Page 85 of Blind Prophet

“I’m close. I’m going to?—”

“I know, baby.”

I’m not sure who comes first. For me, it’s like a dam released. I don’t normally come from this angle, but fuck, it’s a miracle I lasted this long. Perspiration coats our skin, and our breaths are rapid.

Minutes pass as my breathing evens, my mind clearing from the intoxicating haze of Caroline. The Italian leather sofa—a forty-thousand-dollar mistake, according to one interior designer—clings to my damp skin. The great room’s temperature-controlled environment does nothing to ward off the chill of separation when she moves.

“I’ve got to get up,” she mumbles.

I groan, my version of a complaint.

“I suppose we were bound to do that.” She pushes up, and her feet hit the floor with a finality that puts me on edge. Her long blond hair cascades midway down her back, and my gaze follows the curve of her spine to the dip above her perky ass. “Needed to get that out of our systems.”

“You’re joking, right?”

She bends, gathering her clothes—well, my clothes that she wore—and heads down the hall, presumably to a bathroom.

“It’s going to take a lot more than once on a sofa to get you out of my system,” I call out after her, but she doesn’t respond.

I hope she doesn’t regret it. I sure as hell don’t.

No, this is Caroline. It’s in her nature to try to slow things down so she has time to analyze and consider. I reach for my jeans and slide them on. If I have my way, we’ll have a fireside dinner with wine, and we’ll take things much more slowly tonight in my bed. She can tell me more about this job of hers, and I can figure out how to make it flexible so she can join me everywhere.

In the kitchen, my phone lights up as I pass, doing a double-take at the name on the screen.

“Nick?”

“What’s this about your father having Alzheimer’s?”

“He doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.”

“Dementia?”

“Yes.” I rub a hand over my face. I can trust Nick and probably should’ve told him by now, but still… “Who told you?” I look down the hall in the direction Caroline traveled. “Are you working with a firm called Arrow?”

“Mutual contacts.”

“Hmm.”

I lean against the counter. Outside, night has fallen. Pure white coats the nearby surroundings in a pristine, glistening blanket, lit by the lights from the house. How many inches have we gotten?

“It’s looking like I owe you an apology. My tech guys located the hit origin. Spoke to the actual human hired to set it up. Didn’t operate the way you would’ve handled it. You’d have used one of your own. Been smarter about it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t aim to kill me.”

“At the very least, you should’ve known I’d be more efficient. Two hundred and fifty million is nouveau riche territory—all flash, no sophistication. If I wanted you dead, I’d have engineered a more elegant solution.”

He chuckles. But I’m quite serious. Whoever posted a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar bounty might as well have walked outside and taken a blowtorch to a pile of cash. If I’m going to spend that much, I at least want a nice boat out of it. I might be a billionaire, but I have principles.

“Who posted the hit?”

“Tracing a blockchain now.”

So the culprit used crypto for payment. It takes longer to track, but contrary to popular mythology, it can be traced. “Who do you suspect?”

Nick has ideas. As long as I’ve known him, he’s always had a theory.

“An alliance member. I’d decided on your dad. He’d go about it the way this bloke did. But it doesn’t sound like that’s conceivable. After getting it so wrong with you and your dad, I’ll wait a beat for my team to come through with answers.”

“That’s good of you.”

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