Page 196 of Toxic Temptation
“I mean… yes?” I say. “Isn’t that how these things usually work?”
“Only if you want to do unnecessary kidnapping first.” He says it like someone who knows. “Much simpler to make house calls.”
I stare at the imposing gate blocking our path. It’s got to be twelve feet high, topped with decorative spikes that look functional rather than purely aesthetic. “How exactly are wegetting past that? I’m assuming she has security cameras everywhere, right?”
“She does.” Kovan sashays up to the gate’s keypad. “Or rather, she did. Unfortunately for Dr. Reed, her entire system is dark for the next two hours.”
He starts tapping. Ten digits later, the gate clicks open with a soft mechanical whir.
“Holy shit.” I hurry after him up the curved driveway. “How did you?—”
“Preparation, Doctor,” he says with a wink. “My men are thorough.”
“Are we armed?” I glance around the manicured grounds, suddenly aware of how exposed we are. “Please tell me you brought backup weapons.”
“No guns tonight.”
I stop walking. “Excuse me?”
He turns back, mouth curved in that dangerous half-smile. “Sometimes, less is more. Besides, I don’t trust you not to shoot her if she pisses you off.”
“I wouldn’t shoot her.” But the protest sounds weak even to me. “… Probably.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” He produces another keypad code, and the front door yields as easily as the gate did. “She’s more useful to us alive.”
“Useful how?”
“You’ll see.”
The house’s interior matches its exterior—expensive, tasteless, and soulless. We climb the marble staircase in near-darkness, guided only by moonlight streaming through oversized windows. Every surface gleams with aggressive cleanliness. I can practically hear the sobs of the terrorized cleaning staff.
“What about her family?” I whisper as we reach the second floor.
Kovan doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “Husband’s in Vegas for a bachelor party. Kids are with their grandparents. And the housekeeper sleeps like the dead until 6:00 A.M.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I do my homework.” He stops outside what’s obviously the master suite. “Know thy enemy; isn’t that what they say?”
My heart beats double-time as he tests the door handle. For one wild second, I consider backing out. This is insane. I’m a pediatric surgeon, not some mob enforcer breaking into houses in the middle of the night.
Then I remember that bank account balance. Shana is sitting on millions of dollars earned from harvesting organs from unsuspecting patients while, on the lower floors, children died from lack of equipment.
I clench my jaw and follow Kovan inside.
Shana’s bedroom is pitch black. I can just barely make out the fuzzy shapes of a bureau, two nightstands, a huge bed.
With the flick of a switch, Kovan floods the room with light.
Shana struggles up from underneath the covers and throws an arm over her face, groaning. “Michael? What the…? You’re not supposed to be back until?—”
“Michael’s still in Vegas.”
She bolts upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. The thin camisole she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination—nude-colored silk that complements her artificially bronzed skin. I find myself repulsed by her. The fakeness. The camouflage of makeup and gaudy things.
“I have s-security,” she stammers. “And dogs?—”
“No, you don’t.” Kovan’s voice carries that particular brand of calm that’s more terrifying than shouting. “You hate dogs, and your surveillance system is down. Your security company thinks everything’s fine. It’s just us here.”
