Filthy Rich Alpha - Virna DePaul Page 0,52

him? He’s alive?”

“Alive and well and currently in Punta Cana. It’s a tiny sovereign nation in the Caribbean. They have no extradition treaty with the US. Offshore banking is very big. Nice beaches.”

Branden cursed. Davies should not be toasting his scaly, aging flesh on a tropical beach. He should be rotting in hell. Just thinking about him made Branden’s blood boil.

“If he’s involved in all this, he’s pulling strings.”

“And I’ll find out who the puppet is.”

Branden thanked him and walked him out. Cara was in the kitchen when Branden got back into the apartment. He told her what Alex and the officers had found in the wall.

“Wow, so this is a lot more than catching the interest of the paparazzi,” she said. “Whoever put that camera there wanted a photo of every single person that comes into or leaves your home. It’s almost like you’re being stalked.”

“Yes,” Branden agreed. “This is serious, and I need to be prepared.”

“So does finding this out give you any new ideas about who it may be, or who they may be working for? Could it still be Davies?”

“I’m keeping an open mind. Given our backgrounds, I’m still betting on Davies, but the big question is motive. I’m just not sure…” He paused, then turned to her and caught her face in his hands before kissing her, soft and sweet, cherishing her lips. Her scent. The way she trembled under his hands. When he pulled back, he frowned. “And, Cara, no matter what, I’ll keep you safe. I will protect you.”

Chapter 16

Everyone had their own way of dealing with stress. Some people knitted, some ran, some sat in dark, seedy bars and drank gallons of alcohol. Cara cleaned house and ran numbers. Staying at Branden’s meant housecleaning was no longer an option—the maid took care of that daily—so she played with spreadsheets. She took comfort in the fact that with numbers, everything added up and made sense.

It had been three days since they’d discovered the camera inside the wall at Branden’s apartment. The police had a sketch of the man who had put it there, but so far a match hadn’t been in any law enforcement database.

Alex had also found a camera hidden deep inside one of the rocks in the gate that marked the entrance to the mansion. It was a high-powered camera that picked up images five hundred yards away with stunning clarity. The lens was no more than a dot, the same color as the rock it was hidden in. If Alex hadn’t known to look for it because of the one they’d found at the penthouse, it would likely have never been found.

Cara was still staying at Branden’s penthouse, and she was often present for Alex’s daily updates. They were no closer to making sense of Branden’s stalker or Cara’s role in things, but she and Branden had ample time to become more obsessed with each other.

And oh, God, was she ever obsessed.

Agreeing to stay at his penthouse while the threat was still out there had been both a blessing and an undoing. Because except when they were at work or dining out, they were having sex. Lots and lots and lots of sex. In every position known to man, and some she’d never even imagined in her wildest fantasies.

But what shook her world most was how, after they collapsed, physically and sexually spent, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, fingers entwined, legs scissoring, her head on his chest, rising and falling with each breath, his heartbeat strong in her ear, his breath gently moving her hair.

She knew now how he fell asleep—how right before he’d completely drift off his entire body would stiffen then jerk, as if jolted by an electrical current, then he’d sigh, pull her close, kiss the top of her head, and drift off.

She knew how he’d wake in the dead of night and reach for her if she’d drifted away from him in sleep. How he’d curl around her and cup her breast in his palm. Kiss the back of her neck. Make small, warm sounds in the back of his throat.

And she knew how he’d sometimes whisper her name when he thought she was asleep.

What she didn’t know, however, was what was happening to her.

For once, Iris wasn’t returning her calls or texts. She’d sent one brief text, saying Spr bsy—job hunting—will txt in a few days. Cara hadn’t known what to do without having her friend available to discuss the chaos that was