Page 192 of Toxic Temptation
He’s right. Four hours ago, I was standing in my kitchen, flipping bread while Vesper sat at the counter reading her patient case files. Luka was building something with Legos at the table, occasionally looking up to ask when we could go see the dinosaur exhibit again.
I was happy. Content in a way I’d never experienced before.
It’s funny, though, in a dark and twisted sort of way: Once upon a time, I thought that shit would make me vulnerable. I figured that having people to care about would weaken me, give my enemies leverage. That’s why I always avoided it.
I was wrong. It doesn’t make me weak.
It makes me fuckinglethal.
Because now, I have something worth fighting for. Something worth killing for.
And anyone who threatens that is going to learn exactly how dangerous a man in love can be.
67
VESPER
I don’t have a good reason for being here.
Well, I do. I miss him. But that’s not the kind of reason I can say out loud without sounding pathetic.
I’ve been standing outside Kovan’s home office for five minutes, trying to come up with something better.I wanted to discuss Luka’s custody hearing.No, too formal.I was in the neighborhood.Complete lie—his house is forty minutes from the hospital.I brought you dinner.Except I’m empty-handed, not a burrito or a sushi roll in sight.
The truth is simpler and more humiliating: I just wanted to see his face. I wanted to hear his voice say my name. I wanted to exist in the same space as him for a few minutes before I went home to my empty apartment and pretended I wasn’t counting the hours until I could see him again.
God, I’m a mess.
Such a mess, in fact, that against my better judgment, I open the door and slip inside his office. I sneak around his desk and sinkinto his chair and, “Ahhh,” I say out loud, the latest and greatest of my embarrassing decisions since I came by here looking for him.
It’s just that it smells like him. It’s cool to the touch, so he must’ve been gone for a while, but I could swear the chair still has some memory of his body in it. It folds around me, the scent and the impression of his shape—not quite as good as an actual hug from him, but maybe the next best thing.
I close my eyes and luxuriate in it. I know I’m beyond help, beyond saving. That much has been obvious for a while now, even if I’m the last one to realize it.
But for now, with no one watching, I let myself be goofy. I let myself be in love. I let myself just sit in Kovan’s chair and pretend he’s here with me.
And as long as I’m doing that, some of the ache of missing him goes away.
Eventually, though, the shame of my silliness overcomes the warmth. I open my eyes—and I notice something I didn’t realize at first.
His laptop is open.
Not just open, but unlocked. The screen is lit, and on that screen in undeniable font is…
Shana Reed.
I’m not trying to snoop. I’m really not. But the moment I read that name, my heart starts fluttering in my ribs like a trapped bird.
Why is Shana’s name on Kovan’s computer?
I cock my ear toward the door. The office is empty. No footsteps in the hallway. No voices from the reception area. I’m all alone.
I lean forward and start scrolling.
The information under Shana’s name starts innocently enough—name, age, medical credentials, board position. Basic professional details you could find on LinkedIn or the hospital directory.
But then it gets personal. Her husband’s full name and employer. Their children’s names and ages. Home address. Social security numbers.
And… bank account information.
