Page 22 of Wilde and Deadly

Christmas lights. Davey nearly laughed, a bitter sound he swallowed down. Dominic had no idea that Christmas wasn’t the last time he’d tangled with Rowan, and the memory of the motel room flooded back—her body warm and supple beneath his hands, her breath hitching softly against his mouth. She’d been so close, so perfectly within reach—and he’d let her slip away. Again.

He forced the memory down, clenching his jaw. “I’m not handing this off to anyone. Uncle Greer trusted me with this, and I’m going to finish it.”

Dominic shot Elliot a helpless glance. Elliot’s steady, thoughtful expression didn’t waver as he pushed off the door, adjusting his glasses. “Your closeness to Rowan cuts both ways, Davey. It gives you insight, sure, but it also makes you vulnerable. She knows you too well, and she’s proven she’s willing to exploit that.”

Davey felt the words sink like stones into his gut. Elliot wasn’t taking shots to hurt him—he was telling the uncomfortable truth, voicing concerns Davey had privately admitted to himself more times than he cared to count.

“Who says I’m trying to get away? This is just foreplay.”

He flexed his hands and swore he could still feel the heat of her skin under his palms. His brothers weren’t wrong. He was too close, too involved… but admitting that felt too much like admitting defeat.

But before Davey could respond—before he could find a way to dismiss Elliot’s point without admitting he was right—Sabin threw open the door, narrowly missing Elliot, who stumbled back with a muttered curse.

Elliot shot him an exasperated glare, adjusting his glasses as he stepped aside. “Seriously, Sabin?”

Sabin ignored him. “Bossman, we got trouble—Rowan’s tracker just went dark. Looks like your femme fatale done pulled another vanishin’ act.”

Davey’s stomach dropped.Son of a bitch.Of course she had.

six

It started raining.

Because, of course, it did.

Rowan darted around a corner, her breath sharp, heart thundering in her chest as her boots splashed through a puddle. The crowded streets of New York City swirled with noise and movement, but all she could focus on was the gnawing feeling that Davey was right behind her.

She checked over her shoulder, half sure she’d see him charging through the crowd.

But there was nothing.

Just a sea of strangers, oblivious to her panic.

Davey wasn’t chasing her. Not yet. But it wouldn’t take long for him to catch up—not if he still had that damn tracker on her.

She slowed to a walk and scanned the street, her gaze landing on a valet stand in front of an upscale restaurant. A sleek black sedan idled as the young valet stood by the open driver’s side door, chatting with one of his coworkers.

Perfect.

She slid into the passenger side and scooted over into the driver’s seat.

The valet didn’t notice something was amiss until she pulled the door shut from under his hand. His shocked face appeared at the window.

“Hey! You can’t?—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. The tires screeched on the wet pavement as she peeled away from the curb, weaving between cars and sending up a cacophony of angry honks.

She needed distance.

The farther, the better.

The city blurred around her as she sped toward the West Side Highway. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel, her gaze darting between the road and the rearview mirror. No sign of pursuit yet, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

The river came into view, a dark ribbon cutting through the city, reflecting the glow of the skyline. She pulled the car into an empty stretch of parking lot along the riverbank, her breathing still uneven as she killed the engine. She sat there for a long moment, still gripping the wheel until the tremble in her hands subsided.

The tracker.

That nagging feeling wasn’t just paranoia. Davey had put a tracker on her, and if she didn’t find it now, he’d catch up to her before she had a chance to disappear again.

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