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So what’s this guy’s deal? My mind wanders back to the slip of paper with some of Franko’s victims on it. How did Jericho know my sister was supposed to be on that list?

I peer over at his sleeping form. My cold heart thaws just a little, knowing that someone out there is seeking revenge in her name.

Leaving his bedroom, I snoop around the house for about ten minutes before wandering back into his surveillance room and checking his cameras. Sure enough, it’s the same security system I had before I realized I desperately needed an upgrade. If you know anything about anything when it comes to computers and security, it doesn’t take long to find a backdoor to this program.

Once I have the surveillance in a loop, I walk out the front door and leave so that I can gather some supplies back at my place. The longer I think about Jericho, the more engrossed I become. And the more I’m convinced that my curiosity won’t be satisfied until I have the answers I want.

Two hours later, I’m back at his place, and everything is set up. I re-enter his surveillance room and program the loop to last about five more minutes before switching back to normal. That little gap in time should keep him questioning things without making him so suspicious that he investigates his house for my extra little additions.

Slipping out of his surveillance room, I re-enter my favorite room in the house. A room that’s filled with personality and is clearly lived in. While it’s still neat and tidy like the rest of his house, this room has life. In the corner, there’s an end table with a half-empty mug of coffee and a book placed on top. The walls are packed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I trace a finger across the spines, skimming past some well-worn classics, a half a shelf of handwritten journals, and several antique books with beautiful leather spines that look like they should be in a museum, not in the home of a hitman.

In the center of the room is a small oak table. A chessboard sits atop it, with a game frozen mid-action, displaying a patience I never imagined a clumsy brute to possess. But The Cleaner? This place is exactly what I’d imagine for someone as brilliant as him.

I no longer want to leave. An unexpected need to learn exactly who that man is in the next room overwhelms me. My eyes scan the area one more time before clicking the door behind me. This isn’t just Jericho’s home. This is his sanctuary. I can imagine myself wanting to spend days here, getting lost in his possessions.

Getting lost in him.

As soon as my time is up, I meander through his house and down the hallway that leads to his bedroom. He’s there on the bed, right where I left him. Damn, he’s a tempting specimen. I trail my fingers over his muscular arm, lingering. Once my eyes have had their fill of him, I place a letter and a special little gift for him on his pillow.

Then, adding an extra sway to my hips, I leave his room. Right before I walk out the front door, I turn back toward the camera I noticed earlier, give it a wink, and blow it a kiss.

Chapter eight

Jericho

The harsh morning light is abrasive against my eyes. Blinking slowly and feeling completely discombobulated, I glance around the room. My blackout curtains, which are usually closed, are yanked open, and sunlight streams in, streaking across the bedroom.

What the hell happened last night? The faint trace of amber wood and cedar lingers in the air. Memories come rushing back, and I instantly sit up in bed. Fucking Skylar. Who the hell is he? Because clearly, he isn’t just a normal porn star.

Ripping the covers off my body, I rush toward my surveillance room. I immediately wince when I see only two monitors on. The one zoomed in on my bed, which would have been focused on me as I slept, and the porn video I watched last night of Skylar playing on a loop.

Fucking hell. My eyes immediately drop to the bottom drawer of my desk, and I notice it’s still locked. Thank fuck. I can’t even imagine what I would do if he looked through those files. There’s no doubt SWAT would be up my ass right now. Growling, I turn off the video and zoom out of my bed. I hit the power-on button for my main computer and pray that the surveillance is still there. When I finally tap play, I am beyond floored at everything I see.

Skylar easily finds my sedative and syringe, almost as if he’s known all along that’s where I keep them. I watch him dust something from his necklace into the sedative. What the hell did he add to it? I do a mental check and realize that my body doesn’t feel any strange after-effects, but that doesn’t mean anything. He softly murmurs to himself, making it obvious he knows what he’s doing because he measures out the exact dosage that I used on him. My blood runs cold. How would he know how much sedative I gave him? How does he even know how to use this needle and where to inject it? More questions race through my mind a mile a minute.

I can tell I’m starting to panic. Next, I watch as Skylar easily unlocks my bottom drawer and flips through the files, fascinated. A wicked smile crosses his face at one point, and I have no idea what the fuck is happening. He recognizes the names on those files and what they mean, because he makes little noises of shock as he flips through them with a knowing gaze.

He doesn’t look scared. He looks intrigued. And that’s even more confusing.

A paper flutters to the floor, and I watch as he picks it up. I already know that it’s the list I was going to leave with Franko’s body. Unfortunately, since I fucked up that job, I never got to leave the little piece of paper.

Skylar’s head lifts and cocks to the side as if he hears something. Then he neatly puts the file and slip of paper back into their proper place before closing and locking the drawer. I scan over to the other camera and watch as he makes his way back into my bedroom.

He’s grinning like a psychopath. A part of me doesn’t know whether to be afraid or turned the fuck on. Maybe a little bit of both? I still can’t be entirely sure what’s happening as I watch the video unfold. But as he sinks the needle into my neck like a practiced surgeon, I know Skylar King isn’t who he says he is. I watch as he leaves. But the odd thing is, the video cuts out in a weird spot before picking up again as soon as he walks out the door. I don’t see anything else. Everything is on a loop. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I didn’t pay attention to small details. The clock on the stove keeps reverting back to its original time.

I have no idea what the fuck he does, but there is a two-hour gap when the cameras finally flick back on. I’m still sleeping on my bed untouched, but Skylar is back. I watch as he places a note and a flower on my bed as if he’s a lover running away in the night. Then he makes his way to my front door, looks straight at the camera I have hidden in the hall, winks, and blows me a kiss before sauntering out of the house.

What the actual fuck? Jumping out of my office chair, I sprint to my bedroom. Sure enough, there is a letter on my pillow, and on top of that piece of paper is a flower. No, I gasp, not just a flower, a white amethyst splattered with blood. A wave of dizziness washes over me. There’s only one person that I know of who uses a white amethyst calling card. With shaky fingers and trembling legs, I walk over to my bedside, pick up the note, and read it.

The shibari was a nice touch, truly. But you underestimate how easily I can slide out of a tight spot. Next time, pull the ropes tight enough to make me beg.

Xoxo,

Skylar

My jaw tightens as the cold reality settles into my chest. The images on my screen don’t match the man I had bound to my bed mere hours ago. I’m no longer the hunter.

Who the fuck is Skylar, and what the hell have I gotten myself into?