Page 37

Logan

The glass tower pierced the gray October clouds, all sharp angles and reflected light that made my eyes water.

I stood on the sidewalk while Chicago’s morning rush flowed around me like I was a rock in a river.

My reflection in the lobby doors showed a stranger—clean-shaven, fresh haircut, clothes without bloodstains.

I looked like I belonged here. The lie of it sat heavy in my chest.

A businessman brushed past, coffee in one hand, phone pressed to his ear.

The contact sent my hand twitching toward where my weapon should be before I caught myself.

No holster. Not for this. Just me in civilian clothes, pretending I knew how to exist in a world of doormen and elevators instead of extraction points and hostile territory.

But none of that mattered. Lauren needed protection, and I’d crawl over broken glass to give it to her.

The doorman—pressed uniform, practiced smile—opened the door before I could reach for it. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”

“Logan Kane. I have an appointment with the Valentinos.”

His eyes flicked to a list on his podium. “Of course, Mr. Kane. Penthouse level. The elevator on your right will take you directly up.”

The elevator was all polished brass and mirrors, highlighting my discomfort from every angle. As it climbed, my chest tightened. Too small. Too many reflective surfaces showing too much reality. Too many floors between me and solid ground.

By the time the doors opened on the penthouse level, sweat prickled along my spine despite the perfect climate control. I forced my breathing to even out.

Eight weeks of running, and where had it gotten me?

Right back here, exactly where I should have been all along.

The truth settled in my chest like lead—everything I’d done since Corazón had just been a long, winding road back to Lauren.

Jace’s intervention yesterday had only accelerated the inevitable.

I would have ended up here eventually, begging for forgiveness I didn’t deserve.

The hallway stretched ahead, pale carpet thick enough to muffle footsteps. Only two doors at this level. The Valentinos occupied the entire north side of the building, apparently.

I pressed the doorbell and waited.

The door opened to reveal Catherine Valentino, and I understood immediately where Lauren got her height and bone structure. The woman before me carried herself with the kind of poise that came from old money and absolute certainty of her place in the world.

“Mr. Kane.” Not a question. “Please, come in.”

She led me deeper into the penthouse, past rooms that looked like museum displays.

Catherine paused at each doorway, gesturing with a practiced hand, while Richard’s voice carried from somewhere ahead—he was clearly wrapping up a phone call, his tone shifting from commanding to conciliatory as he finished.

“Richard’s in his study. This way.”

Richard Valentino rose from behind a massive desk as we entered.

Same silver hair I remembered from the video call months ago, same aura of controlled power.

But something had shifted—lines around his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, a tightness in his shoulders that should’ve been gone since his daughter was home safely.

“Mr. Kane.” His handshake was firm, assessing. “Thank you for coming. Please, sit.”

I took the offered chair, leather soft as butter beneath me. Catherine settled onto a small sofa, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Richard returned to his desk chair, adjusting a paperweight before looking up—they’d done this dance before.

“We’re grateful for what you and your team did,” Richard started. “Getting Lauren out of that place safely.”

That place. Like Corazón was something dirty to be scraped off their daughter’s shoe.

“She hasn’t talked much about it,” Catherine added, touching her pearl necklace. “But we know it must have been traumatic. That man—Silva?—the news reports were horrible.”

“She hasn’t told you what happened?”

Catherine’s fingers moved to the next pearl. Richard shuffled papers that didn’t need shuffling.

“Bits and pieces,” Richard said. “She’s been…reluctant to discuss it. You know how she is. Always trying to protect us from the harsh realities of her choices.”

Her choices. The disapproval threaded through his words like wire through concrete.

“We’re just thankful she’s home,” Catherine continued. “Where she belongs. Safe.”

Safe . I thought about the mugging, the fear that must have flooded through her in that parking garage. So much for safe.

“She’s struggling to adjust,” Richard said, straightening an already straight pen on his desk. “The hospital position, living here in the city again. But she’ll settle. She always does.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t join another medical mission. Compass must have openings.”

Catherine’s laugh was three notes of crystal breaking. “Thank goodness she seems to be outgrowing that stage. All those dangerous places, primitive conditions. It was never suitable for someone of her?—”

“Intelligence? Compassion? Skill?”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Background is probably more the word Catherine was thinking. But I can see you got to know our daughter during the extraction.”

Got to know her. If only they knew how well. How she’d felt beneath me during that hurricane. How she’d trusted me with her life, her body, her heart. How I’d thrown it all away.

“Tell me about the mugging.”

Richard opened his desk drawer, retrieving a tablet with the same care he probably used for million-dollar contracts. “Yesterday, 6:47 p.m. Hospital parking garage, level three. I had security pull the footage immediately.”

He swiped twice, then turned the screen toward me.

The time stamp glowed in the corner as grainy footage played.

Lauren walking to her car, shoulders dropped with exhaustion, bag draped over her shoulder.

Two men materializing from between vehicles like smoke.

One grabbing her bag, yanking hard. The other reaching for her, hands grasping.

Her scream, even without audio, sent ice through my veins.

The struggle was brief—maybe thirty seconds before security arrived. But thirty seconds was an eternity when someone had their hands on you. Thirty seconds was enough for everything to change in ways you never recovered from.

“Guards responded quickly,” Richard said. “She was lucky.”

Lucky . I watched Lauren crumple to the ground after the attackers fled, knees hitting concrete, arms wrapping around her head. That wasn’t luck. That was trauma response. That was someone who’d already been hunted once, attacked again when she’d just started to believe in safety.

“The police think it was a standard mugging. They wanted her purse, maybe jewelry if she’d been wearing any.” Richard closed the tablet, placing it precisely where it had been. “But after what happened in Corazón, we can’t be too careful.”

“What precautions have you taken?”

“New parking spot directly next to the guard station,” Richard ticked off on manicured fingers. “Direct line of sight, minimal walk. Building security has her photo, orders to escort her if she’s ever alone.”

“Her apartment?”

“She’s in our same building here, twelve floors down. She wouldn’t stay here with us—” Catherine’s mouth pulled tight at the corners. “But at least she agreed to that much. You’ll evaluate it, recommend improvements?”

“That’s the plan.”

“She won’t like it,” Catherine warned, touching her pearls again. “The security, someone watching her. She’s always been so independent.”

Independent was one word for it. Stubborn, determined, brilliant, compassionate—I could think of a dozen others that fit better.

The front door opened, the sound carrying clearly through the penthouse’s acoustic perfection. Quick footsteps on marble, the particular rhythm of heels worn by someone who’d rather be in practical shoes.

“Lauren’s here,” Catherine murmured, rising. “I asked her to come by.”

She appeared in the doorway seconds later, and every thought in my head evaporated.

Two months had changed her. The Lauren I’d known moved with unconscious confidence, comfortable in her own skin. This woman looked like she was wearing someone else’s life.

Designer clothes. Hair styled in smooth waves instead of her practical ponytail. Makeup subtle but perfect, hiding the natural glow I’d loved.

But it was her eyes that gutted me. Still that brilliant green, but filmed now with exhaustion and something else. Fear. Wariness. The constant vigilance of someone who’d learned that safety was an illusion.

She saw me and froze. Just for a second—anyone else would have missed it. But I cataloged the way her pupils dilated, the slight catch in her breath, the white-knuckled grip on her purse strap.

Then her gaze slid past me to her parents, and ice formed over every feature. “What have you done?”

“Lauren, sweetheart.” Catherine glided toward her daughter, arms extending. “We hired protection. After yesterday?—”

“You hired him ?” Her voice stayed level, but I heard the steel underneath. The same tone she’d used when Mateo Silva had tried to intimidate her.

“Citadel Solutions is the best,” Richard said. “You know that. They got you out of Corazón safely.”

“They. The team.” Her eyes found the window behind me, focusing on skyline instead of faces. “Not him, specifically.”

“Mr. Kane volunteered for the assignment,” Richard continued, missing every warning sign his daughter was broadcasting. “Given his familiarity with your situation?—”

“My situation.” She laughed, brittle as winter ice. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Lauren.” Catherine’s reaching hand stopped inches from her daughter’s arm as Lauren shifted backward. “After what happened yesterday?—”

“It was a mugging. Random. Could have happened to anyone.”

“You screamed for help. You completely collapsed.” Richard’s voice gentled. “The security footage?—”

“I’m fine.”