Page 8 of Devil's Retribution

I didn’t impress easily, or attract easily. In fact, I had always been picky about my men. But this stranger with his brooding good looks ticked all the boxes for me, at least when it came to appearance and style.

He pushed away from the railing as I drew near, looking over at me with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. I wondered what in the world this polished man could be here for.

“May I help you?” I asked as I approached. He towered over me. I quashed a bout of nervousness and looked him in the eyes.

“Dr. Martinez?” he asked, in a deep, silky voice that made my toes curl.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes. And you are?”

“My name is Viktor.” His gaze swept over me, neither leering nor entirely dispassionate. My pulse picked up, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from fear, or just from him. Those burning eyes. The dark silk of his voice. The way he took up space, not quite looming over me, The spicy musk of his cologne. “I have come here seeking a professional with openings for new clients.”

I hesitated, eyebrows rising. He was nothing like my other clients. No hesitation, no discomfort, none of the embarrassment that I usually saw with new male clients who sought me out. Men weren’t encouraged to get therapy, that was too much like asking for help with a problem they were somehow expected not to have. They were always at least a little awkward about approaching me for therapy.

Not this man. He was as cool and in control as if he was my landlord coming for the facility’s rent. No awkwardness. No hints of vulnerability in his cold blue eyes.

Something was wrong.

My gut started jumping around. As attractive and charismatic as this Viktor was, as sincere as he seemed to be, as much as my body was responding to him out of nowhere… my instincts would not stop screaming at me. No. Don’t agree to it. Don’t even go inside with him.

“I’m sorry,” I said before the tension could rise any further. “At the moment, I am not taking on new clients. I could make a referral for you if you like?”

My face felt cold. I knew I had gone pale, and prayed he didn’t notice.

Instead of looking disappointed, he lifted an eyebrow slightly, as if he knew that I was lying. The silence between us stretched out unbearably before he finally said, “Ah I see.”

He was wearing black leather gloves despite the warm morning and fished a very plain business card out of his wallet. He handed it over. “Then I should give you this, so that you may contact me when you do have an opening.”

I took the card. It had only a phone number on it, no name, address, or any other information. “If you insist. I do have several colleagues who could help—”

“Have a good morning,” he said curtly, and turned on his heel to walk away. I watched him cross the small parking lot and get into a fancy black coupe. As he drove away, I stared down at the card, wondering what in the world that was about.

Chapter 4

Emma

Twenty minutes after my strange encounter with the mysterious Viktor, I was puttering around my office getting ready for my patients when my cellphone rang. It was Uncle Charles. I connected, wondering what was going on. “Hello?”

“Hi, Emma honey. Are you all right?”

I frowned. He sounded a little worried. He was generally a bit detached, showing his feelings through actions instead of words. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“I heard you had some person hanging around outside your work this morning.”

A shock went through me, then surprise, anger, and a tiny, grudging touch of gratitude. “You’ve been having me watched again.” This was the fourth time I’d either caught him at it or had him admit it.

“Of course I am, dear, it’s dangerous out there and you and Nick are my only family.” No apology for the invasion of privacy. I had only tried to get one once, when I had been nineteen and had caught his hired man tailing me on a date. I was frustrated, but not disappointed or even surprised.

“A man showed up seeking treatment. He wasn’t threatening, but it was a little strange. He gave me a business card, but all it has is a phone number.”

“And his name?”

“Viktor. No family name.”

“Give me the phone number.” His voice had a strangely cold note to it.

“You really don’t have to—”

“Better safe than sorry, young lady. You decided to defy common sense and go out working and being independent instead of staying home with me. Los Angeles is a dangerous city. You know that.”

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