Page 68 of Penalty Kiss
"Good thing you're better with actions," I tease, helping him straighten his clothes while he does the same for me.
We emerge from the closet looking only slightly rumpled, and I'm congratulating myself on our stealth when Tyler appears around the corner, takes one look at us, and grins.
"Supply run?" he asks valiantly innocent.
"Inventory confirmed," Cam replies, not even having the decency to look embarrassed.
I, tragically, feel my face flame red.
"Back to work," I mutter, smoothing my hair and trying to pretend I wasn't just on my knees in a closet.
The bistro door chimes. I look up to see a courier in a crisp uniform approaching the counter, a long, flat box in his hands.
"Tara Haynes?" he asks, checking his tablet.
"Yes," I smile at him.
He hands me the box and tablet for signature. My hands shake slightly as I sign, and I see Cam notice. The courier leaves, and I'm left staring at the elegant black box tied with silver ribbon.
There's no return address, and the quality of the packaging screams expensive. This isn't Amazon Prime.
"You going to open it?" Cam asks, but his voice has changed. Gone is the playful tone from moments before. He's alert now, protective instincts engaged.
Cam slides his phone out, snaps the label, the ribbon, my hands. ‘Chain of custody,’ he says, already texting the images to Chief Alvarez.
I untie the ribbon with careful fingers, lift the lid, and my oxygen burns its way down.
Inside is a silk scarf—exquisite, ridiculously expensive, the kind of designer piece that costs more than most people's monthly rent. The fabric is gorgeous, a deep burgundy that would complement my skin tone perfectly.
Tucked beneath the scarf is a note on heavy Delacroix letterhead. The handwriting is elegant, familiar.
Fall's coming, ma chérie. Time to come home. ~ J
The French endearment hits like a slap. My father always called me that when he wanted something—his little darling, his perfect daughter, his living memory bank.
It's a leash disguised as a gift.
"Tara." Cam's voice seems to come from very far away. "What is it?"
I can't answer. I'm staring at the scarf, this silken noose from a life I thought I'd escaped: wealth, control, obligation. The note paper crinkles between my fingers as my hands start to shake.
The scarf is beautiful. It's also a threat wrapped in luxury, a reminder that my father's love has always come with strings attached.
Cam moves around the counter, taking the note from my nerveless fingers. I watch his expression darken as he reads it, the playful energy vanishing completely.
"J?" His voice hardens into that low, protective growl that makes him sound like the dangerous defenseman he is. "Your father?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"I guess he knows where you are; where you’re working." It's not a question.
"I suppose he's always known," I whisper. "He just... he lets me think I'm free for a while. Then he reels me back in."
Cam's jaw clenches, and I see him fighting the urge to crush the note in his fist. Instead, he sets it carefully on the counter and focuses on me.
"Hey." His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "Look at me."
I do, and see fury burning in his dark eyes. Not at me—for me.
