Page 101 of Take Me Under

My stomach twisted, and my throat tightened.

Cade.

The pictures of him were taken from different angles, clear as day.

“Why do you have pictures of Cade?”

“Look at the back of his neck,” Anton said, ignoring my question.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my ears as I studied the photos. The tattoo on Cade’s skin sent ice through my veins. It was the same symbol as the one in my father’s notes—the one Anton said was on my motel door. My breath hitched, the room tilting slightly. The implications clawed at my mind, demandingto be acknowledged, but I couldn’t—I wouldn’t. It had to be a coincidence.

My head jerked up, my voice barely above a whisper. “This tattoo wasn’t there when we dated.”

Anton’s expression was grim. “I think it’s all connected, Serena. I just don’t know how. First there was the symbol at your motel, and then I saw it again in your father’s journal—although I hadn’t made the connection until recently. Now that I see the tattoo, I?—”

“Wait. Stop. What do you mean yousawit in my father’s journal? How would you have seen it there?”

“One of the books was in your motel room. I was looking through it, looking for clues about who you were.”

I hadn’t even realized it was missing, but now that I thought about it, it wasn’t with my belongings that Anton had retrieved from the motel room.

“Where is the journal now?” I demanded.

“At my place in New York.” He said it so flippantly, as if having a piece of my personal property was no big deal.

I thought about the journal, the intimate pieces of my father’s mind recorded on those pages. A deep, burning anger surged inside me. My father’s thoughts, his research, his private words—all violated. Knowing Anton had read through it without my permission felt like a betrayal.

“You had no right to read through my father’s private notes—and you had no right to keep the journal. It doesn’t belong to you.”

“I hadn’t planned on keeping it. I was going to give it back. I simply forgot to bring it to Italy with me.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” I snapped. My voice grew louder, my frustration boiling over. “And this conspiracy about my father being poisoned is just that—a conspiracy. I don’t know what you’re playing at. Nobody wanted to kill him.”

But even as I said the words, doubt clawed at my mind, giving voice to a terrifying possibility.

What if Anton is right?

I glanced down, flipping through the remaining contents of the folder, stopping only when I saw a printout with my name at the top. I scanned down the page. Personal details about my life were everywhere—where I lived, where I went to school, how much money I had in my bank account.

It was a background check—conducted without my permission.

“What is this?” I whispered.

Anton’s eyes flitted to the paper in my shaky hand.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

I could only look at him, waiting for him to say more, but he remained silent with regret written all over his face.

“All that bullshit about wanting to get to know me was exactly that—bullshit. You already had everything you needed, didn’t you? I don’t care if you’re some mega rich billionaire. You had no right to invade my privacy like this!”

The walls of the hotel suite felt like they were closing in around me as my pulse pounded in my ears. Anton was still watching me, his sharp gaze waiting for my next move, but I couldn’t stay here. Not now. Not with all of this—poison, break-ins, murder, symbols, Cade, the assault on my privacy. Too much was swirling in my head like a hurricane I would never be able to outrun.

I stepped back from the desk so fast, I bumped into a chair. It made a loud scrape against the floor, but the sound barely registered as I turned and strode for the door.

“Serena, stop!” Anton’s voice was tight, commanding.

I didn’t. I couldn’t. If I stayed, I would scream or cry or say something I couldn’t take back. I needed to think. I needed space. I needed to find some rational explanation for all of this.

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