Page 47 of Savage Seduction

“See you later,” he says. “Hopefully, we will work together this week.”

“For sure, they have to get this exhibition open by next week so we will be all hands on deck.”

“Great,” Bretton says. “Catch you later.” He smiles and walks out of the locker room.

I go back to double-checking all of my belongings to verify I hadn’t overlooked my identification. Sure enough, it is gone. I pull out my phone and send a group text to Bob and Catherine Nakamura informing them that my I.D. had been stolen. There is no sense in trying to keep that to myself. Maybe Bob would be able to deactivate it and issue me a new one. Either way,The Butcher strikes again, I think. The biggest concern now would be, why did the madman want my identification and what could he do with it?

CHAPTER 19

Bretton

Iadjust the cuffs of my suit jacket, checking my reflection in the restaurant’s glass door. It’s been years since I’ve been on a date—longer still since I’ve felt anything even resembling excitement over the prospect of one. But here I am, standing outside a swanky Los Angeles restaurant, about to meet a woman I know nothing about, except that she’s a friend of a friend and supposedly “perfect” for me.

Perfect.

I exhale heavily, running a hand through my hair. What does that even mean anymore? Two years ago, I would have had an answer. Two years ago, I had everything I ever wanted. A wife. A life that made sense. But that was before… before it was all ripped away. Before the blood. Before the phone call that shattered my world.

My fingers tighten into a fist before I release them, forcing myself to push those thoughts aside. Tonight isn’t about the past. Tonight is about trying to live again. Or at least pretending to.

I step inside, scanning the room. Candlelit tables, soft jazz humming through the speakers, the clink of silverware andlow murmurs of conversation. It’s nice. It’s the kind of place I used to take my wife to on our anniversaries. A pang of guilt twists inside me. Should I even be here? Should I be doing this?

“Bretton?” A woman’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see her.

She’s beautiful. Red hair cascading in wild curls down her shoulders, striking green eyes, a warm, easy smile. She’s stunning, really, and for a moment, I almost feel something like relief. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad. Maybe I can do this.

I offer a polite smile. “You must be Lisa.”

She nods, stepping closer. “It’s nice to meet you. I have to admit, I was a little nervous about this whole thing. Blind dates aren’t exactly my forte.”

I chuckle, gesturing to the table. “Same here. But I figured, what the hell?”

We sit, menus placed before us, and I try. I really try. Lisa is everything I should want in a date—smart, successful, charming. She’s telling me about her work in entertainment law, and I nod at the right moments, offering small comments when necessary, but the truth is, I’m not here. Not really.

Because I’m thinking about Max.

I grip my glass a little tighter. It’s been happening more and more. The intrusive thoughts. The moments where I catch myself wondering about him, about his voice, about the way he moves. The way he looks at me, like he’s searching for something in me that I don’t even understand myself.

I should be focusing on Lisa. I should be present. But all I can think about is how much I’d rather be sitting across this table from him.

“So, tell me about yourself, Bretton,” Lisa says, tilting her head slightly. “Your friend James didn’t give me much, just that you’re in law enforcement.”

I clear my throat, setting my glass down. “Uh, yeah. FBI.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Wow. That must be intense.”

“It is.”

She waits, probably expecting me to elaborate, but I don’t. I used to be better at this—at small talk, at engaging with people. But ever since my wife… ever since her murder, everything has felt hollow. And now, with these confusing thoughts about Max, it’s like my brain is stuck between grief and something else entirely, something I don’t have a name for yet.

Lisa shifts slightly in her seat, sensing the distance. “I imagine it must be hard to date with a job like that. All the long hours, the stress.”

“You have no idea.”

She gives me a small, understanding smile. “I get it. My job keeps me busy, too. Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything else.”

I nod, taking another sip of my drink. She’s easy to talk to. This should be easy. But it’s not.

Because I keep seeing Max’s face. The way his lips twitch when he’s amused. The way his brows furrow when he’s deep in thought. I keep remembering the way my chest felt tight the last time we were together, the way something inside me pulled toward him without me even understanding why.

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