I knew my tone was sharp but I couldn’t stop the edges around my plummeting mood.

It wasn’t Bree’s fault that she was turning my world upside down.

But I hated the feelings kicking up dust in my soul.

I never forgot to use a condom.

Never.

There wasn’t a woman alive who could persuade me to go in raw.

Until Bree.

Slipping latex between myself and Bree had been the last thing on my mind.

Being inside her was all that seemed to matter.

Basic, primal instinct had kicked in.

Fuck, I never subscribed to the mindset that men were hard-wired to spread their seed but I couldn’t seem to stop wanting to put mine inside of her.

And only her.

That scared the shit out of me for obvious reasons.

Somehow Bree had gotten into my blood and I had no idea how to get her out.

When in doubt, go back to basics.

Bree joined me in the living room, choosing to sit opposite me with her breakfast. Grapes, yogurt and granola. She appeared ridiculously happy with the random shit I’d thrown in the cart.

I smothered the flicker of pride that flared and went straight to the business staring at us.

“We need to talk about the situation.”

She sighed, more interested in the yogurt than my statement, casting an annoyed look my way. “Can we stop talking about it, please? I’m trying to think good thoughts about not being pregnant by your super sperm.”

Another flicker of misplaced pride caused me to frown. “I’m talking about the hit on your head.”

“Oh. That. I already told you I have no idea who hates me that much.”

“I believe you,” I admitted, surprising her. “I need to know about your family. We have to find somewhere to start looking because we’re both screwed if we don’t figure out who the hell wants you dead.”

“Why you?” she asked, licking her spoon clean. “Can’t you just say you changed your mind?”

“Nope.”

Her worried expression made me want to hold her tight and tell her it was going to be all right but I stayed put.

Hell, I had no idea if it was going to be all right. Everything might go to shit and we both end up dead.

But I’d do whatever I could to prevent that from happening.

“What do you want to know?” she said.

“Start with your parents.”

“I told you, my dad died before I was born and my mom was an artist.”

“Humor me.”

“Born and raised in New York, lived in the same Brownstone my entire life and went to St. Agnes Catholic school, graduated in the top ten percent of my class.”

Seemed pretty average on the surface.

“Who were your parents?”

“My mom was Lily Grace and my dad’s name was Richard.”

“Richard what?”

“Grace, I assume. I never asked. Like I said, he was pretty much just a sperm donor.”

“You were never curious?”

She gave me a blank stare. “About what?”

“About why your mom never talked about your dad.”

Bree plucked at her jeans. “My mom and I had a strained relationship. I mean, she was different. Not like most moms, you know? She wasn’t a PTA mom or room mom or anything like that. She was...flighty.”

“Flighty how?”

Bree cast an uncomfortable look my way. “What is this? An interrogation? All you’re missing is a hot bulb to shove in my face. I don’t see how my relationship with my mother is relevant.”

Tender spot but I couldn’t go easy on her. We needed answers.

“I need to know anything you can remember.”

She sighed unhappily. “My mom was disinterested in being a mother. She was happier being free from the responsibilities of caring for me. I think she loved me, in her own way, but she forgot about everyday things like cooking and making sure I had shoes. When I was old enough, I took over the finances and she was happy to let me.”

“What did she do for a living?” I asked, confused as to how someone like that could afford to live in New York with a child in private school.

“I assume she sold her paintings.”

“Did she have a broker?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How did you pay the bills?”

“With cash.”

Red flag. “Cash? You don’t think that seems odd?”

“I guess so, now that I think about it but it was normal for us. My mom always paid cash for everything.”

The picture was starting to gel. “In my experience, people who pay with cash are trying to hide. I think we need to look deeper into your parent’s history.”

Bree pursed her lips, uncomfortable but on board. “Maybe there’s answers back at my mom’s place.”

“You still own the house?”

She nodded.

“Why would you choose to live in that tiny apartment when you have an entire brownstone in your name?”

“That house never felt like home. It was my mom’s home and I was always in the way. When my mom died, the house was put into a trust and I received a small stipend from the rent each month. I just never got around to selling it.”

I chewed on that information. The house was in a decent neighborhood, but not exactly prime for commercial real estate so I couldn’t see someone putting up money to kill Bree for the house.

Still, I wanted to check out the property just the same.

“How quickly can you be ready to leave?”

“I just need to shower.”

“Good. I want to leave within the hour.”

Bree nodded glumly and headed for the bathroom.

I was tempted to join her but I needed to keep my head on track.

And there was no way we’d be ready to leave in an hour if I was up against Bree’s wet naked body.

Just the thought made me harden like a stone.

I gritted my teeth, ignoring the ill-timed erection.

I grabbed my personal phone and logged into the government database. Being in my field had certain perks.

I punched in Lily and Richard Grace.

Nothing.

No birth certificates.

No death certificates.

Not even a traffic ticket.

Someone hadn’t wanted to be found.

But why?

I guess the first place to start would be finding out who Lily and Richard Grace really were.

And by proxy, finding out if Bree was even their daughter.