Page 47 of Captured Heart

It’s just past six in the morning when I pull up to Victor’s mansion and grab the files. He’s waiting for me in his office, a cigar already lit and a smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough, Johnny,” he says, taking the files from me. “I was starting to think you lost your touch.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the wall. “That’s everything. The job’s done.”

Victor’s smirk fades as he thumbs through the papers, his brows furrowing. “This isn’t everything.”

“What are you talking about? I searched that whole place top to bottom, and that’s all I found.”

He slams the files onto the desk, glaring at me. “Kenji’s been my lawyer for over a decade. This is only the last few years’ worth. Where’s the rest?”

That puts me on edge because what I saw in those files was chilling, bordering on horrifying...and that’s not all of it?

“Vic, there’s nothing else there.”

Victor leans back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Then you didn’t look hard enough. There’s more, John. Are you sure you looked everywhere?”

I sneer, gritting my teeth because now I feel sloppy. “Not everywhere. Just the top floor. The bottom has cameras, and I didn’t want to tip him off.”

He tuts, admonishing me for my stupidity. “Well, if you were him, wouldn’t you put the files in a place where you could monitor them twenty-four-seven?”

I shut my eyes, kicking myself because I should’ve checked downstairs before I left. Now, how the hell am I going to get back in there? She was drunk and passed out tonight. It was the perfect opportunity to do a clean sweep, and I blew it.

“I’ll go back,” I say.

“We’ve only got a few more days,” Victor says. “Don’t fuck this up.”

8. Katelyn

The morning sun is gentle, casting a soft glow over the porch as I step outside with the watering can. The flowers need attention, something bright and simple to focus on while I try to sort through the mess in my head.

The air smells of earth and the faint tang of citrus from the lemon tree by the fence. As I tilt the can over the petunias, the sound of a familiar voice pulls my attention.

“Katelyn, dear!” Mable’s voice carries across the road, warm and full of the maternal energy she always seems to radiate.

I glance up to see her standing on her porch, wearing her usual floral housecoat and holding a pie in one hand. Her silver hair catches the sunlight, and even from here, I can see the kind smile on her face.

“Good morning, Mable!” I call back, setting the can down.

“Morning, sweetheart. I made too much pie again. Why don’t you come over and help me eat it? I hate to waste.”

Honestly, I’m a little reluctant to say yes. I have so much work to do today. I blew off Corey to go out partying last night, and it wasn’t even worth it. Even if Alex hadn’t swooped in and ruined my entire night, I probably still would’ve regretted going out instead of working on our project. Hayden is a nice guy, quite funny too, but he’s not my kind of company.

He has a one-track mind, and it seems he can’t talk about anything besides football. I don’t mind, but I can’t contribute to the conversation much.

The blame can’t be put solely on Hayden, though. I was very distracted, too. Ever since I tried to kiss Alex, and he shot me down with thelet’s-just-be-friendsbullet, he’s been running a loop in my head. I can’t believe I read the situation so wrong.

How did I manage to delude myself into thinking he was into me? While Corey and Zayn should take some of the blame, I’m primarily at fault. I misinterpreted everything he did, everything he said.

And the worst part is, I continued to do that even after he rejected me. ‘Til now, I’m still obsessing about why he came to the student lounge yesterday afternoon, why he came to the bar last night. And why the hell was he in my bed, staring at me like he wanted the very thing he said he didn’t want?

See? I’m doing it again. I can’t get this guy out of my head. Maybe I should just have some pie with Mable, so I can think about something other than him for a while.

“Sure, just let me finish here,” I say.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting at her small kitchen table, the aroma of fresh peach pie filling the air. Mable pours us both a cup of tea before settling in across from me.

“You’re such a good girl, always making time for an old lady like me,” she says, her voice tinged with gratitude.

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