Page 65 of The Final Contract

I pat his solid chest twice, my fingertips tingling even through his shirt. His mouth curves, slow and dangerous, but it’s a smirk all the same as he looks down at his private stash of cookies.

I slip past him, heading down the hall to meet with Eve in my bedroom, and from behind me I hear the low ripple of snickers and a very distinct, very shushed “ooooh.”

Killian’s quiet warning follows, dark and amused. “You can still get stabbed.”

Finn doesn’t miss a beat. “Wish I got my own pan of cookies made special just for me.”

“I’m sure Nora can help you with that.”

Inside my room with Eve, I can’t stop smiling while we hatch a plan to try and catch a stalker.

We’re probably not going to get lucky twice in a row, but we’ll try.

The girls planned another suitor date, keeping things as normal as possible. No sudden changes, no tipoffs to make the bastard stalker think we’re closing in.

Still, I’ll admit it—there’s a sting knowing she’s going out again. Another man, another pointless dinner. I tell myself it’s for the job, for the purpose of luring the stalker out into the open. That sooner or later she’ll change her mind about this final-contract business.

Because despite what I told her in that doorway—despite what she thinks—I’ve got no intention of letting this remain casual. It’s not just sex. Not for me.

It’s a claiming.

Taking what’s belonged to me for a long damn time now.

A year at least. Fuck—longer, if I’m honest. Since the first day I laid eyes on her when I joined the Ledger. She was justleaving the hospital then—done with long nights and the steady drip of blood and death. She and her twin had been nurses for a few years, but the Ledger won out in the end. The money, the security…was too good. And maybe she already knew she wasn’t built to watch people die anymore.

Now she sits across from men who’ll never deserve her, while I stand at her shoulder pretending I’m not one breath away from tearing their throats out.

Tonight’s date is at the movies—Jaxon’s idea because of the cameras that monitor the audience. Creepy as hell when you think about it—rows of faces staring blankly into the dark. But creepy works for us.

Tonight goes one of two ways.

The stalker shows with his scrambler again, and Jaxon traces the signal. We find him. End of story.

Or he leaves the scrambler at home again, and the cameras catch him. Jaxon’s got his facial-recognition system primed, ready to scan every seat in that theater.

Either way, we’ll get him tonight.

Finn rides up front with Felix—old man’s been driving for the Ledger longer than I’ve been alive, or close enough. Reliable as stone.

I’m in the back with Sera. She’s wound tight, nervous in the way she won’t quite settle against the seat.

She holds a breath, then releases it, like she’s letting go of a thought with it. She seems to change her mind, because she blurts, “I’d like to go to my niece’s birthday party?—”

I nod, already knowing. “I’m workin’ it out.”

She nods at that, relieved, and looks at her lap.

“I’ll make sure you get there, angel.”

She smiles—more genuine now—but it’s laced with anxiety about tonight, and I remember: she hasn’t looked at the rendering of the stalker yet.

“You want to see that picture Jaxon sent over?” I ask, voice low. “Might help.”

She hesitates, then nods. I hand her my phone, the composite already pulled up.

She studies it. Long. Silent. Her eyes narrow just a fraction, like she’s digging through old memories, trying to see if this face ever brushed against hers. After a minute she exhales and shakes her head, giving the phone back.

“Maybe it’ll jog somethin’ later,” I tell her.