Page 62 of Bearly Out Loud

“Your hand is on my neck.”

“Yes.”

“In front of your security team.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to need to discuss your definition of professional boundaries.” But she didn’t pull away. Her voice had dropped—low, textured, private. The voice she used in the booth when a scene required intimacy. Meant for dark rooms and close quarters. “Later. We’ll discuss it later.”

He removed his hand. The absence of her skin against his palm felt physical—a cold spot, an amputation of warmth.

Takumi watched this happen. Said nothing. Pet the cat. Looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

THIRTY-TWO

DOJIN

The forensic sweep took forty minutes. Entry confirmed: front door, lock picked, two operatives, approximately two-hour window between six and eight p.m. when Nari was at a session. Lobby camera had captured two figures in dark clothing, faces angled away—trained countersurveillance. No fingerprints. No DNA. No electronic devices planted.

Professional. Clean. Mercer’s signature: expensive, thorough, and deniable.

Reo delivered the summary standing in the kitchen, tablet in hand, the operative’s report open on the screen. His voice was clipped and precise in a way Dojin recognized: the voice Reo used when the situation had moved from inconvenience to threat.

“You can’t stay here.”

Nari crossed her arms. “This is my home.”

“This is a compromised location.” Reo’s tone didn’t shift. “The entry method was professional. The search was targeted. And they know you weren’t home, which means they’re tracking your schedule. You stay here tonight, you’re announcing that you’re accessible.”

“I’m not hiding from Brent Mercer.”

“No one’s asking you to hide.” Dojin kept his voice steady. Calm. The voice he used in board meetings when a conversation was heading somewhere dangerous. “We’re asking you to be strategic. There’s a difference.”

“What are my options?” She held up fingers. Counted them off. “Hotel. Too impersonal, too many access points, and I’m not living out of a suitcase because a man with a shell company fixation decided to intimidate me.” One finger down. “Keiser Tower. Your building. Your security. Your territory. I’m not moving into my—into your headquarters while we’re in the middle of a legal strategy that involves your company.” Two fingers down.

She’d almost saidmy boyfriend’s headquarters.Dojin caught the redirect. So did Takumi, whose eyebrows climbed toward his hairline but who, miraculously, kept his mouth shut.

“Your parents’ place,” Reo said. “The brownstone has residential security, a vault for the archival materials, and your family’s there. We add sleuth detail. Two operatives on the building, one inside. Not visible. Not intrusive. Present.”

Nari’s mouth opened. The refusal was there—Dojin could see it forming, the independent woman who’d built her own space pushing back against the idea of retreating to her parents’ house at thirty years old.

Then her eyes moved to the booth. To the glass walls. To the chair where she’d been sitting when he arrived, writing her inventory with steady hands and shaking knees.

“Mom will make miso.” Flat, resigned, conceding the point in her own language. “She stress-cooks. The entire brownstone will smell like dashi by midnight.”

Takumi stood. Scooped Emi off the couch and tucked him into the carrier with the practiced efficiency of someone who transported a twenty-pound cat across boroughs on a regularbasis. “I’ll drive you. My car’s around the corner.” He looked at Dojin. “You’re following, yes?”

Not a question. An assessment of the obvious.

“I’ll make sure the security detail is set up.”

“That’s a yes.” Takumi zipped the carrier. Emi yowled once—for form, not distress. “For the record, if you hurt her, Emi and I will find you. He’s twenty pounds of fury and I have a very particular set of skills.”

“You’re quoting Liam Neeson.”

“I’m quoting Liam Neeson with sincerity and a cat. The threat stands.”

Nari grabbed a bag from the bedroom. Packed it in three minutes—she moved through the space without looking at the disarrangement, stepping around pulled drawers and restacked cushions with the deliberate blindness of a person who’d deal with the mess later, after the fury cooled and the inventory was filed and the security cameras she’d been requesting for six months were finally, finally installed.