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I tensed up, feeling like the cubicle walls were slanting in and closing in on me.

If I take this to someone… I could be a target. I could be complicit.

Panic washed over me.

At the sound of someone coming down this way, I jerkily hurried to move my mouse and close out the window.

Owen paused at my cubicle. He narrowed his eyes at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

Literally? I’m freaking out. That’s what.

“You look like you’re about to cry or break down.”

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

“You screwing around and doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”

I think… I am.

I don’t think I was supposed to see those minutes of footage.

I shook my head again, willing him to continue walking away from me.

Because as I realized how dangerous this could be—this copy of what looked like the aftermath of a murder—I wished I could not just walk away from this job but also run.

To grab my son and run as far and fast as we could.

5

NIKOLAI

Maksim’s question about whether I was hesitant to kill this woman had me wondering if that could be part of it. If I was being influenced to spare Louisa because I’d noticed her.

Her innocence, yes.

But there was no denying she was a gorgeous woman, too.

In the realm of before, I was led by my dick. For sure. It didn’t take much for me to notice women, be curious to stick around with them, and get as much pleasure out of it as I could—for both myself and whatever woman was lucky enough to meet me.

Now, much to Paloma’s apparent wishes that I’d settle down and have kids in my house, I wasn’t chasing that many women. Or any.

Yet…

What is it about you?

I sat on the chair in the empty room that I’d broken into. The windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see that I was spying on her from a distance. Leaning back, I relaxed into this cursory chance to stalk her. To watch her. To fall a little deeper in this spell of wanting to know everything there was to learn about her.

Lifting the scope to my eyes again, I focused on tracking her movements. I concentrated on studying her expressions. And damn, was she…

Conflicted?

Unhappy?

Dissatisfied?

The scrawny man with the stupid, juvenile-looking moustache passed her cubicle again. His whole demeanor bothered me. How he loomed over her, taking advantage of her being seated so he could have a superior stance. How he smirked and scowled, like he wasn’t pleased and she had to know why. How he sneered at her and looked like he’d rather slap her than listen to her reply.

And that told me plenty.