“Miss Ashford.”

Douglas stood on the curb in front of her building in the waning sunlight as unassuming as ever, but this man was a weapon. He’d been hardened over time and tasks. The one she’d given him last night was child’s play. Even Lucas could do it but asking a favor of him would cost a price she refused to pay.

“Larkin,” she chided, but it lacked the heart of days before.

“Yes, ma’am.” He offered his elbow. Today his smile was on vacation too. In its place, he wore a no-nonsense scowl.

“Wait up!” Lucas ran from the rotating doors. “Why didn’t you tell me we were leaving?”

“Because we’re not.” She gestured between the three of them. Her finger shifted to her and Douglas. “We are. It’s spa day.”

“But—” Lucas began.

“I think my heart can handle women running around in robes all evening, Lucas. And, if not, I’ll die a happy man.” He shooed the younger man away and waved Larkin forward.

When she grabbed Douglas’s sturdy arm, he ushered her to the back door of the blacked-out Town Car. She steered him toward the front. “I’m sitting with you today.”

“No, ma’am.” He stopped their progress cold. The man was strong for fifty plus. “It’ll look suspicious.”

“I don’t care,” she snipped.

“Which is why you pay me to care.” He walked her to the back door and opened it wide. “I poured you two fingers of happy Friday.”

“Stubborn old coot.” She tossed herself onto the back seat.

“Brat.”

If the shoe fit.

Douglas closed the door, climbed in behind the driver’s seat, and soon pulled away from the corner. At the front door of the building, Lucas stood sentry, a pissed sentry. He’d wanted to ride along every day since the attack, non-attack on the roof.

Oh well.

“Went and shat where you eat, didn’t you?” Douglas’s wise voice carried from the front of the car.

“What’s that?” Larkin cupped her ears. “I can’t hear you from all the way up there.”

“Oh, child.” His gray head shook.

The car crawled through Friday afternoon traffic. Larkin waited for him to speak. Stubbornly, he refused until she broke.

“Do I have to beg?”

“No. You have to promise never to sleep with Lucas Backstrom again, or, at the very least, fire him before you do.”

“I promise.” The glass of whisky beckoned. She tossed it back. The liquid burned just the right amount. “I learned my lesson.”

“Let’s hope so.”

He drove in silence.

“So? Flowers? The card?”

“The woman who owns the flower shop won’t betray clients by giving out information unless it’s in the form of a warrant from the police.”

Larkin groaned.

“Do you want me to get one?”

“No.” The last thing she needed was the police sniffing around her life. She didn’t have anything to hide, but she had a lot to lose, which made good people grabby. “The card is harmless, really.”

“That’s what I thought.” He turned onto East 76th, the street on which The Surrey lived, which housed her spa of choice.

“That it’s harmless?”

“No.” His groan reverberated around the front seat. “That you’d say leave the cops out of it. Otherwise, I would have already called a friend in the department.”

“Oh.” Larkin rolled the cup between her palms.

“Want me to persuade her in other ways?”

“No,” she chided.

“I wouldn’t hurt her.” Something in Douglas’s monotone didn’t reassure Larkin. Scaring the woman to the point of spilling her guts wouldn’t leave a scratch on her exterior, but she knew from experience that the interior was another story entirely.

“No. It was a stupid card. I’ve gotten hate mail before.”

“Facebook comments don’t count.” Douglas eased the car into the far-right lane and jockeyed for a position at The Surrey’s main entrance.

“Could you tell that to the world or the thirteen-year-old girls whose hearts are broken on a daily basis by internet trolls?”

“Yes, but they won’t listen. Just like you’re not listening.” He pulled in front of the intricately carved scrawled concrete awning.

Larkin set the cup down, leaned forward, and poked her head through the open partition. “I’ll not have you torture an innocent woman to get information. Those days are behind you. It’s fine.”

Douglas placed the car in park. He turned his wide shoulders to face her, the day’s scowl still in full effect. “It was flagrant and personal.”

“Maybe I pissed someone off. It happens, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” He patted her cheek ever so briefly.

Her chest warmed. The move was so protective and endearing. Fatherly, almost. Her father had never made her feel that way. She closed her eyes to keep from tearing up. A smile stretched across her face. When her eyes opened, the fear of exposure had passed, but Douglas had caught the vulnerability.

His wise gaze studied her more closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. As long as you leave that poor woman alone.”

The car door opened, and Tony, the doorman, offered his hand. “Miss Ashford.”

Larkin blew Douglas a kiss and got out of the car.

“Hello, Tony. How are you today?”

“Just fine, miss. And you?” He closed the car door and opened the one leading to bliss, where she could forget about cunts and cocks for a while.

“I’m better now, Tony.”

“Glad to hear it, Miss Ashford. You have a swell day, now.” Tony waved her off through the foyer.

Her feet never carried her as fast as when she booked it to the spa entrance … except when she ran from an attacker, non-attacker.

Nope.

This evening wasn’t the time for thinking about that or HIM. Relaxation, here she comes.

“Hi, Larkin.” Tabitha, the spa’s director, greeted her with air kisses and a flute of champagne. The woman had to be in her mid-to-late sixties. Tabby was old and worldly enough to call her by her first name. She’d worked in the spa industry on one level or another since LBJ was in the White House. But you couldn’t tell it by looking at her perfect porcelain complexion or the way she whisked from room to room, assuring everyone had everything their hearts desired.

“Tabby, how are you?”

“When will you stop asking? This is about you, darling.” She whipped Larkin into the crook of her arm. The director’s jet-black ponytail cascaded over her shoulder and settled halfway down her back. Together, they marched.

“Never.”

“Well, you’re late,” she whispered, using proper spa voice past the reception area.

“Am not.” Larkin glanced at her watch. “I’m right on time.”

“Then your posse is early. They’re awaiting you in the Superior Couples Suite.” Tabby shooed her into the pied-à-terre-style locker room. She felt more at home in the French minimalist enclosure than she did her own homes.

“Thank you, Tabby.”

“Shoo. Shoo.” The woman scolded her as though she was a child.

“Thank you, Tabby,” she mouthed.

Tabitha waved over her shoulder. Her long ponytail swished behind her while her hips sashayed out of the room.

Larkin and her friends didn’t get the special room because they were better than anyone. They’d been given that room years ago upon their first trip to the Cornelia Spa, actually, when the staff figured out their “spa voices” were about ten decibels too loud for the near silent establishment. She chuckled to herself while she stripped off the bindings of the world, placed them in her locker for safekeeping until she was ready to face it again, and pulled on the fluffy robe and slippers.

When she opened the door to the suite, she found Marlis and Genevieve on the long white sofa refilling their flutes from a chilled bottle of Laherte Frères, Rosé Ultradition. Libby sat on one of the two massage tables in the center of the room, ostensibly claiming her spot in the rotation. A messy bun of brunette hair sat atop her head, and she clutched a full glass with two hands. Red weaved a web across the whites of her eyes, muddling the usual green pop of her irises.

“What’d I miss?” Larkin shut the door in a hurry and offered the top of her flute to Gen who filled it without question.

“Us pestering Libby to give us details about her big case.” Marlis tucked her legs under her and turned her intent brown gaze on Libby.

“It’ll only take you two glasses to crack, lightweight. You might as well spill it before they separate us,” Larkin prodded.

“You bitches are the worst,” Libby snarled.

“And the best,” Gen sang.

“Seriously, they should hire us to interrogate people.” Mar patted Gen’s shoulder. “Give us an extended wine budget and half the day. Ha! They’d know all they needed to know without any bloodshed.”

Libby buried her face in her hand.

“Drink up, Lib. You know they have a point.” Larkin walked to her friend, planted a kiss on her cheek, then propped a hip on the edge opposite her.

“I do, which is the problem.” Libby downed the entire flute in two gulps. “Fine, I’ve officially met my quota to talk.” She crisscrossed her legs and turned to face the group. Her eyes brightened. “I didn’t get the lead I was hoping for, but I was able to cross some people off my list.”

“What are you looking for again? People? What’d they do?” Marlis rambled.

“I’m looking for one person in particular. He’s collecting the largest private stash of weapons the United States has ever seen.” Libby’s head flopped from one side to the other. “Well, not seen yet, but heard about.”

“Who is he?” Genevieve begged. “A prepper or a terrorist?”

“I don’t know.” Libby sighed.

“Yet.” Larkin lifted her glass.

The familiar knock of handsome devils coming to do the work of angels fluttered on the door.

“To Libby finding her guy,” Larkin finished.

On the sofa, the girls cheered. Whether for Libby’s success or the start of the massage, soak, steam rotation, she wasn’t sure.

“Come in,” Libby called.

The door opened, and Eric stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She had to give it to the new guy. He was a quick learner. “Ladies, are you finding everything to your liking so far; room temperature, champagne? Are we ready for some amuse-bouche?”

“We’ll wait until later to amuse our mouths, love.” Gen delivered the line with her signature half-lidded gaze and sexy smirk.

The other girls giggled.

For crying out loud. They were determined to get kicked out of the spa or sued one day. At least they knew a good lawyer.

“Everything is perfect, Eric.” Larkin straightened. “Thank you.”

“Wonderful.” He pointed outside the door and then to himself. “Clive and I will be your masseurs this evening. Will you and Miss Irish be taking your massages first?”

“Yes,” Libby announced.

“Very well. I’ll give you a few minutes to undress to your comfort level. Please lie face up under the sheet.” He turned to Gen and Mar. “Ladies, if you would please make certain to close the door to the bathroom fully this time.”

Marlis’s cheeks burned as red as a winter fire.

“Of course. I certainly thought I had last time.” Genevieve crossed her legs. The terrycloth robe fell open, revealing a wealth of skin from painted toes to upper thigh.

“Of course.” Eric’s trained gaze hit the ceiling. Cocks, though, couldn’t be trained as well as the eyes. His grew until it pressed a handsome outline against the front of his pants. He nodded and rushed from the room, still careful to close the door without a whisper of sound.

Libby fell forward cackling.

Marlis fanned herself with a group of pamphlets about spa services. None of which included a happy ending.

“Genevieve Holst.” Larkin walked to the side table, set down her flute, grabbed a towel, and tossed it over Gen’s legs. “Stop trying to expose yourself to the staff. You’ll get us kicked out.”

“You’ve already gotten me kicked out of heaven.” Marlis stabbed the air between them with a pamphlet. “You better not get me kicked out of my happy place.”

“Don’t blame your proclivity for yuppies and married men on me.” Genevieve stood and strode for the bathroom for an aromatically infused soak or a turn in the steam shower.

“I didn’t know he was married. There was no ring.” Marlis tossed down the pamphlet and stomped after her. “Not even a ring tan line.”

“What’s your excuse for the yuppies?” Libby slipped her naked curves between the sheets.

“Match point.” Larkin untied her robe.

Another soft knock sounded on the door. The room fell silent. Narrowed gazes slid around the room from one to another. Staff here always gave them more than enough time to get into position for their services. It kept the likelihood of a peep show to a minimum, or as close to the minimum as they would come with Gen there. Her friend stepped forward, still robed luckily, and opened the door.

Eric appeared in the slit. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but this came in from Miss Ashford’s company.”

“And it can’t wait until after?” Genevieve propped a hand on her hip.

“It was labeled urgent. I apologize.” Eric handed over a small envelope and bowed his head. “I’ll give you ladies a few extra minutes to get situated.”

“Thank you, Eric.” Gen took the envelope, closed the door, then turned on Larkin. “Seriously? Can they not wipe their asses without you?”

“Most days.” She expected any urgent news to come in a large envelope. A contract that needed her signature. A termination form that needed her initials.

Gen handed over the greeting card-size envelope embossed with her company’s logos, and then huffed toward the bathroom entrance.

“I thought we said no work stuff on spa days?” Marlis huffed.

“Some of us live in the real world,” Libby piped. “Real world shit doesn’t care whether you’re in the middle of a screaming orgasm or in the supermarket restocking the kitchen that hasn’t seen a real vegetable or fruit in over a month.”

“Speaking from experience, I guess.” Gen shook her head. Surely, lamenting the orgasm interruption.

Larkin ignored them and ripped the edge of the envelope. The moment the plain white card cleared the encasement, she knew what it was. Her fingers froze to the unfeeling exterior. The moisture in her mouth turned to dust. She opened the edge with stiff extremities to find the word she’d known would be there, as decisive and defamatory as it had been the night before.

“Who do you have to fire now?” Gen’s commanding voice filled the room.

“What?” Larkin jerked her gaze from CUNT and blinked the girls into view.

“What’s wrong?” Marlis’s soft eyes begged for understanding.

If the girls knew about the card—or now cards—they’d freak out. Libby most of all. They’d demand heightened security, which was the last thing she needed. Lucas at her side 24/7.

No way.

Larkin cleared her throat, shoved the card inside its sleeve, and stuffed it inside the pocket of her robe. “Nothing and no one.” At least, she hoped she didn’t have to fire anyone. The stationery had come from her office, but surely that didn’t mean it was someone who worked for her. Anyone could get their stationery. Couldn’t they? If they could, what did that say about her security? If they couldn’t, what did that mean for her—that she worked with someone who tormented her? To what end?

“Then why’d they bother you now?” Libby’s eyebrows crinkled.

“Just incompetence.” Larkin slid the open robe off her shoulders and hung it on the rack near the door.

“Anyone have a tampon?” Marlis whined. “I’m good for now, but I used the last of my briefcase stash.”

“You really need to change your birth control,” Genevieve barked.

That was one way to get past the envelope interruption. She needed to think without their wise gazes honed on her.

“I know. I know,” Mar hissed. “Who has time to …”

When Larkin turned, every eye in the room was locked in her direction.

She was naked with these women at least once a month. They were all naked or at some point of undress together on nearly a daily basis. The birth control she used to regulate her body offered the lovely side effect of no period, so she didn’t have to worry about a junior high school bloody legs situation.

“What?” Larkin turned, giving them a full frontal, and shrugged enough to make her boobs bounce. The bruise across her ribs drew her attention to the thing they were all fixated upon. How had she forgotten? The fucking envelope, that’s how.

“Larkin?” Marlis squeaked.

“Holy shit!” Genevieve bellowed.

“What the hell happened?” Libby held the sheet to her chest and sat. Her gaze cataloged the length and width of each anomaly.

“Calm down.” She used her spa voice to accentuate the point. A surprise impulse to cover up took hold, and she hurried to the table and slipped under the cover.

“Explain now,” Libby demanded.

Larkin sat forward, holding tightly to the sheet. She should have come up with an alternate story. Something that wouldn’t scare them as much as the truth. Her cheeks filled with air. Slowly, she blew it out.

The whispered knock sounded on the door. Marlis rushed past the table and opened the door a crack. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to need a few more minutes.” Mar didn’t wait for a response. She closed it just as quickly and hurried back to her spot.

“I’d ask if you can promise not to freak out, but I know that’s not possible.” Her gaze traveled to each of her friends.

Marlis stepped forward. “Honey, did Lucas—”

“No!” Her nose crinkled at the thought. If he laid a hand on her, she’d have him in jail or at the bottom of the Hudson.

“So just tell us,” Libby pushed.

“Lucas and I were just a one-time thing.” She huffed and corrected, “A couple of times thing. We’re not now. It’s really nothing.”

“That’s not nothing.” Libby gestured to Larkin’s entire body. “You look like you’ve been body slammed.”

“Are you getting into that kinky shit?” Genevieve asked as straight-faced as she ever was. “If you are, you be the one with the whip. It’s more fun that way.”

“No. You have to promise you’ll try not to freak out.” They shrugged or nodded to one degree or another, and she told an abbreviated version of what happened on the roof.

For several seconds, they were silent. The spa staff probably thought they’d died because there was a knock on the door. Marlis rushed to it again, begged for ten more minutes, and promised they’d be tipped well for waiting. When Gen didn’t toss in a lewd comment about showing her gratitude, Larkin realized the seriousness of the situation.

Marlis walked to her side. Her friend’s cold fingers rested on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know the roof is your happy place, but why were you so close to the edge?” Her question was quiet. Too quiet.

They were all quiet, waiting for her to answer.

“I just lost it a little after that meeting.” Larkin blinked tears away. Shit. She hadn’t been this quick to cry since her mother … “Everything came to a head, and I needed out.”

“You weren’t trying to …?” Genevieve couldn’t complete the thought. Thank goodness.

“No.” Larkin shook her head so hard, her ponytail flopped.

They took a collective moment.

“Some fucked-up knight in shining armor shit.” Gen plowed a hand through her loose red hair.

“I don’t want or need one of those,” Larkin explained.

“You don’t even need us.” Genevieve hugged her arms around herself, clutching the terrycloth with both hands.

“What does that mean?” She kicked her feet off the side of the table and sat straighter.

“She doesn’t mean it in a bad way.” Marlis fanned the air as though trying to eliminate a foul odor. “It’s just … you didn’t tell us about a potentially life-altering situation in which you were involved. You’re so independent that it sometimes feels like you’re pacifying us.”

Larkin had no idea what to do with that. She was independent out of necessity. It was how she’d grown up. It was how she’d survived. “I was in shock. I thought he would kill me.”

“He could have,” Libby interjected. “You need to carry your gun on you at all times.

She flipped the sheet back, revealing her bare ass to the collective. “All times?”

Libby flipped her sheet back. A leather strap hugged her otherwise naked hips.

“I bet you don’t take it into the steam shower or tub,” Larkin countered.

“No.” Libby’s green eyes rolled. “But it’ll be in easy reach.”

“Sorry, but I’m fresh out of garter belt gun holsters and whatever you call that thing around your hips.” Larkin pointed at her friend’s ass.

“Ah.” Genevieve shucked her robe. “I don’t think she has to worry about Bronson killing her.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about being naked with Bronson,” Larkin countered.

“I’m calling bullshit.” Marlis untied her robe and followed Gen into the bathroom and closed the door completely.

Libby stared at her. “Bronson? What else did I miss?”

“Do you want a massage or more gossip?” Larkin lay on the table, straightened the sheet over her breasts, and relaxed her arms.

Libby did the same and looked at her. “I want both.”