Page 36 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“No, let’s do direct.” She takes one step toward me. The fear is there, but anger is what she lets me see. “Patrick sold me to save himself.”

I say nothing.

Her eyes narrow. “He also sold me because of you.”

My hands stay at my sides.

“Careful.”

“Stop pretending you’re hearing this for the first time.” She points toward the door. “Even your men know it’s personal. You took custody of me yourself.”

I step into her space. “You overheard men talking.”

“Congratulations.” Her eyes flash. “Your haunted murder mansion has acoustics.”

“They shouldn’t have spoken near your door.”

I move past her and dial Abramov.

He answers on the first ring. “Antonov.”

“Change the guards outside her suite.”

A pause. “At morning rotation?”

“Now.”

Cara watches me, arms folded, fury still alive in her face.

I end the call.

“That,” she says, “is what bothers you?”

“It’s one thing that bothers me.” I walk to the table. Mrs. Wentworth has left a few magazines beside the tray. Fine dining. Luxury travel. Estate interiors. Expensive boredom, chosen by someone who thought glossy paper could tire out a furious woman.

Cara hasn’t touched them.

She steps closer. Her voice comes out charged, ready to break either way. “You’re not going to deny it.”

“No.”

She breaks into a laugh with no humor in it. “Fuck. It’s worse than I thought.”

“You’re making more of this than it deserves.” My voice stays even, though keeping it there takes effort. “Patrick may have guessed I’d take personal custody.”

“May have guessed?” She throws a hand toward the door. “You flew across the world, collected me yourself, and parked me in your luxury prison before I even finished panicking.”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m trapped.” Her mouth tightens, and the anger cracks enough to show the exhaustion under it. “Do you seriously not see the difference?”

“I see more than you think.” I put the magazine on the table and turn to face her.

“Then look at the right thing.” She steps closer again, too close for comfort. “Patrick didn’t just sell me. He aimed me.”

Heat moves through me fast enough to become dangerous. I hold her stare because if I look at her mouth, I’ll remember Boston, and if I remember Boston now, I’ll make another mistake.

“Don’t repeat anything you hear through that door,” I say.