<section role="doc-chapter" ariabelledby="ch13"><blockquote role="doc-epigraph">
<s>How can wee back from this when you left me in the dark?</s>
<s>You left me in the dark.</s>
<s>But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop wanting you.</s></blockquote>
I scratch through thest few lines of text and close my notebook, cing it back in my bag as I watch through the window of my aunt’s room. I’ve never been so blocked with a song before. It’s like I just can’t figure out what to say. I can’t hear the notes that shoulde naturally. I’d like to think it’s because I’m tired.<i>So fucking tired.</i>But I know it’s not just that. In thest ten days since we went to my parents’ ce, L has crept into my thoughts, into my daily life. He makes coffee and breakfast every morning. He brings me little things every night, as though he thinks they might help me sleep. A silk eye mask. He blushed when he gave me that. An incense diffuser. Tonight, he’ll make me a cup of<span id="pg_192" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 192. ">chamomile tea and hand it to me with a haunted look in his eyes, just like he does every night. He’ll disappear into his room and then we’ll do the whole thing all over again tomorrow, over and over until we die.
But one thing L hasn’t done?<i>Apologize.</i>And I can’t seem to let go of those first moments we met. My hurt still festers, and maybe I just need him to open that wound. But he won’t.
“Well, fuck him,” I whisper and lean back in my chair.
“Yes, fuck him. I need to live vicariously through someone and Ava’s love life is boring. I’m half-convinced that husband of hers is a robot,” Ethel says.
A surprised gasp leaves my lips as I sit up straighter and look toward my aunt. She shoots me a devious grin before she raises the back of her bed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say.
“You didn’t. I’ve been watching you stare out that window for thest ten minutes. That Kane boy getting under your skin?”
Though I roll my eyes at the teasing spark in my aunt’s voice, heat still creeps into my cheeks. “He’s trying.”
Ethel nods and coughs but waves me off when I rise to help her with water or tissues. This time her cough takes a long while to subside. Unease burns in my guts. Guilt creeps into my veins. She’s been so lively with all the schemingtely, but maybe it’s taken too much out of her. She suddenly looks so frail, pain etched across her crinkled skin.
Despite her protests, I press the call button for the nurse, who enters a momentter, followed by a doctor, whoes in while the fit still rumbles on. The doctor maintains her professional detachment when she tells me they’re going to administer an IV<span id="pg_193" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 193. ">for pain relief and antibiotics to prevent secondary infection, but I’ve been around facilities like this long enough to know that the prognosis of Ethel’s cancer is grim, and this might be the fast deterioration of a disease my aunt refuses to treat.
Ethel’s cough dissipates as they ready the fluids and prepare the cann. “I don’t like needles,” my aunt says, her eyes darting toward the door to her room and holding there. I’m about to follow her gaze when she grabs my hand. “Sing to me for a distraction, girl.”
“What would you like?”
A mncholy smile lifts my aunt’s lips. “The one you sang at our anniversary party.”
It’s hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago.
My aunt and uncle danced beneath the patio lights we strung up in the tent. They looked into each other’s eyes as I started to sing and I thought,<i>I wonder how much love is out there like that, really. I wonder if I’ll ever find it. And if I do, I hope I deserve it.</i>
And now I think,<i>Maybe we don’t find it. It doesn’t just appear. It’s not fantasy, not a fairy tale. We make choices, note after note, chord after chord, until we create it</i>.
I lean down and ce a kiss on my aunt’s cheek before I clear my throat and sing:
<i>I can’t give you anything but love, baby</i>
<i>That’s the only thing I’ve plenty of, baby</i>
<i>Scheme awhile, dream awhile</i>
<i>We’re sure to find</i>
<i>Happiness and I guess</i>
<i>All those things you’ve always pined for</i>
<i>Gee, I’d like to see you looking swell, baby.</i>
<span id="pg_194" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 194. ">The nurse slides the cann into the vein and my aunt never flinches. She keeps her eyes on me and I don’t even finish the song before she says, “Doll, go and get me a candy from the reception desk, would you? I like those hard caramels.”
I scrunch my face in a question but my aunt just pulls her hand free of mine to flick me away.
“All right, Auntie,” I reply with a shake of my head. “You’re so demanding, you know that, right?”
“Less talk. More candy.”
I give Ethel a bemused grin and slide off the bed as the nurse checks the pump and the doctor reviews her chart.
And when I turn from the room to join the corridor that leads to the reception desk, L is there, head lowered, one hand raised to his forehead as he strides toward the doors like he can’t get out of here fast enough.
“L.”
He halts instantly, but he doesn’t turn around. I’ve stopped too, waiting for something, maybe a reaction or a word or even movement, but L remains tense and still.
“Hey, L,” I say, and take a few steps closer. He shifts his head enough to show that he’s listening, but not enough for me to see his face. “Everything okay …?”
There’s a long pause before he nods.
“You sure?”
L clears his throat, but he doesn’t turn around. He only gives me the corner of his eye before he looks away. “Came in to say Leander needs me. You cane too if you’re free. I can give you a ride, if you want. Or if you want to stay, I can take your guitar so you don’t have to carry it.”
<span id="pg_195" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 195. ">“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, though I immediately regret it and take a step closer. “I’ll stay awhile. I’m leaving the guitar here today so the therapist on shift tomorrow can borrow it.”
“Oh.” L sniffs and nods, and a little fissure in my heart splits open.
“Are you sure you’re—”
“I’ve gotta go.” He grips the back of his neck, the missing tip of his finger more obvious against the cor of his cream knit sweater. Tattoos and rings cover his scars, ones that I’ve felt when I’ve taken his hand. L gives me a nod, but it seems like more of an affirmation to himself than it does to me. “Leander will get impatient. And impatient Leander turns into weird Leander.”
“Okay. Text me the address. When I’m done here, I’ll get an Uber and meet you there. We can talk to him about … stuff. My family stuff.”
One final nod, like that’s all he’s capable of, and then L strides through the lobby and into brisk autumn wind. I watch as the Charger departs, and then I grab a fistful of candies for Ethel.
When I take them back to my aunt’s room, she’s pretending to be asleep.
“You’re hrious,” I deadpan as I dump the candies on her nket. “I know you’re faking. You snore when you sleep. Loudly, I might add.”
“Do not,” she says without opening her eyes. “You didn’t go with him.”
“Obviously.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy here.”
<span id="pg_196" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 196. ">“Well I don’t want you, girl. I need my beauty rest. And I’m assuming your husband needs something if he came in here.”
I cross my arms and re down at Ethel, though she still hasn’t opened her eyes. “He said I can go to his boss’s house today, but he hasn’t sent me directions.”
One cloudy eye cracks open and scrutinizes me before Ethel reaches beneath her pillow and pulls out a phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting your husband so I can get some peace and quiet.”
“How do you have his number?”
My aunt res at me as she puts her phone back and settles in deeper beneath her covers. “I get all the boys’ numbers, missy,” she says as she shoos me away, the IV tube dangling from the top of her hand. A heartbeatter, a textes through on my phone from L with a dropped pin. “Now get out of here. And take the muffins for his boss with you. Made them fresh this morning with Nurse Lucy. They’re at the front desk.”
“How did you …” I shake my head, but still smile as I ce a kiss on my aunt’s cheek. “Love you, hell-raiser.”
“Shh. Don’t give the devil any ideas. I want to sneak up on him. And don’t you and L go testing those muffins. Those are all for Mayes.”
Ethel blesses me with a cheeky grin, and then with a deep, contented sigh, she closes her eyes. With a shake of my head, I grab my bag and order an Uber, and before long I’m headed to the sprawling estate home of Leander Mayes with a box of my aunt’s muffins on myp.
When we pass the fortified gate and the housees into view, L is waiting for me at the entrance. We roll to a stop and he<span id="pg_197" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 197. "></spanes forward to open my door, his hand outstretched in an offer. I hesitate only briefly before taking it.
“Thanks foring,” he says as we wait for the Uber to depart. He seems suspicious of my driver’s intentions until the taillights disappear around the curves of the winding driveway. I wonder how long he’s been doing that, studying everyday things and people, making sure nothing is amiss. I’ve seen it in him before, the way he scans a crowd, searching for threats. He’s vignt, wary of enemies hidden in in sight, an instinct that’s been carved into him, as indelible as the ink in his skin.
I wonder how tiring that must be, or if he even notices at all.
“Of course,” I say. I offer a smile he doesn’t return. “I promised I would.”
L’s face remains grim as he opens the door for me. His hand finds the small of my back as I pass the threshold, his touch igniting a hum in my belly. “Remember what I said.”
“That Leander’s a bit nuts?”
“Yes. And I don’t rmend epting any hard alcohol. It rarely ends well.”
“Got it.”N?velDrama.Org owns this.
“And pizza. If he orders pizza, we’re feckin’ leaving.”
“Okay.”
“Basically, don’t take anything he offers,” L says with a shudder as we walk through the foyer and down a wide corridor.
“Sounds super fun.”
L ushers me through another door, this one leading to a set of concrete stairs that descends to the basement. I can hear a man’s jovial voice talking over loud music. Before I can take my first step down, L presses a hand to my stomach to stop me.
<span id="pg_198" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 198. ">“Let me go first,” he says. His touch is gentle, just his fingertips graze me, but somehow it sends a tingle along my skin. I clutch the box of muffins a little tighter. I don’t think he notices how my breath stops or my lips part. He just looks right into me with an expression so wary it looks like pain. “Just … be careful.”
He lifts his hand away and turns to lead our descent, leaving an empty ache behind.
<i>No. No ache. That was definitely a hunger pang. It’s just all that talk about pizza. Probably.</i>
And even if it wasn’t the pizza and it<i>was</i>an ache, it’s still just simple biology. I’m on a very long dry spell, that’s all. And L’s being extra broody and weirdly protective, and he’s hot, and I have eyes. I can appreciate hot. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck my husband.
I snort augh.
L’s head whips around as my outburst echoes across the concrete. He looks at me with both confusion and fear, as though Leander coulde storming through the door at the bottom of the stairs to blow our heads off.
And that’s pretty much what Leander does.
“<i>Bang bang bang.</i>”
I’m looking down the muzzle of a gun.
At first it’s all I see, a snapshot etched into memory. L’s hand darts out and he yanks me up onto the step behind him. The movement takes just long enough that I capture the image of Leander on the threshold of the open door, gun raised, a weing yet terrifying smile on his face. And then all I see is L’s back, my body sheltered by his.
“<i>Christ feckin’ Jesus</i>, ya psycho. Put that away before you kill<span id="pg_199" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 199. ">yourself and then the rest of us,” L says, his ent thicker with his irritation.
Our hostughs and lowers his gun before stepping back from the doorway in an invitation to pass. “Can never be too careful.”
“You were just trying to scare her.”
“He’ll have to try harder next time,” I say even though my heart is pounding its way up my throat. I try to maneuver around L but he slides an arm around my waist, gluing us together. I extend a hand toward Leander. “Lark Kane, pleased to meet you.”
Leander grins as he shakes my hand. There’s something off about this guy, just like L said. A disconnect between his sharp green eyes and cutting smile. “Kane, huh? You don’t have to keep that up here.”
“I’m not.” My smile has an edge when I pull my palm away and pass him the box of muffins clutched in my other hand. “Per your request. These were made fresh this morning by my aunt herself. Her famous brown butter apple cinnamon muffins.”
“Oh, you spoil me. I like you already,” Leander says, and I know with the way he beams at me that it’s not the butter or sugar or apple cinnamon he craves. It’s power. To bend the dying matriarch of Montague Muffins to his will.
Rather than return my hand to my side, I take L’s arm instead, a detail that Leander absorbs before he ushers us inside.
Leander wees us into a room that’s meant to look like a pub, with a stocked bar and a big-screen TV and a dartboard. He offers us drinks that we decline and directs us to a set of leather couches and chairs. I don’t feel anyfort in this space that’s meant to feel familiar. All I feel is out of my depth.
But he can’t know that. And neither can L.
<span id="pg_200" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 200. ">I might not know what the fuck I’m doing negotiating contracts in this underground world, but one thing I do know is how to y a part.
“I’vee to discuss the Montague contract,” I say. Leander is about to take a bite of a muffin but pauses. A slow smile stretches across his lips.
“Right down to business, hmm? I knew I liked you.” That grin of Leander’s reaches his eyes as he looks to L. He takes a bite of the muffin, leaving us in silence as he chews and swallows before he speaks. “I thought you said there would be<i>two</i>contracts in exchange for your retirement.”
L is rigid beside me. He’s sitting so close to me that I can feel the tension radiate from his coiled muscles. “I said my wife will make you a deal. The conditions are up to her.”
“One contract now, I’ll pay the full retainer, and I’ll initiate one job immediately,” I say, forcing myself to hold his prating gaze. “Once that job is done, L is out, and you’ll have your second contract.”
Leander’s brows flick once, a reaction that feels too much like dissatisfaction for my liking. His head bobs with a pensive nod and he takes another bite of the muffin before he raises his eyes to me. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll follow through on the second contract?”
“You don’t,” L says before I have the chance to answer. “So I won’t leave until you have it.”
I dart a sharp nce toward L before he can make any further promises. I know how much he wants out. He<i>needs</i>it. And I don’t want him to stay on Leander’s hooks longer than he has to. Something about that just doesn’t sit right with me.
<span id="pg_201" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 201. ">My focus returns to Leander as he washes thest bites of the muffin down with a long sip of beer. “I<i>will</i>get you the Covaci contract, but this job needs to be done first.”
“Search, protection, and kill, is that right?” he asks, and I nod. “L mentioned the muffin business is darker than it seems. Certainly is delicious though.” Leander finishes thest bite and brushes the crumbs from his hands before he sets the baking paper aside. “Some of thest ever made by Ethel Montague herself. Chef’s kiss.”
I watch as Leander kisses his fingertips in a dramatic<i>al bacio</i>gesture before his gaze settles on mine. With just a blink, he goes from jovial and amused to stern and shadowed. My eyebrows raise in a silent question.<i>What now?</i>
After another pull from his pint ss, Leander leans a little closer, steepling his fingers as he regards me. “One million for the retainer. Five jobs a year.”
“You told me five hundred thousand,” L says. “And she gets unlimited ess to the office to use the investigational resources whenever she wants.”
Leander’s smile is predatory as it shifts from L to me. “She can have unlimited use. For double. And five jobs a year.”
“Six hundred thousand, unlimited ess to the office, and four jobs a year. And I initiate that job today with a one- hundred-thousand-dor bonus if the aggressor is identified and killed before my aunt passes away.” I feel the fleeting graze of L’s knuckles across my wrist and turn, meeting the question in his eyes. Just like at brunch with my parents, I know what he’s asking without words. “I want her to know her family is safe before she goes.”
<span id="pg_202" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 202. ">A smile sneaks across Leander’s lips as he extends a hand across the space between us. “Done.”
I take his hand, and as soon as I let go, he’s writing in the agreed numbers and passing me the paperwork to sign.
Leander ps his hands together. With this business done, his demeanor shifts again. He starts poking L for details on the recent Kane weddings, information that L deftly keeps to a minimum. It seems second nature for L to provide just enough color for Leander to feel satisfied, and just enough shade to keep him at arm’s length. By the time I’ve wired the retainer money, Leander seems rxed, maybe even a bit drunk, though he’s only finished one pint since we arrived.
I tamp down a grim smile.
“All right, kids,” he says with a slight slur as he ps his palms to his knees. “Feel free to get started in the office whenever you like. The sooner the better, right?”
“Right.”
Leander stands. He takes two unsteady steps.
Then he falls t on his face.
“<i>Shit</i>,” L hisses as he bolts upright. I smooth my hands over my skirt as L checks Leander’s breathing and taps him a few times on the cheek. “Well, that’s a bonus. He’s alive.” When L’s shocked gazends on me, I’m waiting with a sheepish smile. “What in the bloody feckin’ hell, Lark?”
“Yeah … I kinda thought that might happen.”
“Seriously?”
I shrug. “Ethel doesn’t like to be bossed around. Especially when ites to muffins. She gets a little vindictive.”
<span id="pg_203" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 203. ">“How about this, you feckin’ catastrophe—clue me in next time before you give my psycho boss drugged baked goods, yeah?”
“To be fair, I wasn’t<i>one hundred percent</i>sure they were drugged. Ethel was pretty vague about us not eating them.”
“Were you going to tell<i>me</i>that?”
“I figured you wouldn’t touch them out of spite.”
L shakes his head and gestures toward the man sprawled at his feet. A rumbling snore rises from the floor. With a string of whispered curses, L rolls him into the recovery position then turns his attention to me, his expression incredulous.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine in like … four hours. And when he wakes up he’ll remember that Ethel always gets thest word. The Montagues can psycho with the best of them, remember?”
“Christ Jesus.”
With a wink, I stand and p my hands. Leander’s snore continues, undisturbed by the sudden sound. “Right. Let’s go to the office then, shall we?”
L gives me a weary shake of his head, then gestures for me to follow as he leads the way to the basement door.
The house is empty and silent as we leave out the back door and walk down a curved path toward a separate building, one that feels utilitarianpared to the house. Stark white brick with a ck steel roof, the darkly tinted windows giving no indication of what lies within. The single ess point is a fortified steel door.
L ces his left hand on a control panel, then leans toward a circr lens that scans his iris. A momentter, a set of cylindrical bolts disengages and the door cracks open.
<span id="pg_204" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 204. ">“Pretty fancy,” I say as L pushes the door wider and allows me to pass the threshold first. “I should get that for my glitter collection. I know you’ve been crafting when I’m not around.”
“I have not.” L pretends to look haughty. “If I was going to steal something, it would be gold stars. Gold stars are clearly superior to glitter.”
I give him a teasing grin, and before either of us can get too sucked into a nonabrasive moment of levity, we break the connection between us and head deeper into the room.
The interior is as utilitarian as the outside of the building, no decorations on the waffled soundproofing that lines the walls. There are several screens that hang from the ceiling, nothing disyed on their matte surfaces. Fourputer stations sit in the center of the room, each with three monitors. The desks are uncluttered, only a mouse and keyboard on each one. A metal staircase leads to a lower level from which a low hum resonates.
“What’s down there?” I ask with a nod to the stairway as L leads us to one of the desks.
“Servers,” L replies as he pulls a chair back for me to sit, then grabs another for himself before powering up our station. “Conor manages most of it on Leander’s behalf. He’s the real tech guy, but I can still get us started with the search. Normally, I’d go through whatever background files we have for the Covaci side of things at least, but since you’re here we can skip a few steps.”
“You mean the files are<i>in</i>the<iputer</i>?”
L looks from me to the monitor and back again, confusion etched between his brows. “Yes … that’s … how it works …”
“Oh my God, you have literally no idea what I’m talking about.” I whack L’s arm with the back of my hand and roll<span id="pg_205" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 205. ">my eyes before clicking into the search field to type a name. “It’s from the movie<i>Zonder</i>. How are we even married?”
I’m met with silence from L. Ignoring his reticent expression, I pull the keyboard closer. “Can I look up anyone on this?”
“Yeah, it’ll pull in data from multiple sources. Driving records, medical information, criminal history if there is one. Some sources are more expensive than others, so we start with basics and build from there. The more valuable information might go for auction, like if there’s a specific person with a bounty on their head with multiple contractors mining the records, for example. FBI information fetches a high price so we’ll only go there if we’re sure we’re on to something. Costs me a small fortune to find the info on serial killers for Rowan to y his little game with Sloane.” L shrugs when I tilt my head and my brows knit. “Keeps him out of trouble around here. And it makes him happy.”
I give him a brief smile that he seems to ignore before I turn back to the screen. The system looks slick but simple, and I start typing a name into the search field at the top of the page.
Louis Campbell. Location: Connecticut. Age, I leave that nk. upation: education. I don’t bother with the advanced search fields, details I don’t know or maybe I did once but have since forgotten.
I press enter. Seven Louis Campbells popte in a list below the search fields. Each has basic details—age, address, contact details, medical insurance, utility providers, job history. One contact card res at me like a siren.
“Louis Campbell? Who’s that?” L asks, and his question hangs like an ornament in silence. I don’t reply as I hover the<span id="pg_206" role="doc-pagebreak" ariabel=" Page 206. ">cursor over his name. “You think he has something to do with what’s happening to your family?”
“No,” I say as I return the cursor to the search box and clear the query. “I was just curious.”
Though I feel L watching me, I don’t turn toward him. “You sure—”
“Maybe we should start with the most obvious names and work our way from there.” My fingers fly across the keyboard. “My aunt’s nemesis would be the most likely candidate.”
I have enough information about Bob Foster to enter into the search fields for the results to turn up a single contact card. When I click on it, a spread of more detailed data fills the screen. There’s a row of locked queries at the bottom of the page, the information hidden behind paywalls.
“I doubt he would do the dirty work himself, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to pay for chaos. Do you think we can figure out if he was involved?”
When I meet L’s gaze, his brow is furrowed, his eyes dark as they sweep across my skin, leaving heat behind. “It’s your contract, duchess. Do what you want.”
I return my attention to the screen and gnaw at my lip.
“It’s a good n,” L says as he points to one of the locked tiles. “Click on that one and enter your Leviathan ount number. We’ll check through his bank records and see if there are any recurring payments around the same time as the murders. That’s where I would start.”
I grin at L. And though it’s soft and almost shy, he smiles back.
And we hunt through the records together.</section>