EMERSON SUCKED IN A BREATH and stared at the monitor in front of him. After he and Sophie made love—he couldn’t call it fucking and despite his best intentions to keep his feelings out of things, it was more than sex—she’d fallen asleep in his arms. He’d watched her, imagining how differently things might have turned out if she hadn’t gotten out of Australia when she did. How easily he could have lost her before he even realized who she was. The images had been so real; they’d haunted his dreams. More than once in the middle of the night, he’d turned to her and gathered her tighter in his arms just to reassure himself that she was still there, safe with him.

He’d played over what she’d told him again in the clear light of morning. He had better coping skills in the daytime and an improved sense of perspective. He also had a lot more questions than he’d started with. There were parts of her story that didn’t make sense, and he felt like he was missing something important. The connection between her family and the pearl farm didn’t make sense. If her mother was just an employee—even if she was some kind of manager—it was unlikely her teenaged children would be able to stay and work on the oyster beds after she passed. Or that they’d have been able to stay in the house they were living in.

That felt even more true when the cartel moved in and started to take over. They weren’t going to tolerate useless kids hanging around unless they had some kind of reason and it sure as hell wouldn’t be out of some misguided sense of compassion. He hadn’t told Sophie. He’d already scared her enough and she didn’t need to know how accurate her hunches had been. One of the things that haunted his dreams the night before was the Darah’s penchant for human trafficking, particularly in beautiful young women and girls. There was no way they’d have let a woman like Sophie hang around unless they had a use for her or a plan. Or unless someone else was holding them at bay. The possibilities sent ice through his veins and he had to remind himself that he’d left her safe and sleeping in the apartment upstairs.

Sophie hadn’t mentioned a father. He had a feeling she didn’t know hers and didn’t want to. But with so many things not adding up, he couldn’t afford to let her have any secrets. He didn’t have a concrete link between the cartel and the attempt on Sophie’s life, but the murder of the shell party guy certainly fit their normal business practices, which meant Sophie would be in danger until Emerson found a way to remove the target painted on her.

“Got a minute?” asked Gabe from the doorway.

“Sure.” His brother looked more uncomfortable than usual and Emerson motioned him to the empty chair opposite the desk. “What’s up?”

“I found something about Sophie. I’m just not sure what to make of it.”

“Show me,” he said, spinning his chair to face his brother.

“Did you know Sophie is an heiress?”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Gabe’s expression shifted from smart ass to concerned brother. “She didn’t tell you?”

He framed it as a question but they both knew she hadn’t. If Sophie had told Emerson she was in line to inherit some kind of fortune, he would have told Gabe.

“No, she didn’t tell me.” The words hung in the air between them. Against his better judgment, he’d started to fall for the woman in his bed upstairs. He understood her need for privacy, but it hurt that she wouldn’t share something like this with him. “What’s the deal?”

“I did a title search on the property she ID’d. Sophie’s mother, Abigail Richter, maiden name Taylor owned the farm, oyster beds and all. She wasn’t an employee; she was the boss. Since her brother passed, Sophie is in line to inherit all of it, assuming she’d be able to hold on to it.” Gabe leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Owner or not, I doubt the cartel is just going to step aside because some twenty-year-old woman tells them to.”

“Nope, not likely, but it would be enough of a reason for someone to go to a fair bit of trouble to eliminate Sophie.” Which brought another question barreling to the front of his head. One he’d tackle himself. If someone was willing to kill for control of the oyster beds, maybe Sophie wasn’t their first target.

“Yeah, but why now? What changed?”

“The show with Seaton.” The answer came to him as clearly as if someone had spoken it out loud. He’d seen Sophie’s name on the events section of Seaton’s website. It might not have been worth it to the cartel to go looking for her when she disappeared from Broome. They made their money from the oysters, not the land. As long as the taxes were paid and appropriate palms greased no one would care whose name was on the deed. Sophie had solved their problem herself. But if she was suddenly going to show up again and in a prominent part of the industry, that was going to be a problem for them, which made it a problem for her.

“Why didn’t her brother know about this?”

“How do you know he didn’t?” asked Gabe. “Or maybe he didn’t ask the right questions. It wouldn’t be that hard to pull a con like this on a couple of kids too wrecked from their mother’s death to pay attention.”

Everything his brother said was true, but Emerson knew how much Sophie hid from him. She’d worn her secrets like a cloak around her. Maybe this was just one more.

“Figure out who inherits if something happens to Sophie and anything else you can find out about the property’s title.”

“Sure. You okay?”

“Of course.” Emerson turned his attention back to his monitor, hoping his brother would take the hint.

“Right. That’s a lie.”

Apparently not.

“Fuck off. I’m fine.” He was. So Sophie hadn’t told him she owned property in Australia. Or that she’d run away from a crime cartel. Or a dozen other scraps of information he’d had to drag out of her. It’s not like they were in a relationship. Not really. If it felt like it, that was just because they were stuck living together. Proximity gave them a false intimacy.

“I know you like her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

If he’d made a wisecrack or done so much as crack a smile, Emerson could have busted his brother’s shit. Instead, Gabe looked thoughtful, contemplative. He was tempted to have a go at Gabe for making him think that word in relation to him.

“Of course, I like her. I thought you liked her too.” Distract, divert, dodge. It worked with everyone but his family.

“Not what I mean, and you know it.” Gabe ran a hand through his hair, and it looked like he was wrestling with how to say something.

“Just spit it out before you hurt yourself.” Emerson wasn’t sure how much more of the emotional stuff he could take. He counted on his brother to diffuse tension and have his back, not to dive into the deep dark depths of his psyche.

“You’re better with her. Since Sophie started staying with you, you’ve been lighter. Happier. She’s good for you.”

Everything his brother said was true but that didn’t mean it mattered. There was more at play than just his feelings.

“Not if she lies.”

“We all lie, asshole,” said Gabe, back to channeling his inner smart ass. “Besides, you don’t know how much was a lie and how much she didn’t know. She wasn’t exactly acting like someone who was trying to hide their identity.”

He was right. That was one of the things that bothered him. The other thing was that it was becoming increasingly likely the Darah were gunning for Sophie, and aside from keeping her hidden, he didn’t know how to keep her safe. If Gabe was right and she had something they wanted, they weren’t going to let her go. He could keep a security detail on her, but it was going to take something much bigger to make them lose interest.

All of it was a good reminder that he was supposed to be looking out for her, not playing house. The sooner they both realized it, the safer she’d be. He’d been thinking with the wrong head where Sophie was concerned. Wanting her so damn much clouded his better judgment, and he was going to have to find a way to fix it. Right after he convinced himself that he wanted to fix it. In the long run, that might be harder than taking down a cartel.

––––––––

SOPHIE LAID THE necklace in an oval on the velvet-lined box, pinning it in place so it couldn’t get tangled before Emerson had a chance to give it to his sister. She fastened the delicate drop earrings in the center and closed the lid with a snap. The finality of the action made her blink against the tears filling her eyes.

It was silly. She’d loved working on the set. It turned out better than she’d imagined, and she was thrilled Amanda would be the one to wear it. She’d never met the other woman but from the pictures she’d seen around Emerson’s place, she seemed fierce and independent. The tiny pearl flowers would look beautiful on her long, slender neck and hopefully add something as she took the first step into her new life with Michael. It was the only way she could think of to give Emerson back some of what he’d given her, but finishing felt like an ending. Punctuation on the end of a season or something, which was crazy. She’d finished a piece of jewelry not closed some kind of chapter.

Maybe it was because she’d packed her tools away and turned Emerson’s kitchen table back into a place to eat instead of a makeshift workspace. That might have been where the feeling came from, but he’d been so accommodating of her mess. For a man whose life was as ordered as his, he’d never complained about her taking over his table. She wanted to show him she could respect his space.

She had a couple of hours before Emerson would be home. There was that word again. The one that made her think things she had no business wanting. If she was more domestic, she’d plan something for dinner. Or she could take a bath and pop a frozen pizza in the oven and challenge him to a couple of rounds of the Arrangement. Wrapped in a towel fresh from the tub, she doubted Emerson would notice the difference between a home-cooked meal and pizza from a box. And if she turned on the oven to heat the pizza then it counted as cooking, right?

Tucking the box away until later, she headed to the master bath with its tub big enough for two. As she waited for the tub to fill, she stripped off her clothing. Before she stepped into the steaming water, she heard the front door open, which made it her lucky day. She shouldn’t have any trouble convincing Emerson to join her. They’d already christened the tub, but there was no reason they couldn’t do it again.

“I’m back here,” she called, shutting off the water. With the two of them in the tub, it didn’t need to be as full, something she’d learned the first time they tried it. “Get naked and get in here.”

“I need to talk to you, Sophie,” he said, standing in the open doorway and deliberately not looking at her.

She was half tempted to tell him to talk, but she wasn’t that bold. There wasn’t a thing about him that seemed playful. The fact that he insisted on looking everywhere but at her reinforced her opinion.

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She didn’t want to be naked for whatever they were going to talk about.

Slipping into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized shirt that had been washed so many times the cotton fibers were almost all gone, she followed him to the living room.

“What is it? Did something happen?” she asked, shifting from anticipation to concern.

“I think I know who’s trying to kill you. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me you owned a pearl farm in Australia.”