Page 24 of Final Cost

“We should expect the police to find him soon.”

That gets my attention. “I wouldn’t count on that. I thought I mentioned: Winwood is former special forces. He’s the kind of guy who’s always one step ahead and doesn’t make mistakes. That’s why I hired him in the first place.”

Gray’s expression sours.

“But I did bring my investigator in to see if he can find him. He’s former CIA.”

“Nice,” Gray says.

My attention immediately reverts to the flow of passersby on the sidewalk. Then tiptoes straight back to Tamsyn and her introduction to Orion. Her face is burned across my thoughts and I can’t say I even mind. It’s a beautiful kind of torture to remember how thrilled she was. The way those brown eyes sparkled and shone, even though they didn’t shine at me. You think I give a fuck that all her happiness and excitement in my presence was geared toward my horse? I don’t. I’m too far beyond any considerations about pride or ego. I just needed to be alone with her for a little while. Getting to touch her while riding the horse was an inspired idea if I say so myself. Getting to mouth bang her and gorge on the juices from her gushing pussy was an undeserved slice of heaven.

But I’ll gratefully accept it.

Not that I’m satisfied, mind you. I shift uncomfortably, my balls still blue and neglected. But it’s fine. I can be patient. Iwillbe patient.

“I wish I knew exactly what the police were doing to track him down,” Gray says, shaking his head as he stares at his own window. “They’ve been too quiet for the last twenty-four hours. I prefer to keep Detective Smith where I can see her.”

“Agreed,” I say. The police have been silent, but it’s the heavy silence you get before storm, the kind where electrical impulses seem to thread the breeze and the air can’t quite support the weight of whatever’s about to fall from the sky onto your head. I don’t know who Detective Smith is looking at today (Winwood? Me?) or what she hopes to find. I just know she’s looking. And I know that Detective Smith is exactly the kind of bloodhound you don’t want sniffing on your tail.

Everything in my gut tells me this case will shake loose sooner rather than later. Which means my time to work things out with Tamsyn and possibly even my freedom is running out. So this brief reprieve is my time to plan. Hence, this little day trip to the upper East side. I need to do a bit more planning. Move a few more pieces into place. And if I can come out of this nightmare unscathed…

My simmering fear won’t allow me to get much further than that. It’s there all the time now, leaving precious little room for anything other than Tamsyn’s eyes overlaid on top of everything and my nonstop yearning for her.

I ruined everything between us. But if I can stay free for a little longer and spend more time with her, I can get her back. I know it. She doesn’twantto hate me. I just need to give her a graceful way off that playing field. And with Ravenna truly dead and gone now? And nothing blocking my path to the life I want with Tamsyn? No outside forces lingering in the shadows and waiting to pounce on our relationship? They sky is the limit. Not only am I going to get Tamsyn back, before it’s all over, she’s going to love me no matter who I am or what terrible things I’ve done.

Which is exactly the way I love her.

Nothing less than all her body and all her soul will satisfy me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got the use of her body for now, and it’s a damn fine consolation prize. So I’ll take it. And I’ll take it as often and as enthusiastically as she lets me. But I want it all— her smiles and laughter. Her arches, coos and cries in the night. Her vows and future. Her children. Hereverything.

I plan to succeed. But I also have a contingency in place in case my time runs out.

“What about what I mentioned earlier?” I say, snapping back into focus and startling Gray with my sudden vehemence. “Is that in the works?”

“The estate planning stuff?”

“Yes,” I say impatiently. “I want the trust set up. Right away.”

He holds up a hand. “I’m trying to keep up with you here, Lucien. And I’ve already given the estate planning department the brief of what you want since I only do criminal work?—”

“Good.”

“—but no one understands what you’re trying to —”

“You don’t need to understand.” My tension spikes and I find myself clenching my fists. I force myself to open my hands and rest them on my knees. Now is not the time for me to unravel or lose my temper. “You just need to do what I want.”

“We’ve got enough to focus on with the police investigation. Plus, your PR people have lost their fucking minds because you’re with me right now. They’ve texted me at least six times since we got in the car. They want you to go into the office to work on your response to whatever the police cook up, which is what I thought we were doing. Where are we even going?”

“Right here,” I say as the car glides to a stop by the curb in front of a lovely little brownstone. “Wait here. Or drive around the block and get some coffee. I don’t give a fuck. But I need a few minutes. We’ll go to the office after that.”

With that, I grab the flowers on the seat next to me, hop out, shut the door in his startled face and trot up the stone steps before he can register a protest behind me. No sign of the paparazzi today, thank God. My security guy, Hank, who’s still on the job looking out for Tamsyn when she’s away from Ackerley, informed me that the press was gone for now. Probably because I arranged for an anonymous “tipster” to alert one of the photogs that Tamsyn had moved to one of the warehouse-cum-lofts in Brooklyn. That should keep them off our trail for a bit. I glance around for Hank— there he is down the street at a discreet distance. I nod at him. He nods back. Then I hit the buzzer, determined to cross a few more things off my to-do list.

I hear a small dog barking inside, then quick footsteps on the other side of the heavy beveled glass door. I hitch my poker face firmly over my ears.

Then the door swings open and there’s Tamsyn, her expression quickly cycling through surprise and unwilling pleasure before finally settling on narrow eyed annoyance as she looks me up and down, registering the flowers. “I was expecting the pizza delivery.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, but my lack of genuine repentance doesn’t seem to do me any favors.

“Lucien,” she says, dropping her voice to a scandalized stage whisper as she shoots a glance over her shoulder toward what I assume is the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I wanted to spend the day —”

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