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When I knew her, she was a young. We both were, but I was a few years older. Back then, I didn’t feel anything but a strong kinship with her. A tangible bond. Anything further would have been unforgiveable, given our living situation and her age.
But she’s not young anymore.
Every inch of her is smooth and golden and touchable now.
Not to mention, locked down so tight from the rest of the world, the Bureau only had one single current picture of her for the criminal file. But it was enough for me, wasn’t it? As soon as I caught sight of the file on my superior’s desk, I recognized her as the foster sister I’d known far too briefly all those years ago. It was enough to request the assignment, just so I could see her again. To find out if she’s retained her magic—and by God, she has.
It's just a very different kind of magic now. The magic of a woman.
Unfortunately, once again, Magnolia Van Dam lives beneath the roof of a very bad man.
Karson Rhodes.
As my first assignment straight out of Quantico, it’s my job to surveil him. Gather evidence of his racketeering, money laundering, weapons exchanges and general villainhood. In the process, my plan was to retrieve Magnolia. Save her from this gilded cage and give her more out of life. A home, freedom, companionship. I never expected to witness a fucked-up love affair between two wards—Magnolia and Pace.
But that’s exactly what I just saw, isn’t it?
Why am I not repelled? Why am I…turned on and jealous at the same time?
It makes no sense when I’m here to steal Magnolia away, all for myself.
I think about retreating to my tent to relieve my lust, but I need to write down the details of my surveillance while the facts are fresh in my head, so I force myself to stop imagining Magnolia’s sun-kissed pussy and drag out my notebook instead, making a notation—
Something moves in my periphery, in the direction of the massive stone manor that is, apparently, preparing for some sort of party tonight.
A party that Magnolia obviously has no intention of attending, considering she is climbing down the side of the structure with the aid of several sheets tied together in knots.
My heart crams up behind my jugular, because Jesus, it’s a long way down. Did she tie the end of those sheets to something sturdy? She’s too delicate to survive a fall from that height. Just like when we were foster kids living together, the possibility of Magnolia getting hurt is about as appealing as having an axe buried in my stomach. I can’t stand the idea of her in pain. A prick of her finger would crumble me, especially after years of searching for my long-lost magic girl with the otherworldly pretty features and bottomless eyes.
The world hasn’t cared for her as well as I have, though, has it?
Magnolia, now nineteen, was orphaned at age six when her parents died of food poisoning on a cruise ship. No extended family. Moved around in the foster care system until age fourteen when Karson Rhodes became her legal guardian through channels that couldn’t possibly be legal. Rhodes had taken in Pace Purcell at the same time—a kid whose background included a whole lot of dark hell. Living on the street, in and out of juvenile hall for battery, robbery, vandalism, grand theft auto.
Pace still participates in a lot of dark shit—he just operates on behalf of Rhodes now.
But Magnolia? She doesn’t fit into this evil picture. She’s too sweet to live in this world full of criminals. She belongs with me. Maybe she realizes the Rhodes household is bad news, too, and that’s why she was clearly making a run for it ahead of the supposed party tonight.
I let out a pent-up breath and briefly lower my binoculars when she touches down on the leaf-strewn grounds outside of the mansion, looking around to see if she is going to get caught—and then running into the surrounding woods like her very life depends on it.
The woods where I’m standing, a quarter mile from the home.
Camped out. Gathering intel. Watching her.
God, I’ve lost days just watching her, haven’t I?
Bathing, painting, reading, doing aerial yoga in her studio.
Now, she is running straight for me in nothing but a sheer tank top and shorts. At least she wore sneakers on this runaway mission. Her perfect, pink toe-nailed feet are safe. What am I going to do if she sees me? She is not going to recognize me—there is simply no chance. My black hair used to be long and wild. I was scrawny from lack of nutrition. I’ve grown a goddamn foot and put on pound upon pound of muscle. My face has filled out and I have a beard. She simply won’t know me and I can’t tell her I’m her long-lost foster brother. My dedication to tracking her down would likely cause her to be terrified.
