Ten minutes later, the Scout slows and my senses perk up again. They’ve been lulled by the sound of the tires on the highway and the surprisingly companionable silence.

We make a few more turns before he brakes, and I hear what sounds like a garage door. He accelerates again and the sound repeats, and I assume we’re inside when he puts the SUV in park and turns it off.

“Is Alfred here?” I ask as I tug the hat off my sweaty head without waiting to ask permission. I’m not sure why I’m stuck on the Batman jokes. Batman wasn’t a criminal hit man with a voyeuristic streak like the man sitting next to me. Although . . . maybe Bruce Wayne wasn’t all that far off from Kane.

Kane. That name suits him much better than Saxon, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s another alias or the name he was born with, and I need to know.

“No Alfred.”

“Bummer.” I turn to check out my surroundings through the tinted windows, but it’s hard to see much. The little I can see sets my envy soaring, however. “You have got to be kidding me.”

It’s like I died and went to vintage four-wheel-drive heaven. My jaw slack, I scramble out of the Scout—and I was right about the armored door. It’s heavy as hell, but it doesn’t slow me down. I’m way too excited.

This is a full-blown warehouse, and it’s packed with show-quality, completely restored Scouts, Broncos, Land Cruisers, Hummers, Jeeps, and more.

“Is this even real? Did you actually knock me unconscious and I’m dreaming about paradise?”

The floor is painted a slick black with red racing stripes down the center. Back in one corner are two hydraulic lifts, enough toolboxes and shiny tools to give a mechanic a woody, and what looks like an acre of shelves holding parts.

“You like it?”

I whip around to face him. “Are you insane? This is . . . this has to be one of the largest private collections of antique four-wheel drives in the country.”

One corner of his mouth climbs. “In the world, actually.”

“I think I’m in love.”

The other corner rises. “So that’s what it takes.”

“With the cars,” I say, clarifying.

He breaks our stare and glances out over his collection in a manner that I would expect a king to use to survey his adored subjects.

“How many are there?”

“Here? A hundred fourteen. But I have over four hundred, total.”

I practically choke on the number. “How?”

“Wet work pays.”

One would think my awe would be dampened at the mention of the blood money he used to buy and rebuild all these beautiful vehicles. One would also be wildly wrong.

“Is this your front? How you launder money?”

He shrugs as he walks away. “Something like that. Come on.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from the cars, and I reach out to caress the back of one side mirror. The chrome is impeccable. Like it just rolled off the assembly line.

“Temperance.” My name echoes through the massive warehouse, and he shuts the tailgate of the Scout loud enough to catch my attention. He has my carry-on in one hand and my duffel over his shoulder.

Kane has them, I should say. He has a name.

My earlier question comes back to the forefront. “Is Kane really your name, or another alias?”

I’m asking a million and one questions for several reasons. One, because information is power. And two, because it’s keeping my mind off freaking out about my brother. If Mount hadn’t ordered me to do what Kane says, I would be demanding we go find Rafe right now. I’m saving that up for another five minutes, and then I’ll be on him.

“Does it matter?”

He lowers my carry-on to sit on its wheels and opens a gate that blocks the freight elevator. It’s the kind you see in movies, but I have never seen one in real life.

I step inside and wait while he closes the gate before hitting the button for the third floor. “You know my real name. It seems only fair.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Not because I’ve fucked you?”

“Don’t remind me.”

I truly mean that because if he says more, I’m going to be thinking about how badly I want him to do it again. Which can’t happen. Not only because he’s a hit man, but because I need to stay focused on Rafe.

But the incredible smell rolling off him now that we’re in this enclosed space reminds me that not everything about him is terrible.

The elevator stops, and he pauses before going through the motions to let us out. “Yes. It’s my real name.”

There’s something unspoken in that admission. Like I need to guard his real name with my life because it could really fuck up his world if I disclosed it.

I should be running to the cops with that information. To Valentina’s husband, at the very least. Or even to Ariel. But I don’t want to, and not only because my boss’s husband would probably be the one to put a hit on me if I got them involved with this situation. Working for Keira now has something in common with growing up in the bayou—we handle things ourselves. No outsiders.

The thought flies out of my head as I take the first step out of the elevator.

Oh. My. God.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

My sculpture is sitting as a showpiece in the entryway to Kane’s massive loft living space.

My sculpture. In his home.

I tear my gaze off the metal long enough to look at Kane’s face. His attention is still on my work, like he’s marveling over it. That hits me in places I don’t want to admit.

“I had to buy it. I couldn’t not.”

“Did you know—” I say, but I lose my nerve.

“What?”

I rephrase. “Did you know it wasn’t Gregor Standish’s work?”

“I didn’t care who the artist was. I just had to have it.”

Pride makes me lift my chin higher and dare to tell him the truth. “It’s mine.”

He turns to stare at me, his gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I made it. It’s my art.”

He looks from me to the sculpture and back again, like he’s seeing me in a new way. A way I like more than is healthy or smart.

“How the hell did I not know that?”

Casually, I shrug a shoulder. “Not many people do. It was a mistake. It wasn’t supposed to be in the auction.”

“I’m not giving it back,” Kane says, his eyes narrowing. “It’s mine.”

Something in his possessive statement starts a fire low in my belly. I swallow, trying to ignore it. “I wouldn’t ask you to. The donation went to a good cause.”

His expression shutters again before he grunts.

We stand in silence for a few moments, both studying my artwork. I recognize the flaws in it. The welds where my technique could have been better. The piece of metal that wasn’t cut cleanly. The edge that sliced open my hand when I moved it from the scrap yard.

“I can do better. I’m going to.” I don’t know what possesses me to make the declaration, but Kane turns to look at me again.

“Explain.”

“A gallery in the Quarter commissioned several pieces. I have to work on them this week. My skills will get sharper. I’ll get better. Someone’s actually going to pay for those pieces.”

“I paid for this one.”

“But it wasn’t intended for sale. It was just . . . me screwing around. I could’ve welded this part better.” I point out the piece that’s bothering me.

“The imperfections make it unique. Don’t ever apologize for those.”

I soak up his words as he lowers my duffel onto a console table by the elevator.

“Come on. I’ll give you a tour, if you’d like to see the place.”

I latch onto the distraction before I do something stupid, like jump him. “Turn down a chance to see the bat cave? Never.”

He grunts again as he leads me through the massive cavernous space. It’s wide open, with huge windows on two sides tinted black to prevent anyone from seeing in from the outside.

“What was this place?”

“Storage.”

“I know we’re still in New Orleans. So if you’re trying to ensure I never know where your hideout is, it’s probably not going to work.”

“I can try.”

“You forget, I have GPS on my phone.” I feel smug as I point out the flaw in his plan.

One side of his mouth quirks up. “Won’t work within a quarter-mile radius of the building, but good try, princess.”

I shrug like it’s no big deal and survey the large kitchen that seems to have a square mile of granite countertops. The fancy appliances may as well have price tags on them, because they scream expensive.

“You’re loaded, aren’t you?” It’s a stupid question, especially because of the comment he made downstairs about the cars.

“I do okay.” He gestures to the kitchen. “There’s food in the fridge and cupboards. Help yourself. If you like to cook, feel free. If you want something I don’t have, ask.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before continuing toward the living area. “Living room. TV has satellite and everything else you could imagine.” I follow him as he stops in front of a wide-open staircase. “Bedrooms and bathrooms are on the top level.”

I soak in everything I can see. The decor is clearly of the industrial persuasion, which works for the space. The black leather couches look comfortable, like I could curl up and take a nap right now. That is, if there were any pillows or a blanket. The place is devoid of female touches and there’s not a single picture of a person, but he does have framed photographs of landmarks around the world hanging on the wall, along with canvases and masks and weapons. I can’t help but wonder if he took the pictures himself.

Then there are the shelves holding a wide array of items I can’t even begin to list without a closer look. Travel souvenirs?

Kane crosses to a large metal-and-wood cabinet. “Drink?” he asks as he splashes what looks like whiskey or Scotch into a tumbler, no ice.

Given the day I’ve had, I’m not saying no, even though hard liquor isn’t my thing. “Make mine a double.” It’s something I’ve always wanted to have the chance to say.

When he carries two glasses over to the table in front of the sofa, he jerks his chin as if to summon me. He’s got the booze, so I go. I take one tumbler from him, and before I can raise it to my lips, he clinks the rim.

“I know this isn’t ideal, but happy birthday, Temperance.”

The birthday wish is a reminder of everything wrong in my world, also known in general as every damn thing. I look over at the sculpture in his entryway and amend my thought. Almost everything.

“Thanks.” My voice still carries a rough edge.

“Tell me what Rafe told you before he left.”

I wrap both hands around the glass before sinking onto the luxurious leather cushion of the sofa. His question brings me back to what matters most—my brother.

“That he had a big job. A dangerous one.”

“He didn’t give specifics?”

“Would you tell your sister?” I ask after taking a sip. Warmth rolls over my tongue.

“If I had a sister, I’d make sure nothing ever touched her.”

No sister, then.

“To do that, Rafe would have to cut me off completely, and that’s not something I’d ever forgive him for doing.” A wave of emotion washes over me, and sudden tears burn behind my eyes. “Not that I’ll ever forgive that bastard for taking such stupid chances with his life.”

Kane reaches out and covers my knee with his wide palm. “He’s a grown man. Capable. He knows what the hell he’s doing.” He squeezes, but I notice he makes no promises about getting Rafe back safely.

“Then why would he screw someone over? He has to know that couldn’t end well.”

Kane’s lips flatten out. “Your brother doesn’t exactly ask a lot of questions before he takes a job. Especially if the price is right.”

I take another gulp of liquor, and the heat burns a path to my belly. Dropping my head back on the cushion behind me, I close my eyes. “Stupid or greedy. Those are the two reasons someone screws up, right?”

Kane nods.

“So, which is it?”

“Can’t tell you. Because there might be another alternative.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe he found that line he wouldn’t cross.”

I snort. “Right. The man who’ll smuggle anything if the price is right suddenly has morals.”

He looks at me strangely. “You think your brother will smuggle anything?”

“I assume so.”

Kane shakes his head. “First off, from what I know, Rafe doesn’t take every job that comes his way. He can pick and choose, just like me. He might work a lot, but he’s choosy all the same.”

I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. “So, what’s the next step? Kill the people who are trying to kill him? Find him before they do?”

Kane tosses back the rest of his liquor. “We dig. Then we react.”

The generic reply doesn’t exactly fill me with comfort.

“How long does Rafe have to realistically stay safe? You said you have an exclusive contract for thirty days. Then what?”