“This is where Paul works,” he said. “He’s Madison’s fixer. Also known as the Ghost.”
Aster fell silent. She had so many questions and no idea where to start. “Why the nickname?” she asked, knowing it was probably the least important on the long list of things she could’ve asked, but then again, it could prove revealing.
Ryan pushed away from the wall. “I guess because his job sort of depends on him being invisible, and apparently he’s good at it.” He shuffled through a stack of files on the desk and glanced at Aster when he said, “It’s not like Madison talked about him much. But once, I saw her talking to this guy and when I asked her who he was, she tried to brush it off, but I wouldn’t let it go, so she claimed she didn’t know his real name, but that he went by the Ghost and he handled security detail for certain celebrities. Said she’d considered hiring him but ultimately decided against it. I pretended to believe her, but later, I did a little poking around and discovered his name is Paul. Officially, he works as a private investigator, but from what I hear, he does a lot more than that. And, despite what she told me, Madison did, in fact, hire him.”
“Why did she lie?”
“Add that to the pile of questions I have about her. Anyway, we should probably hurry. Someone knows we’re here, and there’s no telling how long they’ll extend the hospitality.”
While Ryan checked the desk, Aster went straight for the filing cabinet. Despite the lock on every drawer, they were left purposely open, as though someone wanted her to look. She started flicking through the files, but they were arranged by a series of numbers and letters that made no immediate sense, or at least not to her.
“Anything?” Ryan whispered, but Aster frowned in reply.
“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure how this works.”
Ryan abandoned the desk and came to stand beside her.
“I know there’s a system, but it’s a mystery to me.” She motioned toward the files and moved aside to let Ryan try.
She watched his fingers deftly move among them as though he actually knew what to look for. A moment later, he plucked a file from the pile and quickly flipped it open.
“I recognize the indexing system. My mom’s an attorney,” he said, his voice distracted. “I used to work for her during summer break, doing filing and stuff.”
Aster hovered beside him. Other than her job promoting Night for Night, she’d never worked a day in her life. To be so easily stumped by a filing system left her feeling like a pampered, useless princess.
“This should be it, but . . .” Aster peered over his shoulder to better see. “The file is empty.”
“You sure?”
He showed her the inside.
“No, I mean, you sure that’s her file?”
“According to the tab.” He shrugged and placed it back where he found it. “But this is weird.” He rose onto his toes and reached all the way to the back of the drawer to retrieve a box full of . . . something, Aster couldn’t quite make it out in the dark until he held it before her. “Blood-collection needles,” he said.
Aster stared blankly.
“And it looks like there’s another box just beneath full of blood collection tubes.”
“What the—” Before Aster could finish, Ryan snuffed the light on his phone, dropped to the ground, and pulled her down with him. In his rush, he lost his grip on the box and the needles flew free and clattered around them.
Aster unwillingly slumped down beside him, ready to unleash her full fury for his unnecessarily scaring her, when she heard a set of heavy footsteps approaching the door and a moment later, someone aimed a flashlight right through the window.
She cringed, tried to make herself smaller in hopes of avoiding the bouncing beam of light that landed just shy of them.
Ryan reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly in his, as Aster huddled against him, praying the person would leave. The two of them remained frozen, afraid to so much as breathe, until the torch cut, the office fell dark once again, and the person moved on.
“Probably just security making the rounds,” Ryan whispered, more to make her feel better than out of any real belief in his words. He reached toward her and brushed the back of his hand softly across her cheek. “You okay?”
In the dark, she could just barely make out the elegant lines of his face, the slant of his brow, his mouth just inches from hers. Instinctively, she reached up, clasped his hand to her cheek, and entwined his fingers with hers. It would be so easy to kiss him, to close the gap between them and press her lips against his. From the way he returned the look, the way he pushed into her space, it was clear he was thinking it too.
She raised a finger to his lips, softly tracing the peaks and valley of his perfect Cupid’s bow, all the while remembering how good his mouth had felt crushed against hers, and how she longed to feel that again.
He shivered under her touch, ran a hand along the line of her jaw, then lingered at the base of her throat. With his body lying flush against hers, the moment was so charged with promise and heat, Aster had no choice but to force herself to retreat, force herself to remember all the reasons why they couldn’t be together. Soon, she’d be on trial—her fate at the mercy of twelve people who knew nothing about her. She couldn’t waste a single moment on anything other than building her defense. Kissing Ryan Hawthorne was a luxury she could not indulge in.
“We should go,” she whispered into the dark, watching as Ryan exhaled deeply and reluctantly stood. “If they call in that car . . .” Aster didn’t bother to finish the thought. Ryan could fill in the blanks on his own.
He peered out the window. “Coast seems to be clear.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I don’t see anyone.”