just get it done.”

He gives me a nod and heads for the door.

Irritating that he’d picked up on my apathy. But I suppose it doesn’t matter; it’s in the past.

I have a new lease on life, and it’s all from this girl.

Hell, am I obsessed?

I recollect the feel of her bare ass beneath my hand, the noises she made as she came, and my laugh echoes in the empty office.

Five

Amelia

“So Steven Serranto won’t be bothering you anymore,” I tell my sister.

I casually recline on the sofa like achieving this didn’t leave me crawling home in a ruined dress and someone else’s jacket, and lift my glass in a toast to our mutual liberty.