Page 56 of Lethal Torture

When I turn with my bag in hand, he’s still standing in my bedroom doorway, his bulk almost filling it.

I push past him, trying not to inhale.

Breathing him in is as dangerous as being close to him.

In the limo, he pushes a button on the dash, and the barrier between the rear and front seats starts to rise.

“Leave it down.” I blurt out the words before common sense kicks in.

Luke doesn’t react, of course, just puts the glass down again and pulls into the empty street.

“Can I have a look at the security analysis you’ve done?” I ask, as much to regain the upper hand as for any real professional interest.

Luke doesn’t comment, just passes the laptop back to me, already unlocked.

I flick through the changes he’s proposed, the improvements and adjustments, impressed despite myself at how comprehensive they are, given the limited time he’s had to get his head around the sprawling operation.

He hasn’t missed a damn thing.

He’s even drawn up diagrams showing where the new security measures should be installed.

The bastard must be working even harder than I do.

Actually, while I’m on that, why isn’t he crumbling with exhaustion? Given his early-morning break-in, he’s been on the job since long before dawn.

To hell with asking, though. The last thing Luke Macarthur needs is to be told he’s doing a good job. He’s far too fucking sure of himself as it is.

Oh, and you hate that, don’t you, Zinaida?

I look through the surveillance diagrams he’s made of each premises and his corresponding notes. I’d thought Mak’s team had been exhaustive when they were setting it all up. In fact, I’d grown so tired of them crawling up my ass that I’d ordered them out in the end, figuring I could cover any gaps with my own personnel.

But I never did get around to expanding the security teams. Or clearly not enough.

Boots needed on the ground,Luke has written on nearly every diagram. And when it comes to Pigalle Mayfair, he’s typed the words in bold and underlined them.

I don’t like being surrounded by muscle. I like my security tight, discreet, and completely under my control.

But Luke’s incisive analysis makes me uncomfortably aware that my desire for privacy has made it tough for my staff to do their job, let alone protect me effectively. And his planned changes are as unobtrusive as they are astute. Reluctant as I am to admit it, I feel a sneaking relief at being able to relinquish control to someone who clearly knows exactly what he’s doing.

Even if he is insisting on more cameras.

He’s marked the proposed locations of them with red crosses and numbered the existing cameras so I can look up where they are.

There’s a number one next to my private suite in Pigalle Mayfair, underscored in red.More needed,he’s written.

More?

I frown. I thought I’d disabled all the cameras in that suite. I click on the number one to access the feed.

Oh, I remember now.

I can see why Luke would want more angles covered. The camera is useless as surveillance, showing only a far corner of the room away from the entrance. It used to give a bird’s-eye view of the bedroom, including the entrance, but on the one night I actually slept there, the tiny red light on the camera drove me nuts. In the end I’d propped a chair on the bed and thrust the camera to one side to get the light out of my eye. I meant to tell Anatoly to fix it. I must have forgotten.

Wait.

My finger pauses on the screen, then, shaking slightly, I enlarge the view.

Oh, fuck.