Page 4 of Mane in Finance

The ankle gives out for real at the bottom of the slope, and I go down hard in the leaf litter. The man behind me is close enough now that I hear the specific sound of his footsteps crunching on the leaves.

Headlights swing across the trees, and an SUV comes off the fire road at an angle that shouldn't be possible for something that size, throwing dirt, and the passenger door is already open before it fully stops. I don't think about who, I wouldn't be able to out-negotiate a gun. I throw myself at the open door and a hand closes around my forearm, enormous, warm, dry, and hauls me up and in with an ease that would insult me if I had the spare capacity to be insulted.

"Down," Lucian says. "Floor. Now."

The door slams. Something hits the outside of it, but doesn't come through, and I understand from the sound alone that the panel is a great deal thicker than any car door has a right to be. We're moving before I've found my seat.

I come up off the floor swinging words instead of fists. "You. Of course it's you."

"Seatbelt."

"You sent them." My voice is doing something I don't authorize, cracking high. "You found out I was close and you sent men into my home to…"

"If I wanted your file, Ms. Holt, I'd have subpoenaed your firm. I own better lawyers than that." His eyes stay on the mirrors, both hands loose on the wheel, taking the fire road's blind curves at a speed that pins me to the seat. "The men in your apartment aren't mine. Put on your belt. This road gets worse."

"I'm supposed to believe…"

"You're not supposed to believe anything. You're meant to survive the next few minutes." He checks the rearview, and his shoulders drop half an inch, and that involuntary tell does more to steady me than anything he's said. "They pulled your power from the junction box, not the breaker. That's a crew. It's the kind you hire."

I clutch the document bag against my ribs. My palm is bleeding onto the good leather, but I have no care. "How did you know where I was?"

He's quiet a beat too long. "I've been keeping an eye on the town."

"That's not an answer."

The road smooths out. He eases off the throttle, and only then do I shake, one long violent shudder that runs through me and leaves my teeth chattering in a warm car. He notices, and reaches back one-handed, without looking, and drops a folded wool blanket into my lap like he keeps one there for exactly this.

I don't thank him. I sit there bleeding on a billionaire's upholstery, wrapped in his blanket, hating that some traitor side of me feels safe.

"They took the drives," I say finally. "Both of them. The cloud copy's mirrored somewhere they'll never find, but they've got physical…"

His jaw does something controlled. "What did they not take?"

I glance down at the fireproof bag crushed to my chest, at my own arms locked around years of somebody's carefully hidden sins.

Lucian glances over for the first time since I got in his car. Whatever he reads on my face makes the corner of his mouth move, not quite a smile, more like grim recognition passing between two people who've each just learned the other is more dangerous than advertised.

"Good," he says softly. "Then hold onto it. You're going to need something to bargain with, and you're not going to like where I'm taking you."

4

LUCIAN

Most people fill a car like this with noise. They bargain, threaten, and promise to be reasonable. Sophie sits with her document bag locked in both arms and watches the dark trees strip past the window, cataloging turns. I see her doing it, left at the split, the long climb, the stone gateposts that don't announce themselves. She's building a map she intends to walk back out on, and I allow it, because a person planning her escape is a person who hasn't given up, and that's what I need from her, not to give up.

The manor comes out of the forest all at once, warm windows against black timber, older than the town below it. Hector's people have the gate open before my headlights touch it. Sophie's arms tighten a fraction as we pull through.

"This is where you keep the ones who figure it out," she accuses.

"This is where I protect the ones I'd rather not bury. It's a short list. You've just joined it."

I bring the SUV around to the side entrance, cut the engine, and the quiet that drops over us is huge after the uneven road. She doesn't move for the door handle. Her palm is pouring with blood, a thin dark line she's ignored this whole drive, and I reach into the console for the first-aid kit I keep there.

"Give me your hand."

"Absolutely not."

"You'll bleed on the seats."