CHAPTER SEVEN

The girl hit the grass with a sickening crack of her skull hitting dirt. Her white coat spilled open like the wings of a dove around her making her appear almost angelic in the dusk. An angel that most definitely wouldn't have made it into heaven in that dress.

But I didn't dwell on the full, generous swells of her breasts practically spilling from the teasing v cut down the front or just how dangerously high the slit running up her smooth, creamy thigh was. I tucked my gun back into the waistband of my cargos and went to gather her up.

She weighed nothing.

Even soaking wet, she nestled against my chest as small and delicate as a kitten. Her head settled on my shoulder and I was drawn to the lingering scent of flowers and rain. Of wet earth and the smell of the lake. But beneath all that, tucked as if solely a part of her was something I couldn't identify.

"Boss?" Cyrus interjected. "Orders?"

I turned my focus away from the shivering woman in my arms to my best friend. "Clean it up."

Cyrus didn't move. "And her?"

I jostled my companion higher against my chest. "I got her."

With my bundle secure in my arms, I made my way back to the manor.

"Thoran? Did I hear gunfire? Did you—?" Oliver appeared at the head of the stairs. His gray eyes widened when they landed on me. Then the girl. He hurried to meet me halfway down. "Oh, my goodness! What happened? Who is she?"

"No idea."

I stalked past him.

He followed, round face as frantic as the hands he was flapping. "Should we call a doctor?"

"No."

I took her to the room next to mine and lay her on the bed. I ignored Oliver's fretting as I checked her pulse, then the bump on her head; I wasn't a doctor, but you didn't get to live the life of a criminal without learning the basics.

I left her only long enough to grab a fresh, clean top from my room. I returned to Oliver still hovering over her, hands wringing.

"Get out," I muttered, standing with my hand on the doorknob.

Oliver faltered. "You shouldn't be doing this. It's not proper."

"Well, I'm not letting anyone else undress her, so out."

He opened his mouth, but the look on my face must have been deterrent enough to silence him because he rushed from the room.

I shut the door and locked it before turning to my guest.

Oliver wasn't wrong. It wasn't my place to change her. Any normal place, a flock of women would have taken over, but there were no women at Lacroix House. There wasn't a woman for miles. Even if we got one to come, I wouldn't let her in. It wasn't safe. So, she was just going to have to settle for me.

The black t-shirt wrinkled under my fingers. The only hesitation I allowed myself before taking the final step to stand over the temptation.

She was beautiful.

The kind artists painted and poets moaned about. It was the kind of ethereal radiance that made me want to believe in fairies.

Mermaids.

Fucking angels.

She was breathtaking with soft, delicate features. A button nose. A narrow chin with a tiny dimple. Dusky lashes lay as gentle and precarious as a butterfly's wings across flushed cheekbones. Makeup, dark and streaked ran in jagged lines down her cheeks. Possibly from the rain. Maybe she'd been crying. Probably both. But what should have made her even slightly unattractive only fueled a fire of vicious protectiveness deep in my chest. It made me wish I hadn't killed the fucker who put that gash on her full, pillowy lip. I should have tortured him.

My obsession shivered. A weak sound escaped her slightly parted mouth and I was moving. All reservations vanished as my goal became clear.

Top discarded on the mattress, I went to the bathroom and flipped the switch on. I left the door open just wide enough to highlight her from the knees down. The rest of her stayed in murky darkness. It was enough to peel her coat off and undo the zipper on her dress. It was tricky trying not to touch anything I shouldn't or steal a glance as miles of perfect, creamy skin came into view.

Was I a saint? Absolutely not. Despite my best attempts to be a gentleman about the situation, I was still only human, and the woman at my mercy was everything that made my blood hot. Even in the dark, her skin practically glowed. Her hair glistened. She was a damn magnet, and I was uncontrollably drawn to every fucking inch of her.

But I gritted my jaw and reminded myself my mother raised a fucking gentleman and focused on the task with single-minded focus. I got her in the dry top and used a wet rag to wash the dirt and grass from her small hands and feet. I towel dried her limbs, going as high as I dared up her thighs before tucking her under the blankets.

I was fairly certain that was more than enough assistance from me when I found my ass perching on the edge of the mattress by her hip and my hands working through a wild curtain of hair that unspooled and spilled across the pillow in golden ribbons when I freed them from the hundreds of small, metal pins. I tossed them on the nightstand as I dislodged them, then took much too long sifting through the locks searching for more before accepting there was none and just sitting there a moment longer to examine her face. The dark bruise just under the smeared makeup. The cut in her bottom lip from that prick. At a glance, I guessed she'd been in a shitty relationship with that fucker, but he'd been quick to point out he didn't know her. She certainly didn't seem like the sort to hitchhike, not in that dress.

Christ, that dress.

I glanced at the ruined puddle of white fabric leaking rainwater across the hardwood.

That dress was meant as a message. Whoever the intended recipient was, I had an inexplicable urge to kill him.

A knock at the door interrupted my homicidal tendencies. I glanced at the girl before pushing to my feet and moving to dislodge the lock.

Cyrus met my gaze from the other side with Oliver just over his shoulder. I frowned at my uncle but turned my attention to the other man.

"We found his car just down the road. This was inside." He held up a generic, black backpack. "You might want to see what's inside."

My initial guess was drugs.

Drug mule wasn't what I would have pegged her for, but it made the most sense.

I took the bag and caught both sets of eyes trying to peer past my frame. Cyrus was more subtle about it. Oliver was not; he was practically on his toes.

"Was there something else?" I challenged.

Cyrus didn't bat an eye at my raised eyebrow. Oliver faltered.

"The girl—" Cyrus started.

"Is my concern." I stepped back, prepared to close the door again.

"I really think we should get a doctor—" Oliver began.

My gaze dropped to the bag clutched in my fingers. "No."

Not until I knew what I was dealing with. Getting outside people involved never ended well when drugs were tossed into the mix.

I closed the door. With my free hand, I dragged the chair away from the wall and took it with me to the bed. I sat and propped the bag into my lap.

With a glance at Sleeping Beauty, I tore it open and blinked.

No drugs.

Clothes and a baggie containing a book and passport. A wallet with cash and more ID. Nothing that, at a glance, would seem suspicious, until I flipped the book open.

"Katie Smith." I stared at the name, then at my guest, trying to make the two match. "You are not Katie Smith," I mumbled, knowing without a shred of doubt.

I had seen and created enough grab bags to know a fake identity when I saw one.

She was running.

"He was my ride,"she'd said.

I went over her new life. Her destination. I traced over the intricate outline with growing admiration; whoever put her pack together deserved a job with the government, or better yet, me. They were methodical. Every piece perfectly done. This was a labor of great love. They had spared no expense. They wanted to see her free and had made sure of it.

I sighed and shut the book. A knuckle tapped on the soft cover as I studied my new guest.

It truly was unfortunate that they tried so hard, done so much just for her to wind up being my prisoner.