Page 23

“How long?” I ask him, the blood in my veins turning icy.

“Long enough. Don’t waver – how did you get past the guards?”

“At the changing of the guards. I always left just as the new guard shift came on, making them think I’d been with Master Murray’s son that evening. And I always came back with the new shift of guards, leading that roster to believe I was just arriving to spend the morning with him.”

“Ahhh,” he laughs. “Only a true Murray could think of something so genius.” He is almost applauding me. “You’re definitely your father’s daughter. So Tate knows? About your midnight shenanigans?”

I shake my head in response, remembering the morning I’d returned after that disastrous run-in at the club. Tate had been waiting for me, ready to deliver the news about my father, and had gone ballistic when he realised I wasn’t home. He had ripped into me so viciously, his eyeballs had almost popped, berating me endlessly for my recklessness. I’d never seen him as angry as he’d been that morning.

“He only found out the night I met you, when we ran into that problem. That was the night my father died.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his tone genuine. “That was definitely not your night.”

“I could blame it on you.” I flash him an irritated glare. “The moment you walked into my life, everything went to hell.”

“I’m not the one who pissed off a motorcycle gang,” he reminds me. “You did that all on your own.”

“I didnothingbut protect myself from that chauvinistic pig who tried to force himself onto me. How does that justify a bounty on my head?”

“He obviously doesn’t know who you are,” he murmurs, looking across the room in distraction. As though something has occurred to him all of a sudden.

“He wouldn’t. Would someone dare put a bounty out on someone with my resources?”

He chooses to ignore my question and jumps into his own, but something is obviously bothering him. Something has triggered a thought that is now dancing around in his head, his brows furrowed.

“Who’s idea was it to have the car polished and sent back to me? You know, the car you stole…?”

“Tate. Tate had it cleaned and returned.”

“You did a pretty good job of remembering where that cabin was.” Dante looks at me as though wondering whether or not I am lying. The cabin was in an out of the way location, not one that someone would stumble upon easily, but my co-ordination is second to none.

“What can I say, I have a photographic memory.” I bring my hands together and cross my fingers, settling into the conversation.

“And yet, you didn’t drive the car back yourself…”

I don’t know how he knows this, and I don’t know what he’s getting at with this line of questioning, but I’ve made up my mind to trust that this is the gamble I will have to take in order to stay alive. And I have every intention of not dying any time soon.

“How much do you want?” I ask him, my face once again yielding no emotion. I will give him whatever he wants to get out of this dump.

“For use of my car?” He raises his eyebrows playfully, knowing what I mean but pretending to play dumb. Humor doesn’t suit him. For all his heroic efforts to rescue me the other night, I know that underneath that facade, there lurks darkness and danger. There lurks a killer. I won’t delude myself into thinking otherwise.

“How much will they have to pay to get me out of here? That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“They?”

“Tate,” I clarify, realizing for the first time that it was just Tate. My father had commanded an army when he was alive. And he had done it well. Tate is on his own now, and he definitely isn’t a leader. If I don’t get out of here soon, the empire my father had spent his life building would be left in tatters if Tate is left at the helm. Of that I am sure.

Dante squints and looks at me out of the corner of two fine slits. He stands from his chair and does a walk in a semi circle around the room, seemingly lost in thought before he turns back to me. I watch on in silence, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

“How much do you think he’d pay for you?”

He finally stops pacing and stands in the middle of the room. He turns to face me, his hands on his hips. For the first time since I’d met him, I take a long, deliberate look at him. There is nothing like staring at a man with only silence as your friend. With his hands resting on his hips, his chest threatens to burst out of his shirt, the muscles and sinew threading his arms telling me he is fit beyond the normal requirement. This man obviously dedicates every waking non-work hour to working on his body. His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, his thighs those of footballers. It is torture just trying to pull my eyes away from him, and I can tell by the look on his face when my gaze lifts to his that he is not altogether immune to my attention. I would do anything in this moment to wipe the smirk off his face if I were able to.

“It’s a bit silly when you think about it,” I start. “You holding me here, expecting a ransom, when the only person that can sign that check is me.”

“Cash only, honey,” he laughs.

“No one has access to that money but me,” I inform him. “Now that my father is gone, the trust transfers to me. He did it before he passed. Didn’t even wait for the dirt to dry on his coffin.”