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“The Ghost believes he is getting closer to the key.” He slides one of the laptops toward me. “There’s no way to know who it is yet, but maybe if we know where it originated, it might give us a better idea. Maybe even which office or what section of the building, so that we can pull security tapes, if they haven't already been wiped.”

I stare at the screen. The numbers look like ants. My brain, which had finally started to feel like it was back in business, begins the slow, painful process of turning back into a machine.

Maybe going out today was a mistake. I know time is of the absolute essence, but after the break, I don't want to get back into it. I want more time with a man I could easily fall for. I shouldn’t want it, because it will likely end in ruin, and I know that. But it’s intoxicating, nonetheless.

“Sebastian.”

“Hmm?” His eyes flick back and forth over the information on the screen, as if he can pull the answer straight from the pixels.

“It’s the Fourth of July weekend.”

He stops, his fingers hovering over the keys. He looks at me, and for a split second, I see the man from the beach peering through the cracks of the executive. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“I’m aware of the date, Isabella. I’m also aware that time is quickly slipping away.”

I want to say something, but I don't. I move to my tablet and start cross-referencing.

For the next two hours, the only sounds in the house are the clinking of ice in his glass and the frantic clicking of keys. Kiersten brings us a dinner of clam chowder and fresh greens that might be the best damn soup and salad I’ve ever had. We exchange a few words as I thank her, and she asks if we need anything else. I don't miss the wary expression she flicks toward Sebastian before leaving us alone again.

Outside, the world turns from golden to gray to indigo. The sky is a deep, bruised purple, and the first few experimental pops of distant fireworks begin to echo across the water.

Sebastian is a machine. He doesn’t look out the window. He doesn’t look at me. He’s buried in what’s on his screen and the paper in front of him, his jaw set, intensity radiating off him in waves. I find myself watching him, wondering if the man on the beach was a hallucination brought on by heatstroke. Was that vulnerability real? Or was it just another tactic, a way to build rapport before the final push?

“There’s a discrepancy in the logs here,” I say, pointing to a line of text on the screen. “This one says no one logged in, but the one the hacker sent says they did.”

Sebastian leans over, his shoulder brushing mine as he looks at my screen. The contact is electric, a jolt of heat that makes the professional veneer feel thin and fake. He smells like scotch and the sea salt that’s still clinging to his skin.

“Good,” he mutters, his breath warm against my cheek. “Make a note of that one. Let’s see what others we can find.”

He stays there for a second longer than necessary, his body turned toward mine. The proximity is suffocating. I can see the pulse in his neck, the lust in his eyes. The air in the room is crackling with energy, as a different kind of tension takes the place of the one we’ve been working under.

“Sebastian,” I breathe.

Before he can respond, the sky outside the glass door erupts into a burst of light and color. A massive bloom of crimson and gold shatters the darkness, the physical boom rattling the windows.

Sebastian pulls back, clearing his throat, as I look toward the deck.

“Okay, well.” I shut my laptop. “I’m going to watch the show, then I’ll come back and work all night with you.”

I step out onto the large patio. The night is spectacular. The ocean is a black void that reflects the riot of color in the sky, a shifting kaleidoscope of greens, reds, golds, blues, and pinks.

Suddenly, Sebastian is standing beside me, the space between us feeling as explosive as the fireworks themselves.

“My parents never liked fireworks,” he says, looking up as a shower of silver sparks cascade toward the water. “My mother said they were too loud. Too public.”

“Fireworks are one of the few things my mother actually likes,” I reply. “She’d have us sit on the fire escape every year. We could only see the tops of the big ones over the other apartment buildings, but it was still magical.”

Sebastian looks at me, the pulsing light throwing sharp shadows across his face. “Magical?”

“Magical,” I echo.

We’re so close, I can feel his breath on my skin. “I didn’t like the way those women were talking about you at the beach earlier.”

“What?” The odd change of subject pulls me from the trance of the moment. “I really don’t care about that, Sebastian. It’s not the first time I’ve heard such things, and it won’t be the last. You don't have to worry about⁠—”

“I don’t like it when people disrespect what belongs to me in that way.”

My heart skips a beat. “What belongs to you?”