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She nods, visibly relieved.

“Do you want to get anything else? We’re here… so, if you have underwear or jeans or anything else that might make you more comfortable, this is your chance.”

She looks conflicted but nods. “I could use a few things.”

Mrs. Wilkes walks in, arms folded. “Mr. Durand has very specific orders about you not taking anything out of this house. I’ve alerted security.”

“These are my father’s things,” Willow says. “And if you think?—”

“Babe.” I touch her arm. “Don’t waste time. Get what you need so we can go.”

She grabs half a dozen neatly folded pairs of jeans, along with some shirts, under things, and a couple pairs of shoes.

“Boss.” Ty nudges me. “He’s here.”

“Out of time, babe,” I murmur to Willow.

She zips the suitcase closed and stands up.

“I got it,” Chuck says, grabbing the handle.

Mrs. Wilkes has been watching us like a hawk, and Willow is carefully holding her dad’s box as we walk to the stairs.

“Willow? Willow!” Dylan’s voice is loud, and definitely not friendly.

“She has nothing to say to you,” I reply, walking down the stairs in front of her.

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Dylan is standing at the foot of the stairs, hands on his hips.

“I’m getting my things from…our house.” Willow’s voice is clear and calm, even though I can tell she’s terrified.

“You know it’s too soon for you to check yourself out of rehab, sweetheart.”

Obviously, he’s sticking to his story for the sake of the staff, a handful of whom have gathered in various areas of the house, watching us.

“I was never in rehab, and you know it,” she snaps.

“You can’t just take things out of my house.”

“Our house,” she hisses, her step faltering.

I take her hand, draw her beside me then put a reassuring hand at her back.

“Keep walking,” I encourage quietly.

“Tell me your name,” Dylan turns his attention to me. “Because I’m going to have you brought up on kidnapping charges.”

I chuckle. “Good luck with that. The name is Hudson Dash—do you need me to spell it for you?”

Chuck pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to Dylan. “You can reach our office at any of those numbers. If you like, I can connect you with our attorney. Ms. St. Claire is a client so no laws are being broken here. Your housekeeper saw that Ms. St. Claire took only a handful of clothes and her father’s keepsake box. Nothing of yours was taken.”

Dylan turns back to me, narrowing his eyes. “Wait a minute—Hudson Dash. You operate Gamebreaker Security. Your services aren’t cheap…you know she can’t pay you, right?” The smirk on his face makes me want to knock him into the middle of next week.

That would be illegal, though.

And we have to do everything by the book if we’re going to fight the conservatorship.

“Our compensation agreement is none of your business,” I reply, gently pushing Willow behind me as we get to the bottom of the stairs.