Chapter 4

Catherine stood frozen in the doorway. The dim light of the bedroom cast long shadows across the floor.

The man heard the door click. He slowly rotated the joystick on his armrest. The wheelchair turned.

Catherine's lungs stopped working.

It was the face of a Greek god carved in marble, ruined by a permanent scowl. And his eyes-those striking, unfocused gray-blue eyes.

A faint breeze drifted from the air vents. It carried the distinct scent of sharp cedar mixed with the sterile bite of medical alcohol. It was the exact same scent that had clung to his own skin last night, now lingering in his memory.

Her stomach plummeted. The cripplingly disabled, tyrannical husband her family had sold her to was the exact same man she had saved-and slept with-last night at the club.

Shock paralyzed her muscles. She took a half-step backward. The heel of her cheap shoe scraped against the hardwood floor just past the edge of the rug.

Arjun's head snapped toward the sound. The muscles in his jaw locked.

"The Burkes sent me a clumsy liability," Arjun said. His voice was a low, vibrating growl that scraped against her nerves. "Do not make noise in my room."

Catherine forced her throat to swallow. Her heart hammered against her ribs. If he realized she was the woman from the safe room, his paranoia would classify her as an assassin. He would have her killed.

She hunched her shoulders. She pinched her vocal cords, forcing a high-pitched, nasal country twang into her mouth.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir," Catherine stuttered, making herself sound utterly pathetic. "I didn't mean to drag my feet."

Arjun's upper lip curled in pure disgust. The sound of her fake, grating accent physically repulsed him.

"Get out," Arjun ordered. "Go to the guest room. Do not cross my path again."

Catherine spun around and practically ran out the door.

Arthur guided her to a guest suite at the far end of the hall. The moment the door clicked shut, Catherine slumped against the wood. She gasped for air, her chest heaving.

She remembered the dark circles under his eyes and the pale, waxy quality of his skin. Her medical brain kicked in. The physical counter-measures she took last night kept him alive, but the neurotoxin had clearly caused secondary compression on his optic nerves.

She needed to know where that poison came from.

As the sun set, Catherine changed into a pair of soft, silent cotton sweatpants. She slipped out of the guest room to map the layout of the penthouse.

She crept down the main corridor. As she passed the heavy oak doors of the study, she heard voices. The door was cracked open an inch.

She pressed her back flat against the wall, melting into the shadows.

Inside, Arjun's executive assistant, Alex Stone, was giving a report.

"The Elysium Club footage is gone, boss," Alex said. "Wiped clean by a military-grade worm. We have zero visual on the woman."

Catherine let out a slow, silent breath.

"But," Alex continued, "we found this wedged between the mattress and the headboard in the safe room."

Catherine heard the crinkle of a plastic evidence bag.

"Give it to me," Arjun demanded.

Catherine peeked through the crack. Arjun reached out. His long fingers traced the metal object. He rubbed his thumb over the deep scratch on the back of the pendant.

It was her St. Christopher medal.

"Put a bounty on the black market," Arjun ordered, his voice thick with a dark, obsessive intensity. "Turn New York upside down. Find the owner of this medal."

Catherine's pupils dilated. Cold sweat broke out across her spine.

She shifted her weight to step back. Her elbow brushed a heavy brass decorative statue sitting on a pedestal next to her.

The statue wobbled and clinked sharply against the marble base.

The voices inside the study instantly stopped.

"Who is out there?" Arjun roared. The violent hum of his wheelchair motors surged toward the door.