10. Madelyn

CHAPTER 10

Madelyn

J oshua looks completely unsurprised to see me when I walk into his office after our morning debrief.

“It seems my mornings aren’t complete without you showing up in here. How can I help you?”

I ignore the snark in favor of what I came to say, which is actually quite serious.

“There’s a small issue, boss. People aren’t taking the Christmas games as seriously as they should be. I’ve only had two people sign up for activities apart from me—Kenny and the nice cleaning lady. That’s it. I’m disappointed, horrified, terrified, mystified, and rapidly running out words that end in ‘-fied’…”

Joshua chuckles. “I’ll sign up for something today, and I’ll make sure to remind everyone at the meeting tomorrow that the games are mandatory.”

I beam. “Yes, thank you. That would be very helpful.”

“Anything else I can help with?”

“Yeah, could you please tell your asshole of a best friend to give me access to his database?” I request, my lips curled down in a frown.

His eyes lighten with amusement. “My ‘asshole of a best friend,’ as you’ve so aptly put it, unfortunately does not listen to me. You’d have better luck convincing him to do anything than I would. What do you need the database for, anyway? The Bureau’s database isn’t good enough?”

I shake my head. “Unfortunately no. The Bureau’s database only has detailed information on criminals and basic information on everyone else. Dominic’s database has detailed information on everyone. Don’t ask me how he got it; I’m pretty sure it involved a lot of hard work and a lot of illegal activities.”

“Yeah, that’s probably right,” he says on a smile. “Exactly who do you need to look into?”

“The man who was in the video with Torres. He’s not coming up in our database, so I want to see if Dominic has any information on him. It could help us get a clue on Torres’s whereabouts.”

What I don’t add is that I’m almost sure the other man’s a member of the mafia, and if we can get confirmation of that, then the FBI will have no choice but to investigate them.

“Hmm,” Joshua says thoughtfully. “Have you thought about just asking Dominic to use the database?”

“Sure, but talking to him gives me a headache. On good days, he actually speaks, but most of the time he’s giving me affirmative grunts or a thumbs up.”

“He’s not the biggest talker,” Joshua says fondly. “But you two seem to talk a lot. Maybe he likes you.”

“The guy’s an unfeeling robot; he doesn’t like anybody. But he is stalking me for some reason. Which I have yet to find out. Which reminds me, I have beef with you. You gave him a job here and basically encouraged him to overturn my life.”

“You don’t seem to be complaining much,” he points out, not even bothering with a denial.

“I’m complaining a lot. I want Dominic out of my life. I want Dominic out of my life.” I repeat it three more times for good measure.

Joshua smirks. “He says you’re a good liar and that he doesn’t believe half the words that leave your lips most of the time.”

I throw my hands up in the air in defeat. “And now he’s besmirching my good name. And you think I’m tolerating the guy?”

“Yep,” Joshua answers easily. “Don’t worry, I won’t pretend to understand your weird relationship. As for the database, just ask him, okay?”

“He didn’t come in to work today,” I murmur.

“Yes. He’s fallen ill,” Joshua says.

My eyes widen and I feel a pulse of worry run through me. “Seriously? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “He just didn’t want to come in to work. He’s taking a sick day to rest.”

“Of course he is,” I mutter. “Okay, then. Nice talk. See you later, boss.”

He doesn’t stop me as I step out of his office and into mine. I try to concentrate on work but I keep glancing at the door, hoping Dominic will walk in.

It’s pathetic but I actually kind of miss him. Like I’ve summoned him with my thoughts, my phone buzzes on the desk, and when I lift it, there’s a text notification from him.

It’s two simple words.

Dominic: Miss me?

My jaw drops. I have to look around to confirm that he’s not secretly watching me from somewhere. And even if he was, how the hell could he know what I was thinking?

There can only be one explanation. The man is a wizard.

Me: Why would I miss you, Dominic? I’m enjoying a peaceful day at work without you.

Dominic: Yeah, right. Anyway, I heard on the grapevine that you need something from me.

Me: Maybe, maybe not.

Dominic: Pick one, Flowers, and stick to it.

My heart flutters at the nickname. I’m never going to admit it, but I actually really like it. And somehow, he’s right. I think it kind of does describe me.

Me: Fine. I need access to your database.

Dominic: Alright. Come over to my house later and I’ll give it to you.

My eyebrows rise.

Me: And why would I do that?

Dominic: Because you need access to the database.

I can just imagine his bland, dull voice.

Me: I’m not coming to your house. Send me the means to log in and I’ll check it out on my own.

Dominic: Sorry, no can do, Flowers. The only way you get to use it is right in front of me where I can monitor you. The database is pretty precious to me.

I bite down on my bottom lip as I consider agreeing to his obvious ploy to get me to come to his house alone.

“This feels like a trap,” I text him after a couple seconds of debating in my mind.

On one hand, I really do want to check out his database. And I’m not just curious about the man in the video—I could have access to a lot more information with it. On the other hand, though, this is Dominic we’re talking about. As much as I hate to admit it, my self-control when it comes to him hovers on the edge of a cliff.

His reply has me shifting even closer to the edge of that cliff.

Dominic: Don’t worry, Flowers. I won’t fuck you again unless you’re begging for it. Preferably on your knees. With those pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.

My breath catches and my cheeks heat. I really should tell him to stop talking to me like this. But if I’m being honest, I like his dirty talk. I like a lot of things he says way more than I should.

Me: You talk like this to all your friends?

Dominic: Only you, Madelyn.

Something flutters in my stomach at that.

Dominic: So, are you coming over or not?

Me: I’ll think about it.

Dominic: See you later, beautiful.

I drop my phone on the desk. And then I drop my head against my chest and groan. I am so fucked.

Against my better judgment, I do end up showing up at his apartment building at 7 p.m. Where’s my self-respect, you ask? It flew out the taxi window with my dignity. At least I still have some resolve. I didn’t come here to sleep with him. I came here for the database.

And also to see him because I really did miss him.

I’m allowed up to the penthouse and the doors slide open before I even get the chance to ring the doorbell. Dominic’s lying on his living room couch with a laptop at his side when I walk through the doors.

“Hey, Flowers,” he greets.

My gaze slides over him. He’s wearing black joggers and a white tank top. His toned arms are in full display. I suck in a sharp breath.

Yeah, this was definitely a mistake.

“Hey,” I murmur, crossing over to meet him.

I take off my jacket, trying not to get too distracted by the memories of what happened in the spot not even three feet away from me. I’m rattled. And I know for a fact that he can tell.

“How was work today?”

“Quiet,” I mutter, sitting on the couch across from him. “How are you feeling? You know, since you’re apparently sick .” I make sure to put air quotes around the word with my fingers.

He smiles. “I’m feeling quite well, thank you.”

“I can’t figure you out,” I admit. “On one hand I think you’re not taking the job seriously and you’re only working for nefarious intentions. But then I think about how you solved the case about the missing kids and I don’t know what to think anymore.”

His eyebrow arches. “Nefarious intentions, you say.”

“Yeah, and they most certainly involve me.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Madelyn.”

He yawns before shutting his eyes briefly. He lifts the back of his hand to rest against his forehead, discomfort coloring his expression for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask him.

“Fine. Just tired,” he mumbles.

I slowly rise to my feet and crouch beside him on the couch. I inhale softly as I press my hand against his cheek. And then I gasp.

“What the fuck, Dominic? You’re burning up. You’re actually sick?”

I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. I stand up, ready to hunt down a towel and some cold water. Or anything to bring his fever down. But he stops me by grabbing my wrist. I still, staring down at the point of contact before looking at his face. His eyes are still closed.

“I’ll be fine,” he says lowly.

“You don’t look fine,” I grit out. “Have you at least eaten?”

“Why? You going to cook for me?”

“Of course not. I don’t actually want you to die.”

He chuckles. It’s a nice sound coming from him, and odd in the sense that I rarely get to hear it.

“I already had dinner. And I made you some as well. Just head into the kitchen and warm it up. Alright?”

I pause, unsure of what to say in response to that.

“You don’t get to take care of me when you’re sick.”

“I have to take care of you, Madelyn,” he murmurs.

What does that even mean? I lean down so I can hear him better. He looks right on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Are you really sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I already took some pills. This happens sometimes. My body just crashes. Then it sets right again after a couple of hours.”

I’ve never heard of that before. “Why does it happen?”

I’m totally taking advantage of the fact that he’s sick because if he was fully alert, there’s no way in hell he’d be telling me all this right now.

“I was pretty sick as a kid,” he whispers, making my heart clench. “I already opened up the database for you on the laptop, so just have at it. I think I’m gonna sleep a while, okay?”

As soon as he ends the statement, he falls asleep, his breathing evening out. I’m not sure how long I stare at him for. I have so many questions. Why was he sick? What was he sick with? And more importantly, does his sickness have anything to do with the scar that’s directly above his heart?

Once I’m sure he’s not going to die on me or anything like that, I fall back on my heels, finally taking my eyes off him. I grab the laptop, wondering if I should leave his side and head to maybe his dining room to work. In the end, I decide to stay put right where I am.

I sit with my ankles locked on the floor against the couch. I then place the laptop against my knees before starting to work. The hum of Dominic’s laptop fills the quiet of his penthouse for some time, a low backdrop to the rhythmic tap of my fingers against the keys.

Before I realize it, it’s been three hours.

The only time I stood up within those three hours was to grab a blanket from his room, which I draped loosely over his broad shoulders. I glance back at him briefly. His features are much softer in sleep, but there’s tension there, too, a crease between his brows that doesn’t seem to go away even when he’s unconscious.

I bite my lip and turn back to the laptop, trying to focus. But then I hear it. A low, broken sound cuts through the quiet. I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, listening as the sound grows clearer. He’s calling for someone. A faint desperate word, tumbling from his lips like a plea.

“Ilya,” he says softly, pain coating the word.

I scoot closer to him, the laptop forgotten, my pulse quickening. “Dominic,” I whisper, hesitant.

His breathing grows erratic and I hurriedly stand up. He’s gripping the edge of the couch, bracing himself against something. I know this look, this feeling, all too well. I’m sure this is how I look every time I dream of my mother getting murdered.

He’s trapped in a nightmare. The kind that’s as much your reality as it is a dream. I kneel beside him, my fingers hovering just above his face. I don’t know how to wake him up when he’s like this. It could be dangerous, especially when he’s so obviously trapped in his own mind.

“Dominic,” I try again, my voice gentle.

He still doesn’t stir. I steel myself, finally reaching down, ready to touch his shoulder. But before I can, his hand shoots out, iron-like, and grab my wrist. I gasp, my heart leaping as his eyes snap open, gray eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. For a second he looks at me like doesn’t recognize me.

Then he blinks and the sharpness in his gaze softens.

“Flowers,” he breathes, his voice rough and raw.

His grip on my wrist loosens and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“It’s okay,” I say softly, even though my heart is still pounding. “You were just dreaming.”

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub away the remnants of whatever nightmare had him in its grip. I stay frozen in place, watching him. His movements are precise, controlled, but I know what it’s like to wake up with your pulse racing, your mind clawing for clarity.

Before I can say anything else, he pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me tightly, as if using me as an anchor to reality. I place a hand on his chest to steady myself, right over his rapidly beating heart. When our eyes meet, my breathing catches and I find it impossible to look away.

“Please,” he whispers.

It’s only one word, but it’s enough to shatter my heart in two. And then his lips are on mine, urgent and consuming, like he’s trying to down out whatever ghosts his mind conjured up. I don’t fight the kiss; in fact, I lean into it. My eyelids flutter shut and I wrap my arms around his neck. My heart thumps as his lips slide over mine. I remain right there with him, helping to guide him back to reality. I kiss him back with just as much fervor. Our tongues take part in a dance only they are privy to.

I feel a pressure building up behind my eyelids. But I don’t stop kissing him. I don’t let go until he does. He breaks the kiss after what feels like forever, pulling away from me. I’m panting, my chest heaving with each breath.

Dominic slowly lowers his head backward, his eyes going up to the ceiling. I’m still in his lap and his hands are still around my waist. Neither of us says anything for a long moment. Finally he clears his throat before gently shifting me out of his lap and onto the couch. I open my mouth to speak then close it because I genuinely have no clue what to say.

“You good, Flowers?” his gruff voice questions, breaking the awkward silence.

I nod slowly. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”

“Okay.” He rises to his feet, running a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Around ten,” I reply, looking everywhere but at his face.

“Shit. I’ll take you home after I have a shower, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t run away again,” he says sternly.

I look up and meet his narrowed eyes with a small smile. Or at least a cross between a grimace and a smile.

“I won’t. I promise.”

He nods once before starting to walk in the direction of his room. Then he seems to remember something and turns around.

“Have you eaten?”

My eyes widen and I bite down on my bottom lip, “I kinda, might have forgotten to eat.”

He shoots me a disbelieving look. “You’re joking.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was a little too worried about you to think about that.”

Plus, I really didn’t feel like leaving his side.

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “When I tell you to do things, Madelyn, they’re not suggestions. I actually expect you to do them. Am I clear?”

I wrinkle my nose at his tone. “Crystal,” I say dryly.

“Get your ass in that kitchen and eat. We leave for your house in thirty minutes,” he says, pointing in the direction.

And then he walks away. I let out a relieved breath. At least he’s back to normal. I don’t know what demons he was fighting while he was sleep, but I’m beyond glad that they can’t reach him right now.

More than anything, though, there’s a burning question on my mind.

Who is Ilya?