Page 25 of Martyr
I round her desk and test the cabinet drawers. Locked, as suspected. A quick perusal of her desk supplies me with the tools I need, and in under a minute, I’m into the top one.
Another minute, and I scowl. I do not understand her filing system. It wouldn’t beeasyif it was just in alphabetical order by last name, but this seems to organize her patients—or, as she calls them,residents—by some sort of coding. That’s the part that doesn’t quite make sense yet.
I do enjoy a challenge.
My ears strain to catch any sound from beyond the office. It wouldn’t surprise me if the room was soundproofed. Behind me is a couch and chair, presumably for private sessions.
The thought of her poking around in my head is almost as bad as knowing she’s analyzing my body language and every facial expression. And my language.
I pull a file at random. It has a series of numbers on top, 26325, followed by a string of letters.
It doesn’t correlate to anything in the girl’s file. There’s not even a picture attached. Maybe that’s in a database somewhere, or?—
Who fucking knows.
I drop it back in. The pressure oftime, of getting caught, beats down on me. I close and relock the drawer, returning her implements to their proper places, and sit back down.
Not a second later, the door opens.
It’s not Dr. Hawthorne, though.
It’s just the man I was hoping to find.
Without thinking, I smile.
Thank you, Opportunity.
11ARTEMIS
Two major fucking problems.
One—Kade Laurent ishere. On Isle of Paradise. I barely had time to hide in Lyssa’s room, sort of proving his argument with Dr. Hawthorne correct aboutanyonecoming in. There aren’t a lot of places, so I dove under her bed right as the door opened.
I overheard their conversation, but he didn’t linger. I focused on his shoes right at the edge of the bed. Working boots, jeans. Not the sort of thing Atlas, his Olympus alter ego, would’ve worn. The lower half of him reminded me more of Reese than anything else.
And that brings me to problem number two—Reese didn’t leave.
I woke up to him curled around me, and panic thrashed in my chest that we were going to get caught. I elbowed him awake, then left him to get dressed while I used the attached bathroom. When I reemerged, he was dressed but fucking sexy with his sleepy eyes and messed hair.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at him. “You were supposed to go—hours ago.”
He waved me off. “Relax, golden girl. I paid for my slip at the marina on the town side.”
After that, he went out the window and promised to return later.
But now, I’m panic-searching for Saint. Saint will not recognize Kade, but the opposite isn’t true. In fact, Reese mentioned, sometime during the post-sex haze, that Kade specifically asked about Saint.
Fuck. Fuck me.
Why is Saint Hart the most difficult person to find?
“Tem!”
I pivot. “Mary Catherine!”
“You’re flushed.” The girl stops in front of me, her hands in her pockets. “You okay?”
“I’m looking for Saint. He’s giving me the runaround.”
