Page 46 of Heart of a Devil

I introduce myself and sit down across the little table from him, frowning as he gulps down his beer. His hands tremble around the glass, and he can’t quite meet my eyes. “Patrick, are you okay? Please don’t worry. I’m here to help, and I’m sure we can find a resolution for you. Your kids must miss their daddy, and I can see that you miss them.”

He stares at me and swipes his hair back from his face. “That’s… That’s very kind of you. And I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry? About what?” Getting a bad vibe, I place a hand on top of my purse. This place is busy and very public, but I will defend myself if the need arises.

“There was a man. He contacted me out of the blue. He knew all the details about my case, every last thing. And he knew where my kids lived, had pictures of them. Getting dropped off at school, in the park. He sent them to me, along with photos of little white coffins draped in flowers… Oh god, I’m sorry!”

I swallow down my own flash of panic and stay as calm as I can. “Okay. What did he want, Patrick, this man?”

He pushes a manila file across the table. “He wanted me to give you these. I looked. They’re of you. Outside your house, at work, at the gym. In that pub near your office. He’s been watching you. He told me I had to give you these and tell youhe’d be seeing you very soon. And that your Uncle Carlos sends his love.”

I don’t open the file. I don’t need to see those photos, not right now. The mention of Carlos has turned my stomach and sucked the joy right out of me. I was right—Torres was in on it all along. There’s no doubt in my mind that the man who manipulated Patrick Galway is Diego, but I still ask, “The man who spoke to you—was he American?”

“Uh, I think so… Maybe? His accent was strange. Like an American trying to sound European, if that makes sense. Is he… Is he dangerous? Is he planning to hurt you? Do you think he’ll hurt my kids?”

I don’t have it in me to be angry with this poor man. He was used and is clearly still traumatized by it all. I’m not sure how he got sucked into it until I remember what Samantha said on our spa day—completed cases are archived digitally. Torres must have rummaged around in those archives until he found one that was useful. Damn him! I’ll need to tell her and Nick so they can beef up security. And maybe I’ll have Seb put a little security in place for Patrick and his kids for the time being.

“I’m sure he won’t hurt your kids, no. You were just a pawn, and now you’ve served your purpose, don’t worry. I understand why you had to do this. I’m going to leave now, all right?”

He nods, and I cut him off before he can apologize yet again. I walk out of the door with my pepper spray in my hand and my head held high. Yes, I’m scared. Yes, Carlos’s name can still get to me. But I’m also pissed. In fact, I’m furious. Coming after me is one thing, but involving this innocent man and his children? Violating clients’ confidentiality? That’s way over the line. I scan the street, half hoping to get a glimpse of him lurking nearby. I’m pretty sure he is. He’ll want to see this, won’t he? Want to see me crying, see me panicking. I glare out at the world, my face set into a mightyfuckyou.

I flag down a cab and head to Seb’s instead of going home to get my car. If Diego is out there watching, there’s far less chance of him being able to follow me if I’m in a black cab. It’s a basic precaution, but I wonder if there’s any use when it’s obvious he’s had me in his sights all this time. Flicking through the photos only proves me right. He knows my routines, knows my places. He’s not an idiot—he won’t try anything while I’m with Seb. But looking through the images leaves a sick feeling in my stomach.

My anger builds at the way he has infiltrated my life and soiled everything that is good about it. So much for Istanbul. I need to tell Jax and my cousin, but I’m not ready. Right now, I want to feel my rage.

I get dropped off a couple of streets away and take my time walking to Seb’s house. No sign of another black cab or any other vehicle following me. Looks like I’m clear.

By the time I arrive, I’ve forgotten that the baby is there with him, and I laugh when I discover my silver fox alpha male being completely ruled by a creature that is a fraction of his size and not yet seven months old.

Seb kisses me quickly on the cheek and gets back to feeding Max his bottle. He looks frazzled and worn out, and the house is in chaos. It’s pleasant in its own way, but it’s a million miles from where my head is at right now. Seb is cooing and singing, and Max keeps giggling up at him from around his bottle.

I don’t want to spoil this beautiful moment, so I head into the kitchen and clean up some of the debris that tornado Max left in his wake. It’s good honest work and helps to distract me from wondering if Torres is outside in the street right now. I wasn’t followed, but he knows who Seb is. He knows where he lives. Am I putting them in danger? So far, he hasn’t shown any propensity for actual physical violence, but there are all kinds of danger—as Patrick Galway now knows. Sometimes the threat of violence is as bad as violence itself.

I need to tell Seb what happened and work with him to come up with a plan. I feel about as eager to do that as I do talking to Jax, but it’s not fair to be in his life like this and not be honest, especially when it could affect him. He thinks he could snap Torres like a twig, but what if he were babysitting when the threat came? What if something happened to Samantha or Max? Neither of us would ever forgive ourselves.

On cue, he walks into the kitchen, running his fingers through his tousled hair, and takes me in his arms and kisses me properly, his hands settling on my ass. “He’s asleep at last. You okay? How was your meeting?”

“It was interesting. When is Max going home?”

“In about an hour. Why?” he says, smirking and waggling his eyebrows. “Can’t wait to get me into bed?”

Under normal circumstances, that would absolutely be the case. Tonight’s circumstances are anything but normal. I can’t bear the thought of talking about all of this while the baby is here. While Seb is so peaceful and happy in his domestic environment, enjoying switching off from his work and the turmoil that lurks beneath the surface of his mind. His quality time with Max is like therapy for him, and I don’t want to rain on his parade with my bullshit.

“Of course. That’s my main purpose in life, Seb, getting you into bed. You don’t exactly make it difficult for me, though.”

Growling, he slaps my backside and runs his lips down my neck. Despite everything, the touch of his mouth against my throat makes my pussy throb. “You taste fucking delicious,” he says, kissing his way back up to my mouth. “I want to eat every damn inch of you.”

The hard length of his cock is pressed up against me, and I grind myself against it, making us both moan. I’m wondering if there’s time for a quick-but-awesome fuck when Max lets out aloud wail, and Seb freezes against me. We both laugh, and he reluctantly pulls away.

Alone, I pour myself a glass of wine and sit at the kitchen table. There’s a loaf of freshly baked bread laid out next to a plate of delicious-looking muffins. Looks like Seb has been busy. I take a bite out of a muffin and sigh in pleasure. Life might not be perfect, but I’ve really lucked out in some ways—like finding a man who fucks like the Terminator but bakes like the Cake Boss.

A few minutes pass before he sits down opposite me. “You have a nice day, Granddad?” I ask.

“Yeah. I really did. I love all this stuff, you know? I wish I’d been around for it with Samantha. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I wonder if it might not be too late for more kids in the future.” He looks at me speculatively, and I freeze at the realization of what he’s suggesting. What the actual fuck?

“I know, I know,” he says, holding up his hands. “It’s early days. It’s just a random thought. Max is so great, and I see how happy he’s made Sam and Gabriel. I never wanted to take that step with anybody else, but you and me… We’re different.Is it completely crazy to think that one day, that might work for us?”

My appetite has disappeared, and I put the muffin down. He doesn’t understand what he’s saying—he can’t possibly understand its significance. He’s thinking out loud. Maybe he thinks it’s something I want to hear. Because all women want to be moms, right?

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