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I squeezed his hand. “Come inside. I’ll show you.”
The op room was cold, the walls lined with monitors still flickering with grainy footage from the black site. I pushed past it, forcing myself not to look, not to think about the bruised, broken mess Marcus had left behind. That wasn’t my focus now.
I kept walking, my pulse hammering, heading straight for the stairs. In Marcus’s room, the air still carried the scent of him. The bed was rumpled, the sheets tangled from where we’d slept, from where he’d had me.
I ignored the heat that tried to creep up my spineand grabbed my suitcase from where I’d left it near the dresser. My laptop was inside, cool and solid beneath my fingertips. I pulled it out, clutching it tight for a second before turning on my heel and heading back downstairs.
By the time I reached the op room again, my decision was made.
This wasn’t just about finding answers. This was about setting the world on fire.
Marcus stood close, his presence a steady heat at my back, watching me like I was something rare. Something important.
I shoved my hair out of my face and opened the laptop. “We can’t find Hart, but someone else can.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Who?”
I met his gaze. “My listeners.”
His brows furrowed.
“I’ve been runningThe Unseenfor years. Millions of downloads. Millions of people who live for this kind of hunt.” I took a deep breath. “If we turn this into a real-time investigation, they’ll track her down before the sun rises.”
Marcus studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. “You want to sic the internet on her.”
“Hard.”
His smirk deepened. “I like it.”
I tried not to let that do things to me, but it did.
The way he watched me—like he wanted to devour me right there, push everything off this table and put me on top of it. His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, dark with possession. Heat coiled low in my stomach, pooling between my thighs, my pulse a traitorous thrum beneath my skin.
Marcus leaned against the edge of the table, armscrossed over his broad chest, but there was nothing casual about it. His jaw was tight, his breathing controlled, like he was barely holding himself back. Like he was remembering exactly how I’d looked spread out beneath him hours ago, how I’d sounded moaning his name.
I shifted, thighs pressing together, a spark of frustration flickering through me. I had work to do. But his presence wrapped around me, distracting, intoxicating, the weight of his gaze stripping me bare.
I bit my lip, fighting the urge to push him further, to test the limits of that control. Instead, I turned away—forcing myself to focus, to ignore the heat simmering between us. For now.
I pulled my mic from my bag, setting it up, checking the levels, and then—just like that—I was live.
My voice was steady, smooth, controlled. A skill I’d perfected over the years.
“This is Claire Dixon, and you’re listening toThe Unseen. But tonight, I’m doing something different. Something I’ve never done before.”
I glanced up at Marcus. I swallowed hard.
“This isn’t a case I pulled from old police files. This isn’t an urban legend or a disappearance that’s gone cold. This is happening right now. And I need your help.”
I took a steadying breath, my fingers tightening around the mic. My voice had to be strong, unwavering. For Diego.
“His name was Diego Gil. He was my friend. And he was found dead in the pool of The Palmetto Rose hotel in Charleston, South Carolina.” I swallowed, the lump in my throat thick, but I pushed through. “The police are calling it an accident. But I know it wasn’t.”
A beat of silence stretched, heavy and charged.
“He wasn’t just my friend,” I continued, my voice softer now, thick with grief I hadn’t had time to process. “He was the producer ofThe Unseen. Every single episode you’ve ever heard of this show? Diego was behind it. The edits, the sound design, the music—he was the one who made sure my voice reached you. That every story we covered was told with care. That the victims weren’t forgotten.”
A deep breath. I could do this.