Page 94 of Santa Daddy
I was already dialing before he finished.
“Full lockdown,” I said into the phone. “No one in or out without my say-so. Where is she?”
“The penthouse, sir,” security answered. “Reading. Cameras show no unusual activity.”
“Double guards on that floor. Long guns,” I said. “They do not wander, they do not smoke, they do not piss without relief. And I want to know who took this picture.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up, staring at the photo again.
This is what caring gets you. You give the world a lever, they go looking for a place to set it.
Someone was checking my balance.
“Get downstairs,” I told Lenny. “You and Yakov sit on that lobby. Anyone you don’t like the look of, you follow. Quiet.”
He nodded and disappeared.
I slid the photograph into my inside pocket and took my private elevator up. One advantage of having my office in the same building as my home—less time between threat and response.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse foyer. The place smelled like expensive coffee and the new candle Natasha had decided we needed this week. Pine. Vanilla. Fake comfort.
Dani was in the living room, curled on the couch under one of the throws, bare legs tucked under her, book open. The big white tree glowed in the corner, washing her skin in soft light. Snow fell on the glass beyond, turning the city into a blur.
She looked… calm.
Safe.
Completely unaware that somewhere out there, someone had put crosshairs on her and mailed me the proof with a bow.
Something hot and ugly moved under my ribs.
“We need to talk,” I said.
My voice came out rougher than I intended.
She looked up. Her shoulders went tight for half a second before she smoothed it away.
Good. Fear is healthy. Fear listens.
I crossed the room and tossed the photograph onto the coffee table between us. It slid on the glass and stopped where she couldn’t avoid seeing it.
Her gaze dropped.
Color drained from her face.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“This,” I said, throat suddenly dry, “is what happens when you belong to me.”
She flinched like I’d hit her.
“Someone wants you dead,Dani,” I added. “Because you are mine.”
Mine.
She stared at the image too long. Long enough for fear to burn off and something sharper to take its place.
