must—she should know I’m more than happy to turn the screw until she shows me every secret in her cunning mind.
8
Evelyn
The elevator only drops one floor before stopping and opening again. I scoot back a few steps as a young man in an impeccable suit steps on, his bright blue eyes catching mine as he casually leans against the wall beside me. He’s too close. The entire car is open, but he’s invading my personal space. Unfortunately for him, I made a decision that I will not be intimidated ever again. So, I stand my ground.
“I wonder.”
His voice surprises me, but I don’t make any movement or let it show.
He continues, “I wonder if you ever miss your brother?”
My throat closes, and I hold his gaze. I didn’t pack a weapon for the board meeting. Maybe I should have.
“Excuse me?” I glance at the elevator numbers as we get closer to the lobby and freedom.
“Red Witherington. Your brother. Do you feel bad he’s gone?” He moves quickly, caging me in against the back wall.
My heart slams against my ribs as I clutch my useless bag. I know how to fight. I’ve taken self-defense classes for just this moment. But one thing learning and sparring doesn’t prepare you for is the fear. Looking up at the man who’s easily twice my size, the fear is what keeps me in place, my heart rampaging in my chest.
“I asked you a question, Evie.” He uses the nickname that Red gave me, the one I left behind in the fire that burned down my entire world.
“Who are you?” My voice trembles, and I hate that he can hear it.
“Your future.” He smiles, slow and easy, his perfectly straight teeth a testament to modern orthodontia.
The elevator slows as we approach the bottom floor, and he backs off and adjusts his tie. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Evie. We’ll be in touch.” He pulls a black envelope from his inner suit pocket and holds it out.
The doors begin to open as he thrusts it into my shaking hand.
“See you around.” He turns and strolls toward the center of the building where a smattering of high-end stores and restaurants hum with businesspeople on early lunch breaks.
I stand there, fear rolling down my spine like ice water, until the doors close and the elevator begins moving upward. Taking in a shuddering breath, I jam my finger on the lobby button again, then carefully place the black envelope into my bag.
My mind is a cacophony of thoughts that boils down to one: They found me.
I’m not the woman I was, and I covered my tracks so, so well. But I should’ve known better. I was wondering if they’d been paying attention, and I was a fool to hope they weren’t.
The elevator stops, and a woman gets on and gives me a warm smile. I can’t return it, so hers fades like the bloom on a wilting flower as she stands near the door.
My stomach churns, and I fear I might be sick. When we’re back to the lobby, I peek out but don’t see the man with the golden hair and blue eyes.
Hurrying from the elevator, I take a hard right and speed my steps toward the parking deck. I need to get out of here, to save myself from my impending panic attack. It’s building, each step bringing me closer to my car and also a breakdown.
My heart beats a vicious rhythm to the tune of: They found me. They found me. They found me. The whispers are true. It’s happening again. Was that man the Sovereign? The envelope in my bag is like a ticking bomb, a burning fuse, a set of skeletal fingers around my ankle. I burst into the deck, my heels clacking on the concrete as I hurry to my Mercedes.
I pull up short when I see someone leaning against it. The man I killed is standing there and giving me a cocky smirk as I do my best to keep my breakfast from splashing on the ground.
“You don’t look so good, Ms. Delacroix. Having trouble?” He rests against my driver’s side door, blocking my escape.
“Move.” Panic rides me hard, but I refuse to let him see it. I kick up my chin and march to him as I crumble to dust on the inside. “There are cameras all over this deck. You can’t—”
He grips the front of my blouse and yanks me to him. I squeal and drop my bag.
“I can.” His