Page 124 of Seeking Vengeance

He doesn’t glance at me with admiration. Doesn’t rake his attention over my body with his usual predatory hunger. He barely registers me at all before he pulls his cell from his jacket pocket to concentrate on the device. “I won’t be long.”

“Wait.” I push to my feet, dragging the sheet along with me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m paranoid,” he grates. “Word has spread about the shooting, and I want the two of us to be straight with each other before the world starts firing complications our way.”

“The world or my brother?”

“Either. Both. It doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks. “Yesterday we said no lies and no secrets. We need to start living up to that promise.”

There’s more to his change in demeanor. Something that sits heavy on my chest. Has he already figured out what the Costas have done to me? To Stella?

“Okay.” I nod, my throat drying. “We’ll talk.”

“Good.” He strides for the hall with no kiss in farewell, no heated promises. “Bishop will be here soon. You might want to get dressed before he arrives.”

“Why is he coming?” I ask the empty doorway.

“I’ll explain when I get back.”

His footsteps don’t pause along the hall. They grow distant, the front door slapping closed moments later.

I’m tempted to spy on him from the balcony. Just for the slightest hint of understanding at his temperamental mood. But I shower instead, quickly scrubbing the remnants of last night’s eroticism from my body while wondering if I’m doing it for the last time.

It can’t be more than ten minutes later, when I’m drying myself in front of the wall-to-wall mirror, that a knock sounds at the front door. My stomach twists.

I don’t want Bishop here. Not for this.

I refuse to discuss my daughter’s abduction in front of his smug face.

“Hold on a sec.” I pad into Matthew’s bedroom and steal his robe from the chair in the corner, shoving my arms through the silk as I continue down the hall. “I’m coming.”

The knock sounds again when I reach the living room, my feet slapping against the cold tiles. “Have a little patience.”

I reach the entry and check the peephole, holding out hope it’s Matthew with arms full of food. Only the shoulder of the shadowed suit I glimpse isn’t his. The size and shape are too damn familiar to Bishop’s frame.

“I’m here.” I fight with the dead bolt, then twist the handle.

When I fling the heavy wood wide, it’s not Bishop who swings around to face me.

The man standing in the dimly lit hall turns my way in a tailored suit, dark thick stubble hugging a tight jawline, his posture holding an air of bulletproof confidence.

He says something.Askssomething. Yet the words don’t register. Nothing sinks past the panic rendering me speechless.

It’sRemy Costa—Emmanuel’s youngest son.

My heart sprints, my veins flooding with adrenaline.

Theydidfind the cyanide. They found me, too.

Is that why Matthew was on edge?

“Did you hear me, sugar?” He smirks, his gaze raking up and down my body.

Our first meeting wasn’t meant to be like this. It was supposed to be planned. Strategic. Powerful. Being a few sharp breaths away from hyperventilating wasn’t in the manifesto.

I white-knuckle the handle to slam the door closed only for the momentum to stop as he lunges forward to shove his hands against the wood.

“Whoa, there. I didn’t expect a welcome party, but this is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He shoves harder against the barrier between us, overpowering me. “Where is he?”

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