Page 83 of Sinful Palace

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“If they do, you could hack into their security system and have a look at today’s log. They might not have wiped all the footage yet, but they probably will soon, so you’d need to look now.”

Connor snorted irately. “I’m not gonna do that, Logan.”

I stiffened. “Why not?”

“I told you, I can’t get involved in this shit. Not now that I know there’s actually something seriously fucked up going on. It’s too dangerous. I have a wife and kid.”

“And I have a traumatized fiancée whose father was just murdered.”

“Sorry. Can’t risk it.”

I let out a short, frustrated sigh. “I really didn’t want to resort to this, man, but if you don’t do this for me, I’ll tell your wife about all of your Wonderland visits.”

He went quiet for a moment. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he finally said. All traces of friendliness had vanished from his voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to. I just really need to know what happened to Stephen. For Willow.”

“Fine. Fuck.” He started banging away at his keyboard again, muttering curse words under his breath. “Okay, they do have cameras, so I can try to find something. But I swear to god, I’m packing my shit up and moving to Canada after this.”

“I don’t blame you.”

He kept typing on his end. “This’ll probably take a while. I’ll let you know if and when I find anything, okay?”

He hung up before I could respond. I didn’t mind. I deserved it.

I went back out to the bedroom and returned to Willow’s side. She looked exhausted, chin lowered to her chest and hands limp on her lap. When she finally realized I was with her again, she turned her flat gaze to me. “Were you right?” she asked. “Was he murdered?”

“I’m pretty sure he was, yeah. But I still don’t have any proof.”

“Shit.” With that, Willow erupted in another flood of tears, chest rising and falling in harsh, shaky breaths.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” I muttered, pulling her into my arms again. “I just need some more time.”

She let out a wrenching sob, and I pulled her closer and stroked her head. As I held her, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t have even considered showing her an ounce of kindness or giving her any comfort just a few short months ago. Not for a second.

Now I couldn’t even imagine being so cold and heartless. I genuinely felt terrible about everything she was going through. She’d lost so much already, and everything seemed to keep getting worse and worse for her.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered against the shell of her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

I stayed in the same spot for over two hours, but it flew by in what felt like an instant. It was easy to lose track of time when I had Willow nestled in my arms, sweet-smelling head pressed against my chest.

There was a knock at the door just before eight. “Come in,” I called out.

A maid stepped inside. She was holding a cardboard box. “A man brought this here for you, sir,” she said. “I don’t know what it is. He said only you could open it.”

“Thanks.” I got up and took the box before ordering her out of the room.

Willow sat up straight. “What is that?”

“I don’t know yet. Let me look.”

“What if it’s a bomb?”

I shook my head. “It’s not a bomb. It’s way too light for that.”

She watched me from the bed with wide eyes as I put the box down on the coffee table and carefully ripped the tape off the top. When it was open, the first thing I saw was a lined piece of paper; a note in Connor’s handwriting.

---