Page 5

“I know a stab wound when I see one.” My eyes met hers in the mirror over the sink as I filled the cup. “Give me a name, baby.”

The nickname was out of my mouth before I could choke it back. I hadn’t meant to call her that. It slipped out as easy and natural as breathing. That was how it had always been with us, right until the end. But her expression didn’t change. She hadn’t noticed the slip—or maybe she just didn’t care.

Being the one thing Lila Ford did not care about in this entire universe wasn’t a feeling I wanted to examine, so I chalked up her apathy to her near-death experience. I shut off the faucet and brought her the cup with my brain as blank as a newborn baby’s, except for the only question that really mattered.

“His name?” I prodded, lifting the cup to her lips so she could drink without using her stomach muscles.

She winced as she swallowed, then turned her face away when she was done. “Don’t know.”

She leaned back against the pillows with a sigh. A water droplet clung to her lower lip, and I swiped it away gently with my thumb. For no reason at all, I brought my thumb to my mouth. Her eyes opened, and my hand dropped to my side.

“You implied this wasn’t random.” I set the cup down on the table next to her. “But you don’t know his name?”

“I don’t know his name,” she confirmed. “I’ve never even seen his face. But I know he exists. Unless I’m losing my damn mind.” She laughed hoarsely, then winced. Silently, I reached for the cup again, but she shook her head and feebly waved me off.

“Start from the beginning,” I said. I dragged the chair closer to the bed and sat.

She swallowed hard, then nodded. “It was five months ago.”

“When you won that award?” Her brows pushed together, and I realized my mistake. Wildlife Photographer of the Year was a prestigious international award, but outside the photography world, most people didn’t know it existed. I cleared my throat and lifted a shoulder. “You get sucked into Fat Bear Week and the next thing you know, your social media feed is all wildlife photos. That award thing popped up, and I saw your name.”

She gave a little nod. “Right. So, yes, this all started right after I won, but I doubt the attacks have anything to do with the award. I mean⁠—”

My back went rigid. “Attacks, plural? There was more than one?”

“Yes, but I think the timing was a coincidence. Twenty-five grand isn’t worth it. It’s not like I won the lottery.”

I nodded even though I didn’t agree. There were people in this world who would stab someone for five dollars. But that was Lila for you. Money had been tight for her growing up with a single mom, but that hadn’t made her hungry like it could have. As long as she could pay her bills and save a little something for a rainy day, it was enough. She was the complete opposite of everything I had grown up with. All that wealth and privilege had only made my father hungrier. For Colonel Ashcroft, there was no such thing as enough.

“Could it have been motivated by jealousy, though?” I asked. “Even if he doesn’t care about the money, that award gives you a certain amount of clout, and that means more jobs.”

“Maybe,” she allowed. “Nature photography is a tough field. Magazines and newspapers keep closing, and that means fewer opportunities to go around. So many other photography jobs are being taken over by AI—poorly, I might add. Soulless motherfuckers,” she muttered. “Who wants to see a machine’s imitation of a mountain? AI can’t see. It can’t feel. It has no perspective to offer. It’s nothing.”

Her words came out harsh and fast, tumbling over each other, her hands gesturing wildly. It was tempting to let her keep going—anger had put some color back in her cheeks—but she was liable to pop her stitches open if she kept moving around like that.

“Focus, Lila. I agree with every word you’re saying, but Ai didn’t stab you in the ribs. Let’s deal with the life-or-death problem first, all right?”

“It is life or death. We are literally battling for the soul of humanity. The very thing that makes us human. Without art, we might as well be dead. Or robots. But fine,” she grumbled. “We’ll deal with Mr. Stabby first.”

Oh, shit, here we go. “Don’t do that.” I reeled back with genuine alarm.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t give your attacker a cute nickname. Damn it, Lila, I know you. You give a monster a sweet little nickname, and suddenly they’re not so scary anymore, right? Hell, you even feel a little affectionate toward them. That wolf spider chomping on a cricket in our tent in West Virginia. The polar bear tracking us in Longyearbyen. The rattlesnake in Arizona.” Sir Stings-a-Lot in Crete. I didn’t say that last one, but we were both thinking it.

“Wild animals are not monsters,” she said with a roll of her big hazel eyes.

“No, but whoever stuck a knife in your ribs is a monster. Don’t give him a nickname. Don’t humanize him. And definitely don’t get attached.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good. Because I’m going to kill him.”

Her lips flattened like she was biting something back. A smile, or something snarky, maybe. “You don’t have to kill him. Just don’t let him kill me.”

“We’ll see. I’m not guaranteeing his survival, but I can promise you this: He won’t hurt you again.”

She looked at me with a tired smile. “I believe you. Navy SEAL. Defense contractor. I know you can keep me safe. That’s why I’m here. Well, that and you happened to be close by.” She yawned, and her eyelids drooped.