A bookstand just inside the entrance of the café catches my eye. Glancing at Shadow, who sits beside me, I go to take a step into the store towards it, but just in case, I pick up the end of Shadow’s lead. It only takes me a few steps to get to the bookstand, and seeing as I’m no more than a metre or so away, the lead reaches fine.
I scan the shelves, not looking for anything in particular, but then my gaze lands on a book with a gorgeous woman on the cover. However, it’s not the woman that draws me to it but the way the photograph is taken where it looks like a piece of art rather than any ordinary photograph. Almost ethereal.
I pick up the book and run my fingers over the cover before flipping it over in my hands. A picture of a smiling woman fills half of the back cover, a camera held in her hands.
Naomi Mitchell, Contemporary Portrait Photographer.
She’s gorgeous with deep bronze skin and almost mocha-coloured highlights through her dark, wavy hair.
Turning the book back over, I start flipping through the pages, each one with a new photograph on it.
“Find something you like?” Mason asks, and I startle, not realising he’d come back.
Closing the book, I reluctantly put it back on the shelf. “Just having a look,”I say.
It only takes us a minute to get back to the building, and we head through the main lobby, stopping in front of the lift. “Are you alright to take him back up?” Mason asks, holding out Shadow’s lead.
I nod, feeling a little more confident with Shadow and take the lead.
The lift doors slide open, and I lead Shadow in. Then, Mason leans in, flashing his security badge over the censor, and hits the button for the penthouse.
“Thank you for breakfast. It was nice. I’m sorry again…” I trail off.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Grace. It was nice to speak with someone about her again.” His lips lift in a sad smile. “Maybe I should apologise for making things so heavy.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I mimic his words.
He lets out a laugh. “Touché.”
I drop Shadow’s lead onto the entry table in the foyer by the lift as he trots off into the penthouse. I didn’t pay attention to where he went, but I’m a little cold after being outside, so I head down the hall towards the guest room to grab my knit.
The door is already open, but when I walk in, and I stumble back at the sight of someone standing with their back to me, the contents of my backpack scattered across the bed. My shoulder bumps into the doorframe, and the man turns around.
Seeing who it is, calms me somewhat, but I still don’t trust him. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
Easton narrows his eyes at me. “I have more right to be here than you do. In fact, you don’t have any right to be here.”
Easton Woods is an imposing figure, to say the least, but it’s not his height or his strong build—though both are intimidating in their own right. There’s something in his eyes. Something that tells me if he truly saw me as a threat, he wouldn’t hesitate to do something about it.
He takes a step towards me, and memories of him pinning me to the wall of my apartment flash before my eyes, but I refuse to cower in front of him.
Shadow looks between us, seemingly confused with the exchange.
“Does Sebastian know you’re here?” I ask, and a muscle ticks in his jaw.
Ignoring my question, he takes another step forward. “I know you’re lying.”
Shadow moves to my side like he does whenever he senses something’s wrong, and without thinking, I grasp the fur on his back. It takes all of my restraint to keep my composure and not retreat with Easton’s advance.
“I know your name isn’t Grace Winters.” Another step. “She doesn’t exist. Not matching anyone close to your age and description, at least.”
My gaze moves to the bed with all my belongings thrown atop it.
“So, why don’t you tell me who you really are,” Easton says, stopping a step away from me, and I note the smear of blood on his arm below the sleeve of his t-shirt.
Is thathisblood?
I grip Shadow’s fur tighter, but he’s never going to see Sebastian’s best friend as a threat. “I told you the truth. And we made a deal.” I remind him. “I only want what I’m owed, and then you won’t see me again.” I may not have given them my real name, but everything I told Sebastian about his parents’ killer was the truth.