Page 62 of Tower

The men moved in on her.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

“We just want to see you. That’s all,” the tall one spoke again. The shorter one stayed behind him.

“How do you know who I am?” she asked, still retreating backward.

“Many men know who you are.” His sneer sent a cold shiver through her.

“Azalea?” Peter called from down the hall. She turned to face him, relief flooded her at the sight of him hurrying toward her.

He walked past her, and she faced the box to see the men racing down the hall through the VIP boxes and disappear into the stairwell. Peter yanked out his phone and made a call.

“Yes, two of them. Don’t let them—what? Fuck.” Peter hung up. “Who were they?” he demanded. “Men of your mother’s?”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’ve never seen them before.” She closed her eyes momentarily, letting her head settle down.

“Okay. It’s okay. They’re gone, but I have men looking for them. They couldn’t have gotten far.” Peter pulled her into his chest and kissed her forehead.

“They said they just wanted to see me, that a lot of men knew who I was. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” He hugged her tighter, to the point air wasn’t coming so freely. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Where’d the guard go? He was there and then he was gone.”

“I don’t know, but I know he’s fucking fired.” Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the elevator that would bring them to the penthouse. Now that it was finished, Peter would be moving into it.

She wasn’t sure what that would mean for the Annex. He seemed to have a pretty important job taking care of the women there.

“I don’t want you walking around alone anymore. In fact, you’ll be with me from now on.” Once inside the penthouse, Peter locked the door while he gave his instructions.

“What’s going on, Peter? You found something out, didn’t you?” She followed him into the kitchen where he pulled out two glasses and opened a bottle of wine.

“Let’s not get into it right now.” He gave her a firm stare. He knew something, all right, but he wasn’t divulging it.

“You said I’d be making my own choices. How can I do that when you hold things back?”

He put the wine bottle down and captured her face between his palms.

“I don’t know anything for certain. I have people looking into it, and once I know for sure, I’ll tell you everything.”

“You swear it?”

“On my mother and father’s grave,” he vowed.

“Okay,” she whispered. “As soon as you know.”

He nodded, dropping a kiss to her lips before going back to pouring the wine. “Did they say anything else?”

“No, you came up before they could.” She took the glass of red wine he offered her.

Peter leaned forward on the counter, pressing his hands flat onto the countertop. His mind seemed to be working in overdrive. The silence unsettled her.

“You think my mother’s involved,” she said gently. Not accusing him. How could she? At this point, she was fairly certain the things she didn’t know about her mother greatly outweighed those she did. And how could she trust someone she knew so little about?

“I think she’s involved. I don’t know how deeply. She’s worked with my uncle in the past, and other heads of family who dealt with—” He brought his gaze to hers. “Things a daughter shouldn’t know, until it’s confirmed.”

“Because once I know —or suspect—it will change my view of my mother?” She put the glass of wine down. She didn’t need the subtlety of the wine, she needed something much harder.

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