Page 48 of The Dark Before Light

This is war.

“Nice to see you again, Doctor,” says Dylan, seated opposite us behind the front partition.

I seize the distraction. “Likewise. I’m assuming Sven or Gabe know how to drive this thing?”

White teeth flash in his darkly handsome face. “Gabe took a course not long ago. I guess we’ll find out if he learned anything.”

“Ringing endorsement.”

Dylan chuckles.

The limo pulls sedately away from the curb. I buckle my seat belt, then take my phone out of my clutch to make sure it’s on silent before tucking it back inside. When I realize I’m fidgeting, I stop and sit still. So still I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“No hello for me?” purrs the man beside me.

I make myself look at him—a wolf in the guise of an elegant man.

“Hello, Kieran.”

His gaze flickers down my body. “You look exquisite, Talia.”

Even though I agreed to him using my first name tonight—neither of us wants to explain why he calls me Stirling—I still physically react to the shock of it. Or maybe it’s the honesty in his voice. Either way, my body temperature rises.

“Thank you.” I sound like I’m chewing glass.

He grins. So smug in his victory. I look away, staring at the passing scenery outside. Still, as uncomfortable as I am, I can’t regret agreeing to this. From the moment I conceded defeat on Wednesday, he was extremely candid. Despite the heavy topic, the more we talked, the more relaxed he became. By the end of the session—which went almost two hours—he was lying on his back with the pillow under his head. Therapeutic catharsis at its best.

I have a much clearer picture now of what he’s been dealing with for the last five years and how it all came to a head. While I’m glad about that, it also revealed an unforeseen obstacle. One no amount of therapy can circumvent.

As long as the threat to his life and loved ones exists, he’ll be caught between the drive to continue his research and a very real fear of the consequences. To deal with the constant guilt and helplessness playing tug-of-war inside him, he seeks escape through substance abuse and meaningless physical pleasure.

I knew I had my work cut out for me, but… damn. My only hope at this point is that the private investigation firm figures out whoever made that horrifying phone call and whether they’re connected to the assassination attempts.

“You seem tense tonight,” Kieran remarks. “I’m off alcohol at the moment, but there’s champagne in the bar. Can I offer you a glass?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be drinking tonight.”

“Do you ever?”

Kieran’s expression reminds me of the first time he walked into my office. Distant. A little haughty. Now I know it means he doesn’t want to show me what he’s feeling.

“Yes, I drink occasionally.”

“But never to excess,” he surmises.

More of my already fragile nerves snap. I return my gaze to the window. “Not since a few unfortunate evenings in college, no.”

His sigh is so heavy I feel it against my bare shoulder. “Can you at least try to enjoy yourself tonight? Melt the outer layers of that ice-queen mask you’ve got on? It’s for a good cause.”

I welcome a surge of annoyance. “If you wanted a yes-girl to giggle and hang on your arm, you should have used Tinder for billionaires.”

Dylan coughs over the word, “Burn.”

“Really, man?” Kieran huffs, then mutters, “Impossible to find good help these days.”

Dylan chortles.

“Go ahead, laugh it up.”

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