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“God forbid he wear jewelry.” I grab the necklace and drop down onto the floor. “Can’t even let anyone see he owns a necklace. They might take away his man card.”
I roll my eyes and flick the locket open. I expect it to be empty, like his heart.
But I freeze when I realize there’s a picture inside.
A tiny color image of a young Timofey stares up at me. His hair is shorter, cropped close to his head, and I don’t see any tattoos on his exposed arms. Everything about him is leaner, younger, less scarred. He can’t be older than twenty.
More than any of that, though, I notice the woman at his side.
She has thick blonde hair that curls around her shoulders and a wide, red-lipped smile. She’s gorgeous.
Jealousy I have no right to feel twists in my gut. I snap the locket closed and it flips in my hand, revealing an engraving I hadn’t noticed before.
For Emily.
Possibilities fire in my brain one after the other. Emily could be a friend—but what kind of man buys a locket for his (extremely attractive and definitely female) friend?
She’s probably a girlfriend. An ex, or…
God, is there any chance they’re still dating? Is there a chance they’remarried?
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I say aloud, talking myself back from the emotional ledge I feel like I’m approaching. “He showed up in my room in the middle of the night. I’m a victim.”
Okay, then why do I suddenly find myself hoping he hasn’t seen Emily since this picture was taken?
My decision is swift. Before Timofey can walk in and catch me snooping, I pull out my phone and text Noelle.
Weird request. Use your Google-fu and find out if Timofey Viktorov has any connection to a blonde woman named Emily.
Noelle may be dating an FBI agent, but she’s the one with the super sleuth skills. The woman can find dirt on anyone using nothing but her keyboard and a search engine.
She’s at work right now, though. Rule follower that she is, she probably won’t see my text until her lunch break.
I tuck the locket back where I found it and am about to flop into Timofey’s desk chair to wait when I hear his voice in the hallway.
He says my name, but nothing else is clear. I creep towards the door.
“Not Ms. Quinn,” his butler says. I think his name is Fyodor, but I’ve met too many people to keep track. “Another guest. One who would like to remain…discreet.”
A guest who would like to remain discreet?What does that mean?
Timofey doesn’t ask. “Where?”
“The south entrance. The cameras are on a loop.”
My eyes widen. I knew he had to have cameras somewhere. But whoever he is about to talk to, he doesn’t even want his own personal recording of that conversation.
That means it has to be something serious.
Something serious—as in, something I could use to get myself out of here and make sure the child in his care is removed as well.
The voices are gone, but I wait for a few more seconds before I crack the door open.
The hallway is empty. I open the door fully and poke my head out, just in time to see Timofey turn a corner and disappear.
Without pausing to think it through, I slip out of his office and follow after him.
Maybe if I walk with my head held high, no one will notice I’m wandering around without permission. Timofey did tell everyone to stay out of my way, after all. If anyone stops me, I’ll just tell them I’m running an errand for Benjamin.
