Leander claps his hands together. With this business done, his demeanor shifts again. He starts poking Lachlan for details on the recent Kane weddings, information that Lachlan deftly keeps to a minimum. It seems second nature for Lachlan to provide just enough color for Leander to feel satisfied, and just enough shade to keep him at arm’s length. By the time I’ve wired the retainer money, Leander seems relaxed, maybe even a bit drunk, though he’s only finished one pint since we arrived.
I tamp down a grim smile.
“All right, kids,” he says with a slight slur as he slaps his palms to his knees. “Feel free to get started in the office whenever you like. The sooner the better, right?”
“Right.”
Leander stands. He takes two unsteady steps.
Then he falls flat on his face.
“Shit,” Lachlan hisses as he bolts upright. I smooth my hands over my skirt as Lachlan checks Leander’s breathing and taps him a few times on the cheek. “Well, that’s a bonus. He’s alive.” When Lachlan’s shocked gaze lands on me, I’m waiting with a sheepish smile. “What in the bloody feckin’ hell, Lark?”
“Yeah … I kinda thought that might happen.”
“Seriously?”
I shrug. “Ethel doesn’t like to be bossed around. Especially when it comes to muffins. She gets a little vindictive.”
“How about this, you feckin’ catastrophe—clue me in next time before you give my psycho boss drugged baked goods, yeah?”
“To be fair, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure they were drugged. Ethel was pretty vague about us not eating them.”
“Were you going to tell me that?”
“I figured you wouldn’t touch them out of spite.”
Lachlan shakes his head and gestures toward the man sprawled at his feet. A rumbling snore rises from the floor. With a string of whispered curses, Lachlan rolls him into the recovery position then turns his attention to me, his expression incredulous.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine in like … four hours. And when he wakes up he’ll remember that Ethel always gets the last word. The Montagues can psycho with the best of them, remember?”
“Christ Jesus.”
With a wink, I stand and clap my hands. Leander’s snore continues, undisturbed by the sudden sound. “Right. Let’s go to the office then, shall we?”
Lachlan gives me a weary shake of his head, then gestures for me to follow as he leads the way to the basement door.
The house is empty and silent as we leave out the back door and walk down a curved path toward a separate building, one that feels utilitarian compared to the house. Stark white brick with a black steel roof, the darkly tinted windows giving no indication of what lies within. The single access point is a fortified steel door.
Lachlan places his left hand on a control panel, then leans toward a circular lens that scans his iris. A moment later, a set of cylindrical bolts disengages and the door cracks open.
“Pretty fancy,” I say as Lachlan pushes the door wider and allows me to pass the threshold first. “I should get that for my glitter collection. I know you’ve been crafting when I’m not around.”
“I have not.” Lachlan pretends to look haughty. “If I was going to steal something, it would be gold stars. Gold stars are clearly superior to glitter.”
I give him a teasing grin, and before either of us can get too sucked into a nonabrasive moment of levity, we break the connection between us and head deeper into the room.
The interior is as utilitarian as the outside of the building, no decorations on the waffled soundproofing that lines the walls. There are several screens that hang from the ceiling, nothing displayed on their matte surfaces. Four computer stations sit in the center of the room, each with three monitors. The desks are uncluttered, only a mouse and keyboard on each one. A metal staircase leads to a lower level from which a low hum resonates.
“What’s down there?” I ask with a nod to the stairway as Lachlan leads us to one of the desks.
“Servers,” Lachlan replies as he pulls a chair back for me to sit, then grabs another for himself before powering up our station. “Conor manages most of it on Leander’s behalf. He’s the real tech guy, but I can still get us started with the search. Normally, I’d go through whatever background files we have for the Covaci side of things at least, but since you’re here we can skip a few steps.”
“You mean the files are in the computer?”
Lachlan looks from me to the monitor and back again, confusion etched between his brows. “Yes … that’s … how it works …”
“Oh my God, you have literally no idea what I’m talking about.” I whack Lachlan’s arm with the back of my hand and roll my eyes before clicking into the search field to type a name. “It’s from the movie Zoolander. How are we even married?”
I’m met with silence from Lachlan. Ignoring his reticent expression, I pull the keyboard closer. “Can I look up anyone on this?”
“Yeah, it’ll pull in data from multiple sources. Driving records, medical information, criminal history if there is one. Some sources are more expensive than others, so we start with basics and build from there. The more valuable information might go for auction, like if there’s a specific person with a bounty on their head with multiple contractors mining the records, for example. FBI information fetches a high price so we’ll only go there if we’re sure we’re on to something. Costs me a small fortune to find the info on serial killers for Rowan to play his little game with Sloane.” Lachlan shrugs when I tilt my head and my brows knit. “Keeps him out of trouble around here. And it makes him happy.”
I give him a brief smile that he seems to ignore before I turn back to the screen. The system looks slick but simple, and I start typing a name into the search field at the top of the page.
Louis Campbell. Location: Connecticut. Age, I leave that blank. Occupation: education. I don’t bother with the advanced search fields, details I don’t know or maybe I did once but have since forgotten.
I press enter. Seven Louis Campbells populate in a list below the search fields. Each has basic details—age, address, contact details, medical insurance, utility providers, job history. One contact card blares at me like a siren.
“Louis Campbell? Who’s that?” Lachlan asks, and his question hangs like an ornament in silence. I don’t reply as I hover the cursor over his name. “You think he has something to do with what’s happening to your family?”
“No,” I say as I return the cursor to the search box and clear the query. “I was just curious.”
Though I feel Lachlan watching me, I don’t turn toward him. “You sure—”
“Maybe we should start with the most obvious names and work our way from there.” My fingers fly across the keyboard. “My aunt’s nemesis would be the most likely candidate.”
I have enough information about Bob Foster to enter into the search fields for the results to turn up a single contact card. When I click on it, a spread of more detailed data fills the screen. There’s a row of locked queries at the bottom of the page, the information hidden behind paywalls.
“I doubt he would do the dirty work himself, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to pay for chaos. Do you think we can figure out if he was involved?”
When I meet Lachlan’s gaze, his brow is furrowed, his eyes dark as they sweep across my skin, leaving heat behind. “It’s your contract, duchess. Do what you want.”
I return my attention to the screen and gnaw at my lip.
“It’s a good plan,” Lachlan says as he points to one of the locked tiles. “Click on that one and enter your Leviathan account number. We’ll check through his bank records and see if there are any recurring payments around the same time as the murders. That’s where I would start.”
I grin at Lachlan. And though it’s soft and almost shy, he smiles back.
And we hunt through the records together.
RETREAT
Lark
Lachlan leans against the passenger side of the Charger with his arms crossed. The doors to Shoreview Assisted Living slide shut behind me and I take a few steps into the muted light of the overcast morning, my bag slung across one shoulder, the strap of a guitar case across the other. Though my eyes are hidden by sunglasses, I know he can see the surprise and trepidation in my wary stance as I draw to a halt. I don’t know why I’m surprised when it’s been just over two weeks now of Lachlan doing little things to try to chip away at the wall I try to keep between us. It’s not the first time he’s showed up somewhere unexpectedly to offer me a ride. But something in his expression seems different this time, even from a distance, and it keeps me locked in place.
Lachlan unfolds his arms, stepping to the side to open the car door. He flips the passenger seat forward so I can put my belongings on the back seat. When he faces me once more, I haven’t moved an inch.
“Come on, duchess. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I ask.
“Can’t tell you.”
I swallow and fidget with the strap of my bag but I don’t come closer. A heavy beat drums in my chest as indecision and distrust root me to the ground.
Lachlan takes a small step forward and I remain still, my steady breath a fog in the cold air. “The … uh … the passenger seat is comfortable.”
“Better than the trunk?”
He winces. “I thought it might be too soon for that joke.”
“It was probably going to come up eventually.”
His hand slides to the back of his neck. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting to see what he’ll say. We’ve never spoken openly about that night—maybe we’re both too stubborn, or are unwilling to fracture the fragile peace that’s grown between us. But something seems different in Lachlan today. Like there’s both heartache and hope in his eyes.
He takes another step closer. I stand my ground. “That night we met,” he says, his voice soft with regret. “The way I acted, the way I took my shitty attitude out on you, putting you in the trunk … it wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Lark. I know what I did was … it was cruel. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take a lot of things back. But I can’t. I can only tell you I’m sorry, and I’m not going to ask you to forgive me.”
I square my shoulders and tip up my chin. “Well, that’s kind of a half-decent apology, aside from the weird forgiveness part.”
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me because I want to earn it.” Lachlan takes a final step closer. Gently, he takes the strap of my bag and slides it from my shoulder. “And when I do, you can let me know.”
My cheeks heat beneath the cold bite of the wind. And he sees it. His lips curve in a faint smile before he turns and starts walking back to the car.
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” I call after him.
“Yeah, well, I’m not the type to give up easily. I’m not afraid of putting in the work.”
“And what if we both get what we want and time is up on our marriage but I still haven’t forgiven you?” I ask. “I guess you’re in the clear then, right?”
Lachlan flinches from the sting of my words.
He lays my bag in the back seat and slides off his sunglasses as he turns to face me. The leather of my gloves creaks as my grip tightens across the strap of my guitar case. I clutch it as though it’s a lifeline in choppy waters. “There’s no end date, duchess. Get in,” Lachlan says. “We’ve got somewhere to be, and before you ask again, I’m not going to tell you. It’s a surprise. So please just get in.”
I grin and draw closer, finally passing him the instrument. “‘Please’? I didn’t realize that word was in your vocabulary.”