Larkin read through the financials for the third quarter, compared them to the second and first, and was shocked to find that she was able to make sense of all the figures. Even with so much tumult in her mind and heart, the numbers pushed everything to the side. They were mundane. They were predictable. They provided her a focus and offered a sense of accomplishment. The run-in with her father had been long overdue. Though it left more questions atop the ever-mounting pile, they’d narrowed the chasm between them.

She tapped the mouse and focused on the projections for the fourth quarter. No matter her decision on the future of her business, Duo and Ditto were growing. They would continue to do so.

The trill of her cell phone yanked her from the narrow window of peace she’d carved for herself. Her gaze slid to the bright screen, expecting to see either the detective’s phone number or Lucas demanding she allow him to stay by her side every second of every day until, well, probably ever, if she’d let him.

Her hand leaped for the phone to take the call. Of all the people wanting things from her, Bronson Beauregard’s eager cock was something she could easily fend off.

“Hello?”

“Larkin, have lunch with me.” His tone was breathless and frantic more than demanding. It shoved her off the small space of even footing she’d thought she’d found.

“I would love to, Bronson, but it’s not a good time.” Not at all.

“You have to meet me. This sounds dramatic and stupid, but it’s life and death, Lar. I need your help.”

An image of Larry Vincent appeared front and center of her brain. Ice formed crystal daggers along her spine. They infiltrated her blood stream, forcing a bone-deep chill through her entire body.

No. Better judgment and common sense begged her not to get involved in Bronson’s misdeeds. She had more than enough on her plate.

“Please, Lar. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need you.”

“When? Where?” Larkin heard her voice but didn’t remember okaying the response.

“Now, please.” His voice pitched. “In front of your building. I’ll be there.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Hurry, please.”

Larkin ended the call and tossed her phone onto the desk. She stood and stared at it. What had she just agreed to? Nothing more than to meet her friend in his time of need. He’d always been a little dramatic, so she was sure this was an overreaction and nothing more.

“It’s nothing.” She shoved her phone inside the pocket of her red slacks and slung her purse across her body, in case it was something.

Instead of going out the front entrance, she left through her private exit and hustled through the maze to the service elevators. Just about the time she reached the quiet, dark hallway, she remembered swearing these things off for the rest of her days. They radiated bad vibes and exacerbated her unease.

She pushed on, and after two long minutes, she was on the street in front of her building. Her gaze swung left and right for Bronson’s car or his driver. Plenty of black Town Cars dotted the landscape.

A hand, large and cold, grabbed her upper arm.

“No.” Larkin jerked her elbow high and across her body, breaking the hold. At the same time, she turned with her knee cocked and ready to inflict maximum damage.

“Jesus, Larkin.” Bronson shrank back. “It’s me.”

“Bronson. Shit, don’t grab me.”

“I didn’t expect you to act like I was trying to abduct you.” His gaze slid left and right. “Christ, people are looking.” He scrubbed his palm down his pants and jerked his suit jacket back into place. “Let’s go, please.”

“Where’s your car?”

He took off on foot. His pace was that of a lunchtime workout walker, not a playboy turned businessman. If Vincent was involved, anyone would speed their gait to keep from getting gunned down in the street.

“Don’t need one.” He waved her along.

Larkin put her spiked boots to the test and reached him in time to stop at the street for a split second. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the road, through a pedestrian stop sign.

“I didn’t realize the death part would come in the form of a cab.” Larkin yanked her hand away and ran across the street to miss becoming roadkill. When she reached safety, she placed both hands on her hips, looked toward the sky, and filled her lungs with exhaust and a hit of actual oxygen. The building directly across from her office loomed like a sleek beast.

“Let’s go.” Bronson grabbed her above the elbow and ushered her forward.

She yanked loose from his grip again. “Do not grab me.” Her feet stuck to the concrete, and her gaze bore into his. “Do not. How else do I have to say it for you to understand?”

“Christ.” His hands shot up. “I’m sorry. Please, I just need to talk to you, and I need to hurry. Not again. I promise.”

“If you were in such a hurry to talk to me, why didn’t you just come to my office? You didn’t have to buy me lunch.”

He motioned her forward. “Can we walk and talk?”

“Fine.” She shooed him ahead since she had no clue where they were going.

“I don’t know what kind of security cameras you have in your office. I don’t want anyone eavesdropping on us.” He headed for the front door of the building that towered above them and her building.

If there was a new restaurant in the building, she hadn’t heard of it.

“No one is listening to my conversations.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if they were true. What if Lucas in all his upgrading had placed surveillance cameras with microphones in her office? In her boardroom? In her home?

No. He couldn’t have without her knowing. Right?

They weaved through a maze of people in the ultra-mod lobby, then crammed onto an elevator car that flirted with capacity. Neither said a word as they slowly, irritatingly worked their way up the floors.

“This is me.” Bronson nodded toward the door and stepped out of the way for her to exit.

Her gaze locked on the floor. Eighty-one.

Someone behind her cleared their throat. Another muttered, “Come on.”

She shuffled forward on numb feet, praying he turned right, the opposite direction from her building. He dipped left and hustled down the corridor.

Her stomach cramped.

“Here.” Bronson slipped inside an office.

She followed him into the benign room with a desk, filing cabinets, a computer, and a rolling leather chair. He slipped inside an office she’d seen before on a cold, dark night. It was the same office she’d watched Calder Beckett close the door to and rummage through its cabinets and search on its computer.

Her legs wobbled beneath her. She teetered toward the ground but caught herself on the cabinet Beckett had rifled through.

“Whoa. Are you okay?” Bronson pulled out a chair opposite his and offered his hand, careful not to grab her.

“I …” She reeled. What the fuck was going on?

“I heard about the fire.” His head shook. “I can’t believe your house went up with you inside it.”

Her cheeks cooled. Her stomach dropped. “How’d you hear about it?”

“A mansion in The Hamptons went up in flames. How would I have not heard about it?” He scoffed and stared at her like she was crazy. He had a point.

“I’m dizzy. The doctor said it could hit on and off for the next few days,” she lied.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He knelt in front of her.

“Me too.” She hoped she would be at the end of all this cloak and dagger bullshit. Her gaze lifted to the familiar and unrecognizable surroundings. “Whose office is this?”

“Mine.” He smiled wanly. “I didn’t want to be under my father’s thumb. This was close but my own.”

“For how long?”

“A few weeks.” Bronson bobbed one shoulder. “He was pissed, of course.”

“Of course.” A man like Brice Beauregard liked things under his watchful eye and willful hand. “So what’s the problem, Bronson?”

He grabbed her hand and held it between his. “How do you know your friend?”

Bronson didn’t help her anti-aging regimen. Not to mention how the past two weeks had worked against it as fiercely as it could. Her brow furled so much she added several years to her appearance. “My friend?”

“The guy from the park?”

She was going to vomit all over Bronson Beauregard. It probably wouldn’t be a first for him. His pupils shrank as they stared at her face, willing her to profess the answer.

Again, her protective instincts roared. They bolstered her body temperature and shaky legs and fortified her enough to answer.

“I don’t know him. I fucked him. There’s a difference.” Larkin smiled at him as though hinting to Bronson’s romantic overtures that had yet to present themselves today. She used the opportunity to turn the conversation away from Beckett. “Which is why we couldn’t.”

“But you were in the park with him.” Bronson’s grip tightened, encasing her hands.

“I was hungry. He was too. We worked up an appetite.” She shrugged.

“I’ve seen him around a few times.” His grip broke. He scrubbed both palms down his pants, stood, and then collapsed onto the edge of his desk. “With you and before that once.”

“Twice. You’ve seen him twice. That’s hardly cause for concern.” She pointed at the window. “Do you know how many of the same people we pass on a daily basis? You don’t notice them until you do. Then you see them everywhere.”

“There are other things.” He scrubbed an invisible stain on the knee of his pants. “Little things are moved in my house. In my office. Here! Nothing big but enough to freak me the hell out.”

“Have you called the cops?”

His head shook and hung low. “No evidence.”

“Security system?” she tried.

“Nothing. He’s not on any camera. It’s like he’s a goddamned ghost.”

Yep, that about summed up the man she knew. A ghost who’d reached inside her chest, forced her heart to beat, and then made off with a piece.

“Do you think he works for Larry Vincent?”

“No.”

He answered so quickly she wanted to know how he knew, but if she asked too many questions, she’d tip her hand.

“I need you to contact him. Get him to meet you somewhere.” His eyes were wide. He shifted his head several times in a crazy staccato. “The park. Yes, the park again. I’ll be there instead.” He sneered. “I don’t want you around this creep.”

“I don’t have a way to contact him.” That was honest as honest got. She couldn’t if she wanted to, and she suddenly needed answers more than she’d ever needed them before.

“When will you see him again?”

“I won’t.” Larkin stood and walked to the window. Her gaze found the roof instantly. “I told you it was a fuck and nothing more.” Lies. “I don’t understand why you’re fixated on this guy. Why do you think he’s tormenting you?” She turned away from the roof and the memories and found Bronson on his feet only a couple of feet from her. “Someone’s tormenting me, and I don’t think it’s him.”

“Was his cock really that good?” he spat.

“Yeah.” She nodded with no compunction or sarcasm. “Besides that, there’s nothing for him to gain by targeting me or you.”

“I can’t believe you’re not going to help me.” Bronson’s cheeks flushed. His foot lifted in a flash, connecting to his office chair. The thing rolled to the edge of the plastic pad and slammed into the wall, leaving an ugly scuff as evidence.

“I don’t know anything.” She could rebuild her house using the things she didn’t know.

“You know the way out.”

“So no lunch?”

“I needed to get you here. That was the fastest way I knew how, but it didn’t work.”

“What about Larry Vincent?” She leaned over his desk and planted both hands in front of him. “If you’re involved with him, that could explain why you and I are both being targeted. Think about it. Your welcome home party. I was your plus one.”

“It’s not Larry Vincent. I’m one of ten guys who’s fucked his daughters this month. He has no reason to target me.”

“Both at once?”

“Shut up, Larkin.”

“I’m just trying to figure this out,” she explained.

He slumped into his chair. “Just go. You can’t help.”

That was a knife to the heart. Bronson had once been her good friend. She wanted to help him, but they were both hiding something they weren’t willing to admit.

“Goodbye, Bronson.”