I strode away from the helicopter and toward the library wing of the house. My heartburn had intensified each moment I was away from her. Link’s phone call to the home office of “Dr. Williams” had put me on edge. Timothy had posed as a research assistant and reassured the dunce that Camille was fine, just hard at work along with Dr. Williams. Apparently, my texts had raised suspicion, so I needed to up my game to throw them off.

The helicopter took off, heading to the parking pad and hangar on the far side of the property. The house glowed bright in the night, though my gaze focused on the library where she’d just been curled up with a book.

Now, with her close, I wanted to run until I had her in my arms. Not that she’d let me touch her without a deal. Maybe Dad would be able to help me out with that area of finesse. I’d seen his car rolling up the long driveway as the helicopter was landing.

Timothy greeted me at the rear door. “She’s in the library with your father. I tried to delay him—”

“Fuck.” I barreled past him and down the hall to the library. The black door was open, and Camille’s voice carried.

“—can’t just expect me to stay here forever!”

“I know.” My dad’s calming voice tried to overcome her loud notes. “It’s not forever. Just give me an opportunity to speak with him.”

I walked into the library. Camille stood with her back to the fire, her arms crossed over her chest. The light heather of her sweater gave her a warm glow, and the jeans she’d chosen hugged the lines of her legs. The heartburn eased, the nearness of her like a balm even if she was scowling at me with all her might.

“My ears were practically burning.” I smirked at her.

Her glower deepened, and her hands curled into fists.

“Son, don’t make it worse.” Dad sank into his favorite chair—the same one Camille favored. “What a mess.”

“It’s not a mess.” I unbuttoned my jacket and slid it off. Camille’s eyes followed my movement. When her gaze lingered on my chest, I drank in the reassurance her attraction gave me. She could fight it all she wanted, but the desire in her gaze was far more truthful than the denials from her lips.

“You’ve kidnapped this poor girl.” Dad rubbed his forehead, his voice quivering with age. “I can’t fix this, son. Everything I’ve taught you, you threw it away. This isn’t going to end well.”

“Everything is going according to plan.” I sat across from him. “Camille belongs here with me. You’ll see. So will she.”

“Standing right here, psycho.” She pinned her thumbnail between her teeth.

I hated the distress on my father’s face, but it couldn’t be helped.

He shook his head, then turned to Camille. “Do you have any family, dear?”

“You mean will anyone miss me?” The bitter tone in her voice seemed to crumple my father even more.

“I’m certain plenty of people will miss you.” He offered her his best attempt at a smile. “No doubt of that. And I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, then tell your son to let me go!”

He looked at me, the worry leaking from him like air from a punctured lung. “You have to let her go, Sebastian.”

“I know it’s hard to understand for both of you, but this is right. I’m not letting her go.”

“You’re insane! You can’t just steal a person.” Camille turned her back to me and cradled her head. “I’m supposed to be in the Amazon,” she mumbled into her hands.

“Son.” My father’s gentle tone—the one he used when he was trying his best to reach the me that he hoped existed inside the psychopath (spoiler alert: there was only the psychopath)—assailed me. “When you told me this morning, I half-hoped you were joking. But I knew you weren’t. I knew it.” He shook his head. “I did my best to raise you, to show you how to be a good man despite everything. This isn’t the way. And now, you’ve bought yourself a ticket to prison. After all I’ve done to keep you out of institutions.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Son, please, just let her go.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. But you will.” I pointed at Camille. “She makes me feel.” I pointed at Dad. “Your tears, they should make me sad, right? They don’t. I see you upset and I think ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy’ but I don’t feel your sadness. But her”—I leaned forward, as if proximity might make my dad understand—“when she cries, when she laughs; I feel it in here.” I tapped my chest over my heart. “I’ve never had that, never experienced anything like it. I can’t let that go. Don’t you see?”

Camille turned back to me, her eyes sad, though I suspected her pity was more for me than herself.

Dad glanced at her, then back to me. Something new had dawned on his face. It seemed almost…hopeful? “Son, step out of the room for a moment, would you? I’d like to talk to Camille alone.”

I didn’t want to leave her, but I trusted my father. “All right.” Standing, I strode to the door, despite the itch to return to her.

Dad waved Camille to the seat on the couch I’d just vacated and followed me to the door. “Son, turn off the camera. Audio, too.” He shut the black door in my face, and I was completely in the dark.

They emerged after what seemed like forever, but was technically only one hour and forty-three minutes.

I pushed off the wall where I’d been waiting. When Dad hugged Camille, I wanted to separate them. Mine. It was the first time in my life I’d ever thought of harming my father. I stayed put and paid close attention to their cues.

Her eyes were watery, her nose slightly rosy. She’d been crying. My father sniffed. They’d been crying together. When Camille finally looked at me, there was some sort of new understanding in her eyes along with her usual wariness.

“What did I miss?”

Dad headed toward the dining room. “What’s Rita cooking up for dinner?”

Camille followed.

“You aren’t going to tell me what you two discussed?” I fell into step with her.

“No.”

Fuck. I supposed the good news was that she didn’t seem any more inclined to run than she did before.

“Have you decided to stop trying to leave?”

She shook her head. “It would take a lot more than a discussion with your dad for me to agree to give up my freedom.”

“But you two hugged?” It sounded dumb. I knew it, but I wanted any morsel of what they’d discussed. “So, that’s a good thing?”

She paused before walking into the dining room.

Her light blue eyes pierced me, then glanced at my dad. “Let’s just say I’m not your only victim.”