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“And you're staying where I can monitor you.”

“How long?”

“Until I'm satisfied you're recovering.”

“That sounds suspiciously subjective.”

“It is.”

He gives me an unbothered look.

I can see why he's friends with Torch.

“I'm getting you some water,” Razor says. “Don't go wandering off.”

He pauses at the door.

“Please.”

Well. Progress.

He disappears, leaving me alone with the one person I least want to be alone with.

And the one person I desperately need to question.

Torch pulls a chair closer.

Oh, this should be fun.

“So,” he says.

“So.”

“Want to tell me what you were doing in my house?”

“Looking around.”

“I noticed.”

I fold my hands in my lap.

Time to work.

At my agency, I'm paid to find people, investigate their backgrounds, and establish whether they're suitable matches for clients with very specific expectations.

I've talked my way past suspicious assistants, private security, and the occasional extremely unpleasant divorce attorney.

Surely I can handle one biker.

Even if he does look as though he could lift me with one arm.

“I work for an exclusive matchmaking agency,” I begin.

Torch leans back as though that's the last thing he expected to hear.

“Okay.”

“One of our clients expressed an interest in meeting someone with a more adventurous lifestyle.”