Vivienne made sure that Amber Rose was deep asleep before placing her on the bed. Not having a crib where the baby could rest, Vivienne had propped two pillows in the middle of the bed and positioned the baby in between, so that she wouldn’t roll and fall off the mattress.

Diapers and formula were running low, and the baby could use another change of clothes. Vivienne exited the guest bedroom now converted into a nursery and went looking for Hugo.

As she entered the hallway, she saw the doorman disappearing around the corner and followed him into the living room. While Wilson took a phone call, Max talked to a striking woman who smelled like a she-panther and looked strangely familiar to Vivienne. She tiptoed to Hugo, but Max motioned for Vivienne to sit by his side.

“You should’ve waited for me,” the woman said to Max, shaking her blond mane. Her icy-blue eyes followed Vivienne’s progress into the room, making her feel as if she were an insect under a magnifying glass.

“He only wanted me to confirm what he already knew.” Max, too, kept his eyes on Vivienne. While the woman’s stare felt like a frosty caress, Max’s warm gaze melted her heart.

When Vivienne hesitated, Max subtly patted the cushion, and she lowered herself to the couch, keeping some distance from him. His hand remained between them, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.

“So, this is the nanny,” the woman said, her hard stare now focused on Max’s hand that had ever so slightly moved toward Vivienne’s leg. Still not touching, though.

“Vivienne, this is Mrs. Lanetti, my lawyer,” Max said, and Vivienne remembered why the woman had looked familiar.

Mrs. Lanetti was defending Max against that woman who had sued him for millions of dollars. Wrongful termination and hostile work environment were the indictments against Prize Games. The lawyer’s face was plastered on all the local newspapers, and she had also appeared on TV several times.

Max continued the introductions. “Mrs. Lanetti, this is Vivienne Bosch, who has most graciously agreed to look after my daughter—”

“She isn’t your daughter until the DNA test confirms it,” Mrs. Lanetti interrupted him.

“Amber Rose is my daughter.” Max tensed.

Vivienne could feel his energy changing, coiling like a predator ready to attack.

“The baby isn’t legally yours until proved.” Mrs. Lanetti’s voice was as frosty as her gaze.

“Our dragons recognized each other, and that’s all the proof I need. Nothing else matters,” Max said.

Mrs. Lanetti shook her head. “I would agree with you if we lived in a world where only shifters existed. Since we don’t, we’ll have to defer to human laws since the mother of the child was mortal.”

“Amber Rose’s mother was human?” Vivienne couldn’t help but ask, wondering if she had immediately connected with the baby girl because she was a half-breed like her.

“She was,” Max answered.

Wilson stepped closer to the couch. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Stamper is coming up, and he has some news.”

Hugo left. The ding of the elevator echoed from the foyer, and a moment later, the doorman walked back in, accompanied by a middle-aged man wearing a trench coat that screamed private detective from a mile away.

Had the situation not been serious, Vivienne would have found the detail of the PI’s trench coat amusing. The man looked exactly like a private detective from a crime show. Bald, with a ruddy complexion, and a pair of crooked glasses perched on his aquiline nose.

“Good evening,” Mr. Stamper said, exchanging glances with Max and Wilson before nodding at the lawyer and finally at Vivienne, for whom he reserved a small smile. “I’ve just talked with my contact at Seattle Shifter PD, and they are discreetly looking for a shifter for Lauren Green’s death. Mr. Prize is their primary suspect.”

“Why Max?” Vivienne couldn’t help but ask.

“Because the victim had recently given birth to a baby girl and someone dropped her from a great height,” the private investigator answered. “She was badly beaten before her fall, and the pathologist found animal marks consistent with dragon talons on her body.”

“Max isn’t the only dragon in Seattle.” Vivienne looked around, meeting Wilson’s blank stare.

Wilson sighed. “There are a few of us, but Max is the only one who met the victim, and it turns out they had a daughter together.”

“Are you sure Amber Rose is the victim’s daughter?” Vivienne asked.

“The DNA will confirm it, but Amber Rose looks like Lauren,” Max said. “And there are other things—”

The lawyer interrupted him. “How did the press get hold of that information?” Her tone was as judgmental as her sharp gaze which drilled a hole on the PI’s face.

“I can answer that question,” Max said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “It was Louise Dortmund.”

“How can you be so certain that it was her?” Vivienne asked, angling her body toward Max.

“It’s what Louise does,” Wilson answered for Max.

“Did she leak the information to make you look bad?” Vivienne remembered the reporter asking the lawyer questions. “But why was Dortmund called to speak about the victim’s case?”

“It’s complicated.” Max leaned his head against the back of the couch. He sounded and looked tired. “And personal. Louise Dortmund and I have history.”

Vivienne must have bristled because Max added, “Not that kind of history.”

“And that’s the problem,” Wilson said under his breath but loud enough for Vivienne to catch his comment.

“Do you think it was also Mrs. Dortmund who sent social services your way?” Mrs. Lanetti elegantly stood to her considerable height, made even more impressive by the high stiletto heels she wore.

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Max scoffed.

“How could she know about Amber Rose?” Vivienne asked.

The lawyer walked to the window, interlacing her fingers over her back as she paced in a slow, composed stride. “That’s an excellent question. Any idea how Louise Dortmund could be more informed about my client than his PI?” she pointedly asked Mr. Stamper.

“Decades of practice would suggest that someone in this house is on her payroll,” Mr. Stamper said.

“Not possible,” Max said right away, not a hint of doubt in his voice.

“How can you be so sure, Max?” Mrs. Lanetti asked.

Vivienne knew she was being irrational and that she had no right whatsoever to even think possessively about the man sitting by her side, but she didn’t like that the lawyer had stopped calling him Mr. Prize and used his given name instead. His shortened given name. She couldn’t help but wonder if Max and the woman had history, too.

The lawyer looked like any of Max’s sophisticated lady friends. At least like the ones the gossip columns reported as Max’s girlfriends. Not that Vivienne would ever read those mags, but once in a while, she would peek at them at the salon, when she had nothing more interesting to do.

The truth was that, all of a sudden, she felt self-conscious of her faded jeans worn over scuffed boots. She might also have milk drops on her sweater, and she didn’t even want to think what could have landed in her hair when she was hastily changing Amber Rose.

“I am sure.” Max moved, crossing his arms over his chest. “None of my employees would betray me.”

“Okay. Is there anything else I should know?” Mrs. Lanetti asked, her frustration evident in the taut set of her shoulders and her ramrod straight back.

“I didn’t kill Lauren, and I intend to fight for custody of Amber Rose,” Max said.

Vivienne felt her heart swell several sizes at his statement. Could she be falling in love with the handsomely sweet Mr. Prize?