Page 10 of The Wrong Monster

“Are you staying here tonight? Do you need a room?”

When I turn around, he’s leaning in the doorway. Naked. Dick still half-hard and still impressive, arms crossed.

“No,” I say, my own voice sounding like it’s coming from far away. “No, I need to get home tonight.”

He studies me for a moment before nodding. The shower is still running behind him, steam already forming near the light overhead.

“You seem like a woman who wouldn’t want me to ask her to stay. Like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“I’m a woman who has a job to do,” I say curtly, feeling more grounded by the second.

I won’t find the informant tonight, and I am going to drive straight back to the city. On this adrenaline high, four hours will be nothing.

I can’t let him see how shaken I am by this. How caught off guard I am.

Men who see vulnerability stalk like predators, and I won’t let myself be prey.

“Thanks for⁠—”

I nod at the room around us. The rumpled bed, crumpled shirt and pants, the stain on the duvet that was inevitable.

His eyes are hard to read, face impassive. He nods back and there’s something elegant about the gesture. Almost aristocratic…

Which only solidifies my theory that if he’s a criminal, he’s a high-end one.

The kind of man I need to get away from now.

Ignoring every instinct lighting up my body, I turn my back on him, walk into the hall, and grab my discarded purse. The case file is still inside, but it’ll have to wait.

I can’t think right now; not like this.

So I get myself together as much as I can and walk out. The heavy door thuds shut and I am in the empty, sterile, futuristic hallway.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, relieved to be leaving whatever that was; no matter how much I enjoyed it.

Chapter 4

Vasily

The lake looks like glass this morning. It’s not perfectly still; Lake Placid never is. Tiny ripples chase each other toward the shore, catching the early sun and reflecting it in blinding strikes.

The Adirondacks stand beyond it as immovable as ever. This is one of those rare days where my surroundings match the calm I feel inside.

I lean back in the cedar chair, cappuccino warming one hand, and let myself enjoy it.

Construction is ahead of schedule on the East Shore development. Occupancy at our vacation rentals has nearly recovered from the slow spring start. Property management signed three new luxury associations last week.

For the first time in months, nobody is asking me to solve a problem.

It’s unsettling how quickly I become accustomed to peace.

A loon calls somewhere across the lake and I close my eyes. One morning—one uninterrupted morning.

Apparently, I’ve grown ambitious.

The screen door clicks and I sigh, not turning around immediately. The clicking continues… only one person wears heels before nine in the morning.

“Giorgio can make you a cappuccino. Or a latte, if you want.”