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So it is heavily monitored. Which makes the fact that the cameras didn’t pick up on anything even more suspicious.

I get out of my truck, then come around to open Dahlia’s door. She’s pale, her expression tortured. A bit of that sunshine has dimmed, so even though it will come at great cost to these feelings I’m trying to bury, I place a finger beneath her chin and tilt her face up so I can look into her eyes.

“You’re not here alone,” I tell her softly. “I will keep you safe, Dahlia.”

“I know. I just—this place has been like a second home to me, and now there’s this pit of fear in my stomach whenever I think about it.” She presses a hand to her stomach.

Probably because your buried memories are trying to fight their way out. “I’ve got you.”

She smiles softly, but there’s a brokenness to it. “Thanks, Ryker.”

I nod and pull away right as the front door opens, and the clicking of heels against stone signals the arrival of a woman wearing a grey pantsuit and a furious expression as she walks beside a man in a black suit, his own gaze sharp.

A hand grips mine, and I look down to see Dahlia clutching me like a lifeline. Her face is pale, her eyes wide.

She’s terrified. Does she remember something?

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I—” She presses a hand to her heart and closes her eyes. “Lord, help me, please,” she whispers.

“You are not welcome on this property, Miss Swanson,” the woman says, her tone sharp and leaving little room for argument.

Unfortunately for her, I’m good at making room where there isn’t any. I flash her a smile. “Hi, Miss⁠—”

“June Brighton.”

“June Brighton,” I repeat. “I’m Ryker Granger, and I’m here to help Miss Swanson piece together her lost memory.”

June shifts her attention to Dahlia. “Lost memory?”

Dahlia’s hand loosens slightly, but she doesn’t release me. “Yes. I can’t remember anything for the last two weeks.”

“How convenient,” the man beside June scoffs. “You’ve been told to leave the premises.”

Dahlia tightens her grip on me once more.

So it’s him who has her uncomfortable.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I say, turning my full focus on him. I tower over him at nearly six-foot-eight inches in height and definitely have him on body mass. Still, there’s an edge there that screams professional, rather than just office-trained security guard. After what Parker said, I expected increased security, but not this.

This guy has pulled a trigger before. I can smell it on him.

“I didn’t offer it,” he replies.

“Come on, Ryker. It’s fine.” Dahlia tries to tug me back toward the truck, but I shake my head. And even though it goes against every ounce of training I have, I shift my attention from the potential threat to the woman we’re here to see.

“We’re here for answers, Miss Brighton. I promise that we will be no trouble, and if I could just have a moment of your time, it would be so incredibly helpful.”

“I thought I told you to leave—” the man starts.

“José, knock it off. I can sit with them a few minutes. It’s not going to hurt anything.”

“Miss Brighton⁠—”

“I’m the boss, remember?” She turns toward him, gaze sharp as nails. Interesting. Either she’s like this all the time, or she’s not a fan of the guard. “Dahlia has not been officially charged with anything, so I’m interested in hearing her out.”

“Fine,” the man she’d called José replies, jaw tight. He steps to the side. Because the guy sets off every alarm bell I have, I keep Dahlia in front of me as we head up the stairs and into the large building.