Page 37 of The Wrong Monster

Her eyes lift. Mine dart to the star-shaped mark on her cheek, then away.

“I’ve told you before, I keep my word.” I set my fork down. “Help us out of this mess, and I’ll let you go back to your life. I’ll pay your retainer and your fee. This isn’t a threat; it’s a job.”

A beat passes.

“Boring though it is.”

One corner of her mouth twitches despite herself. “I wasn’t aware you’d become such an expert on my life. You think whatever you have going on is boring compared to the cases I take?”

“I know enough.”

“I doubt that.”

But we both know the truth: that I do, in fact, have the means to learn anything I want about Matilda Pierce. Which makes it extremely frustrating that she still feels like such a mystery.

For a moment, I expect another refusal. Another lecture about ethics and kidnapping and every other reason she should hate me.

Instead, she folds her napkin neatly beside her untouched plate.

“I’ll do it.”

The words come so easily that I almost wonder whether I’d imagined them.

“You will?”

“If I’m representing your man, I need to know everything. What does he do for you?” Her voice is all business now.

“He’s my accountant.”

Matilda doesn’t flinch. She only requests: “Financial records. The arrest warrant. Discovery as it comes in. Every interview. Every name. If you hide something from me, I’ll find out eventually.”

I study her for a long moment.

“You’ll have it. Whatever you need.”

“And Mikhail agrees to hire me. You can pay, but he’s the client. My advice, his decisions.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m aware of who was arrested.”

“Then you’ll understand why my calls and meetings with him stay private. No recordings. No one listening.”

I let the silence stretch, then nod. She holds my gaze until I say it aloud.

“Fine.”

“And I’m not doing it locked in this room.”

That I’d expected. But after last night, I’m not sure I can handle the thought of her moving through my home. That’s my space, with all its secrets, though I’ve never felt under threat of vulnerability before.

“The house is secure,” I say. “The grounds are monitored. You’ll have more freedom than you do now.”

“‘Freedom’ is an interesting choice of words.”

“It requires trust.”

She holds my gaze. “I won’t hit you.” A pause. “Again.”

“You didn’t hit me.” The sour twist of her lips and the way she looks to the window again land with satisfaction in my gut. I suppress a smile. “I appreciate your restraint, though. Thank you.”