Page 57 of Twisted Enemy
I take the stuffed animal—Kitty Mew-Mew—out of my pocket. I try to imagine what it looked like when it was new. How bright the white fur was. How the pair of eyes gleamed.
I check the time on my phone. I need to get back to the house. I want to visit Granny, and I need to check in with Carlotta Mirabelli about the first two women she wants to bring into Ariadne’s Daughters.
The server takes the unused sugar he brought for my tea. I check my phone again.
The room is almost empty now. The only customers left are the two newly thin women in the corner, huddled over a chocolate dessert they’re gutting with a pair of spoons.
I reach for Megan’s phone.
The case is scarred black plastic, scuffed at the corners, the type of thing I’d expect a cash-strapped person to carry. I turn it over.
It’s empty.
Megan got what she wanted, and now she’s gone.
24
COLE
Kate comes into my office, dressed in clothes I’ve never seen before, cream-colored linen pants and a tailored silk top. She crosses to stand behind my office chair and folds her arms around my neck, bending down to kiss my ear. She smells like oranges, and I let myself relax in her unexpected embrace before I ask, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I missed you.”
My laugh is a single, short bark of amusement. “I’ve been here all morning.” I swivel my chair around to frame her between my knees. My fingers tighten on her hips as I ask, “Where have you been?”
“Granny needed some lotion, so I walked to the drugstore.”
I frown. “Nilsson can take care of things like that.”
“Can Nilsson get me some fresh air, too? You should take a walk. It’s gorgeous outside.”
I tug on one of her stray curls. “Too many work projects piling up. You’ll have to take walks for both of us.”
“Or I can help you with work.”
She says it easily, as if we haven’t been through this before. Multiple times, I’ve refused to let her work for Lone Wolf clients—even though she’s an expert coder, even though she’s bored.
She thinks I won’t let her do the work because I have some misguided sense of machismo. I’m the man. I provide. I won’t let my wife work.
But it’s more than that. If I let Kate behind the walls of Lone Wolf, she’ll see exactly how close I’ve come to being overwhelmed by my clients’ toxic demands. There’s my full roster of customers, along with her father and Tarasov, everything piling up in the shadows of my blackmailer’s looming threat.
Kate must always think I’m strong. She must believe I’m in control.
So a month ago, I lied, saying her code didn’t meet my standards. That was the worst mistake I’ve made in my adult life. She left me. I could have lost her forever.
Since she returned, I’ve learned to admit that the bond between us is more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt before. Every minute I’m with Kate, I want to devour her. I never want to let her go. I love her.
She’s waiting now, breath and heart suspended for me to respond. She needs me. And I need her. More than I’ve ever needed anyone in my lonely, suspicious life.
So maybe it’s time to change. Time to throw all my logic and careful thought out the window. “You can help,” I finally say.
It’s impossible to ignore her shy, delighted smile as I pull her onto my lap. Turning my chair to face the wall of monitors, I pull up the program I’ve spent the better part of the past week developing.
“This,” I say. “Is a Money Box.”
Her eyes gleam as she studies the lines of code. When she swallows, her throat bobs. I narrowly resist the urge to tongue the pulse point below her ear.
Instead, I explain Uncle Viktor’s con, printing money on blank paper until his salted bills ran out. “I’m doing the same thing.”
