Though I feel Lachlan watching me, I don’t turn toward him. “You sure—”
“Maybe we should start with the most obvious names and work our way from there.” My fingers fly across the keyboard. “My aunt’s nemesis would be the most likely candidate.”
I have enough information about Bob Foster to enter into the search fields for the results to turn up a single contact card. When I click on it, a spread of more detailed data fills the screen. There’s a row of locked queries at the bottom of the page, the information hidden behind paywalls.
“I doubt he would do the dirty work himself, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to pay for chaos. Do you think we can figure out if he was involved?”
When I meet Lachlan’s gaze, his brow is furrowed, his eyes dark as they sweep across my skin, leaving heat behind. “It’s your contract, duchess. Do what you want.”
I return my attention to the screen and gnaw at my lip.
“It’s a good plan,” Lachlan says as he points to one of the locked tiles. “Click on that one and enter your Leviathan account number. We’ll check through his bank records and see if there are any recurring payments around the same time as the murders. That’s where I would start.”
I grin at Lachlan. And though it’s soft and almost shy, he smiles back.
And we hunt through the records together.
OceanofPDF.com
RETREAT
Lark
Lachlan leans against the passenger side of the Charger with his arms crossed. The doors to Shoreview Assisted Living slide shut behind me and I take a few steps into the muted light of the overcast morning, my bag slung across one shoulder, the strap of a guitar case across the other. Though my eyes are hidden by sunglasses, I know he can see the surprise and trepidation in my wary stance as I draw to a halt. I don’t know why I’m surprised when it’s been just over two weeks now of Lachlan doing little things to try to chip away at the wall I try to keep between us. It’s not the first time he’s showed up somewhere unexpectedly to offer me a ride. But something in his expression seems different this time, even from a distance, and it keeps me locked in place.
Lachlan unfolds his arms, stepping to the side to open the car door. He flips the passenger seat forward so I can put my belongings on the back seat. When he faces me once more, I haven’t moved an inch.
“Come on, duchess. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I ask.
“Can’t tell you.”
I swallow and fidget with the strap of my bag but I don’t come closer. A heavy beat drums in my chest as indecision and distrust root me to the ground.
Lachlan takes a small step forward and I remain still, my steady breath a fog in the cold air. “The … uh … the passenger seat is comfortable.”
“Better than the trunk?”
He winces. “I thought it might be too soon for that joke.”
“It was probably going to come up eventually.”
His hand slides to the back of his neck. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting to see what he’ll say. We’ve never spoken openly about that night—maybe we’re both too stubborn, or are unwilling to fracture the fragile peace that’s grown between us. But something seems different in Lachlan today. Like there’s both heartache and hope in his eyes.
He takes another step closer. I stand my ground. “That night we met,” he says, his voice soft with regret. “The way I acted, the way I took my shitty attitude out on you, putting you in the trunk … it wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Lark. I know what I did was … it was cruel. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take a lot of things back. But I can’t. I can only tell you I’m sorry, and I’m not going to ask you to forgive me.”
I square my shoulders and tip up my chin. “Well, that’s kind of a half-decent apology, aside from the weird forgiveness part.”
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me because I want to earn it.” Lachlan takes a final step closer. Gently, he takes the strap of my bag and slides it from my shoulder. “And when I do, you can let me know.”
My cheeks heat beneath the cold bite of the wind. And he sees it. His lips curve in a faint smile before he turns and starts walking back to the car.
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” I call after him.
“Yeah, well, I’m not the type to give up easily. I’m not afraid of putting in the work.”
“And what if we both get what we want and time is up on our marriage but I still haven’t forgiven you?” I ask. “I guess you’re in the clear then, right?”
Lachlan flinches from the sting of my words.
He lays my bag in the back seat and slides off his sunglasses as he turns to face me. The leather of my gloves creaks as my grip tightens across the strap of my guitar case. I clutch it as though it’s a lifeline in choppy waters. “There’s no end date, duchess. Get in,” Lachlan says. “We’ve got somewhere to be, and before you ask again, I’m not going to tell you. It’s a surprise. So please just get in.”
I grin and draw closer, finally passing him the instrument. “‘Please’? I didn’t realize that word was in your vocabulary.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he says as he lays the guitar down and flips the passenger seat back into place. He turns to me and offers his hand. I stare at it, unmoving and suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you into the vehicle. You know, like a gentleman. Believe it or not, I’m normally quite a well-mannered bloke and not a total heathen. You just caught me on an off day,” he says, which earns him a snort. “Okay, maybe a few off days.”
“Well, this chivalrous streak is weirding me out.”
“Then I guess you’ve got two choices. Get used to the weird, or fight me every step of the process. Either way, I’m not going to stop.”
“You do realize I’m not going to be dickmatized into Lachlan Kane’s accelerated apology plan, right?” I say as I slide my palm onto his. He laughs as he lowers me into the car.
“I’ll put that in my notes,” he says. “‘Do not dickmatize Lark into forgiveness.’”
When he starts driving, he grips the steering wheel too tightly, getting a little distracted when I connect my phone to the stereo. When I ask him about music he stalls the car at a red light. He grumbles a handful of swears and his cheeks flush crimson. When he glances my way, I turn to look out the window, hiding a teasing grin.
It takes us a minute to find our stride. But soon we’re talking about … everything. By the time we reach our destination, we’ve been talking for a half hour nonstop about the band I’ve been rehearsing with, and I feel at ease.
At least I do until we turn down a quiet lane and roll to a stop at the end of a paved walkway.
“What is this?” My head swivels between Lachlan and the log ranch house at the end of the path. Its black and gold sign merely says ROCK ROSE LODGE. My eyes narrow with suspicion, all the comfort I felt in Lachlan’s presence suddenly gone and replaced with an uncomfortable knot that tightens in my chest. “Is this some kind of place where you’re going to leave me in an attempt to cure my—what did you call it—glitter psycho streak?”
“Christ Jesus. No, Lark.” Lachlan reaches down and releases my seat belt, guiding the buckle away from my body and back to its resting place by my shoulder. “Rock Rose Lodge is a sleep retreat.”
My breath hitches in my throat as I attempt to process his words. “A … what?”
“A sleep retreat. They specialize in treating insomnia.” Lachlan pulls a brochure from the interior pocket of his jacket and passes it to me. “Sound therapy sessions. Yoga. Acupuncture. Light therapy. Meal plans. There’s a sleep specialist here, Dr. Sargsyan. She’ll help to make a personalized plan for you to follow.”
