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“Turn it off,” I say.

Sergei closes the footage. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he says, “The full background report on Bennett should be ready by morning.”

“Send it to me when it is.”

“Will you wait for it before making any arrangements?”

“Yes. If she accepts, I want the checks completed before she comes to the house.”

“And if they come back okay?”

“Then she can decide whether she wants the job.”

Sergei studies me for a moment.

I look at him. “What now?”

“Nothing. I'm glad you're letting her decide.”

I give him a dry look. “You've become very interested in my personal life.”

“Only because you keep making it interesting.”

“Get out.”

He smiles and leaves.

I remain at my desk for a while, reviewing the security reports and the list of people who knew Anya's schedule. There are too many names, and I don't like how easily information moves through a household this large.

Eventually I open Elara's file again. Her professional photograph appears at the top. I hadn't looked at it closely before.

She is wearing a cream blouse beneath a black blazer, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, and she is smiling at the camera with the careful confidence people adopt when they're trying to convince a prospective employer they have everything under control.

I recognize her immediately, although she looks different without the bruises and the delivery jacket.

Her face is oval, her features soft but expressive, with dark brown eyes, a straight nose, and a full mouth that I remember moving around one sarcastic comment after another.

Her hair is longer than I realized, falling in loose waves past her shoulders.

She is beautiful.

I let myself acknowledge it this time.

There is no reason to pretend otherwise when I'm alone.

What surprises me is how much I want to see her again.

I want to know what she looks like when she laughs without wincing, how she behaves when she isn't frightened or trying to make light of pain, and whether she is always as quick to argue as she was in the hospital. I want to hear her say something that makes me laugh before I realize I'm doing it.

For years, attraction has been something I could take or leave. I have had no shortage of opportunities, but very little interest in pursuing them, and I have been content with that.

Now I look at a photograph of a woman I met this afternoon and think about the next time I will see her.

I close the file.

Then, after a moment, I open it again to read the employment history.

There are several promising interviews that went nowhere, a short analyst position that ended abruptly, and a reference from a former supervisor that’s unusually vague.