Page 72 of Wicked Heat

As David departed, Ash opened the slim cardboard envelope with the local messenger service’s logo. Inside he found a letter-sized envelope with Ash’s name printed on the front and a handwritten notation indicating that the service had received the fax fifteen minutes ago, and the sender had identified itself as Stark International. But it was a stamp reading URGENT that took up much of the envelope’s real estate.

Ash couldn’t imagine why Damien or anyone at the company would use a messenger service as a middleman and not just send the fax directly to the hotel. For that matter, why not text or email Ash directly?

Frowning, he slipped a finger under the flap to open the envelope. As he did, Bree hurried toward him, the dress back on, but her feet bare. “What is it?”

“Something from my father. Or his office,” he amended, pulling out the paper, then frowning as he unfolded it to reveal a fax copy of Stark International’s letterhead with no signature and no text. In fact, all that was on the paper was a QR code, neatly centered on the page.

“What the hell,” he began, but he choked on the words when Bree sank to the floor, then pulled her knees up and hugged them.

She tilted her face up, and the terror he saw there almost ripped his heart out.

“That’s not from Damien,” she whispered, her voice so soft that he could barely hear her. “And the message is about me.”

Twenty-Two

Ash shoved down the fear as he got her settled on the sofa. He crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees as he tried to stay calm despite the dread that twisted in his gut.

She hadn’t told him a thing yet, but he knew this must be tied in with the three million dollars.

Despite his horrible childhood and despite all the times his temper had landed him in the gossip pages, Ash had never wanted to actively seek someone out and hurt them.

He wanted to now.

He didn’t have a clue as to what he would see when he scanned that code, but it didn’t matter. He would find the person who sent it. Find them. Hurt them. Make them pay for hurting Bree. For scaring her.

For bringing so much darkness into the life of a woman whose smile was brighter than the sun and whose laughter sounded like rainbows.

That wasn’t who she was now, though. Just seeing that code had sucked the life from her face and the light from her eyes. Had taken a strong woman and broken her down into a frail child, now rocking herself on the sofa.

Ash had never felt more helpless in his life as he knelt in front of her. “I have to scan it,” he said. “I have to. But I’m going to go over there to do it.” He pointed to the balcony. “You stay here, okay?”

He started to rise, but she grabbed his hand, her grip much tighter than he would have expected. “I don’t want you to see it,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to, either. Not after seeing what it’s done to you.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand. “But this is what the three million’s about, isn’t it? And I think I have to do this.”

“It’s for me.” She reached for the stationery.

He shook his head. “It was addressed to me.” Even if that hadn’t been the case, he would have insisted on seeing it.

A small part of him said he was invading her privacy. A bigger part of him said to fuck that—he needed information if he was going to protect her. And he was damn well going to do that. He’d see her safe, no matter what horrors he might have to stomach along the way.

“You know what’s going on here,” he said. “Will you tell me?”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she whispered—her voice so low he almost couldn’t hear it—“Bring me my purse.”

He had it in seconds, and she pulled out her phone, then took off the case to reveal a hidden gift card. She held it up, showing him a QR code. “It was in the basket at my book signing.”

“Where does the link go?”

“To hell.” Her voice was so full of fear he was having a hard time controlling his temper. He wanted to lash out at who ever had done that to her. Barring that, he wanted to hurl something heavy and breakable.

Wanted to, but wouldn’t. No matter what, he wouldn’t do a thing that might scare her. “Bree, baby, I have to know if I’m going to help you.”

“I haven’t asked for your help,” she snapped. “Not like that. I just asked for⁠—”

“The money. I know.” He kept his voice soft. “But this is addressed to me.”

Her tear-filled eyes met his. “Who’s doing this? They’re all dead. Everyone who⁠—”