Page 37 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Lilly stiffened as she watched the bastard who had destroyed her life stroll out of the warehouse, whistling softly as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

To the casual passerby, he might look like someone’s slightly grumpy grandfather—limping slightly, leaning on a cane, wearing an oversized coat and a knitted cap pulled low.

But Lilly knew better.

That limp? She suspected it was real since she’d seen him walking the same way before he’d donned a disguise. That cane? Probably hollow and concealing a weapon. That kindly-old-man facade? A mask worn by a monster.

For two agonizing years, she’d chased shadows, followed whispers and false leads, piecing together fragments of a truth so horrifying it had nearly broken her.

Clyde had been a ghost, impossible to pin down.

But then came the website . A small, ridiculous, innocuous puppy adoption site…

that had cracked the whole case wide open.

Now she had a name. Now she had a face. And now…she had a location.

Her fingers tightened around the chipped windowsill of her cheap rental apartment as she watched him fade into the bustle of morning traffic.

Lilly’s pulse thudded in her ears. Part of her screamed to act now.

To grab her weapon and run him down in the street.

To avenge her husband and end this nightmare once and for all.

But she couldn’t—not yet. Not here.

Commuters were shuffling past, sipping coffee and fiddling with their phones.

There were schoolchildren on bikes. Vendors setting up food carts.

These people had no idea that evil had just walked past them.

They didn’t deserve to have their morning shattered by bloodshed or chaos.

Clyde would fight back if cornered—he always did—and the fallout would hurt too many innocents.

No. Not here.

Lilly took a breath, then grabbed the keys to her rental car. The apartment was as grimy and forgotten as the rest of the block—barely more than a cot, a coffeepot, and a spot to watch the warehouse without being noticed.

Clyde wouldn’t escape again.

She eased out of the building and slid behind the wheel of the dusty hatchback, eyes already scanning the sidewalk where she’d last seen him.

Her phone sat on the passenger seat, recording every note, every time-stamped sighting.

The bastard thought he was safe. That his age and injuries made him invisible.

But Lilly saw him.

And he was injured . That limp? Probably real. His thumb? Still splinted. She’d seen the twitch in his jaw when he tried to open the warehouse door—a flash of pain he couldn’t hide.

Good. That gave her a sliver of an edge. And that was all she needed.

He was slow. She was focused.

He was old. She was furious .

She trailed him carefully, keeping her distance, her foot hovering over the brake. This time, she wouldn’t let him disappear into the shadows. This time, she wouldn’t hesitate.

If an opportunity came up—clean, quiet, no risk to bystanders—she’d take it.

And this time, he wouldn’t walk away.