Chapter 9
AMELIA
The front doors of Dominion Hall swung inward before we even reached them.
An older man in a dark suit stood framed in the entryway, posture straight as a rifle. His hair was silver, neatly trimmed, and there was a faint, wry curve to his mouth that kept him from looking severe.
“Mr. Dane,” he said, giving Levi a small nod. “Welcome back.”
Back.
I filed that away.
“And Ms. Emerson.” His attention shifted to me, sharp but courteous. “We’re honored to have you at Dominion Hall.”
“You’ve got me at a disadvantage,” I said. “You know my name.”
He seemed faintly amused. “Teddy, ma’am. If you’ll come inside, Mr. Dane is expecting you.”
Which one? I didn’t ask.
But a prickle slid down my spine. How did he know we knew the last name?
Levi hadn’t said anything. I definitely hadn’t. And Teddy didn’t look like a man who made conversational guesses.
Either Dominion Hall was very good at collecting information—or they’d already connected far more dots than I had.
We stepped over the threshold into a foyer designed to make people feel poor.
Black-and-white marble spread out in a gleaming pattern beneath our feet. A chandelier big enough to bankrupt a small town dripped crystal and warm light from the ceiling. Portraits of unsmiling men and women lined the walls, oil-painted eyes following us as we crossed.
“Subtle,” I murmured.
Levi’s hand brushed my back for the briefest second, guiding me toward the center of the room. The touch was almost nothing, but my body still remembered every place his hands had been. Heat shot under my skin, annoying and inconvenient.
“Front parlor, Teddy?” Levi asked.
“Yes, sir.” Teddy gestured down a long corridor. “Mr. Dane is waiting. Delphine is sending coffee.”
The scent of something buttery and ridiculous—fresh pastry, maybe—drifted toward us.
I ignored my stomach’s hopeful flutter and focused on the details: small cameras tucked into crown molding; a keypad beside a discreet door that suggested a basement level; the faint hum of climate control behind thick walls.
We passed an open space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass enclosure in the corner. A sleek black snake lay coiled on a branch, tongue flicking lazily.
“Obsidian,” Levi said quietly. “House mascot.”
Of course, they had a pet viper.
“Points for honesty,” I muttered. “Most people hide theirs.”
Teddy either didn’t hear me or was too professional to react. He stopped at the next set of double doors and opened one with a smooth, practiced motion.
“Mr. Dane,” he announced. “Mr. Levi Dane and Ms. Amelia Emerson.”
The parlor was all dark wood and leather and money. Bookshelves lined one wall, a fireplace dominated another. The air felt cooler in here, thinner somehow, like it had been filtered twice before anyone was allowed to breathe it.
Charlie rose from a low chair by the window.
If I’d sketched “ex-military billionaire,” I might have come up with him.
Early thirties. Broad shoulders filling out a gray Henley, sleeves shoved up over forearms roped with lean muscle.
Short, light-brown hair. Face unfairly symmetrical—square jaw, straight nose, full mouth that looked like it lived somewhere between easy grin and don’t-push-it.
His eyes—hazel, I realized as he came forward—flicked from Levi to me and back, taking in more than he let show.
“Levi,” Charlie said, stepping forward and offering his hand, though surprise flickered—quick, controlled. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Levi shook it once, firm. “Wasn’t planning to show up,” he replied. “Plans changed.”
Their voices were calm, but the air between them wasn’t. Not familiar. Not warm. More like two men quietly assessing whether the other was a threat.
A pulse of unease tightened in my chest.
“And you must be Amelia Emerson,” Charlie said, turning to me.
I took in the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way he held himself like someone used to being leaned on in emergencies.
“I don’t must anything,” I said. “But yes.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ve read your work.”
“That’s what everyone says right before they tell me I’ve misunderstood them.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But there’s still time.”
Levi made a low sound that might have been a warning. Or a laugh. Hard to tell with him.
“Please, sit,” Charlie said, gesturing toward a small arrangement of chairs and a sofa. “Teddy will bring coffee in a moment. Then maybe you can tell me why I suddenly have two of the most stubborn people on the Eastern Seaboard in my home.”
I chose the chair that gave me a clear view of both the door and the windows. Old habit. Levi took the one beside me, angled slightly toward the room, one ankle resting casually on his knee. It was a relaxed pose. It was also the kind you could snap out of in half a second, if things went sideways.
Charlie settled opposite us.
“You didn’t mention you were bringing company,” he said to Levi.
“She invited herself,” I said, before Levi could answer.
“I brought her,” Levi said at the same time.
Our eyes met. Sparks. The kind forged in bed and on battlefields—neither of which I planned on admitting to Charlie.
He watched the exchange with interest. “Good to know there’s consensus,” he said dryly. “Coffee?”
A knock sounded. Teddy slipped in with a tray. White porcelain cups, a French press, cream in a small pitcher, sugar in a cut-glass bowl, and a plate of biscuits that looked like they’d been painted with butter.
“Delphine insisted Ms. Emerson try her biscuits,” Teddy said. “She’s in the kitchen, if you need anything further.”
“Thank her, please,” Charlie said.
The exchange was smooth, practiced—like everyone here knew their roles and played them flawlessly. Too flawlessly. Places like this didn’t run on charm alone. They ran on structure, on hierarchy, on secrets tucked behind polished manners.
“How long have you been hosting Army strays?” I asked.
Charlie poured coffee, unbothered. “We take in all sorts,” he said. “Strays, lost causes, people the system doesn’t know what to do with.”
“Like dogs,” I said.
“Dogs are more grateful,” he replied.
He handed me a cup. His fingers were callused, a soldier’s hands that had seen more than a country club tennis court.
I set the coffee down without tasting it.
“Let’s skip the hospitality dance,” I said. “I didn’t come all the way down here for biscuits and banter.”
“Shame,” Charlie said. “Those are Delphine’s two best talents.”
“Dominion Hall,” I said, not taking the bait. “Dominion Defense Corporation. Dominion Holdings.”
“Catchy, isn’t it?” he said. “Branding is half the battle.”
“You’ve got a web of shell companies spanning three continents,” I went on.
“Shared officers, overlapping addresses, matching legal counsel. Funny thing, though—whenever I dig for actual details, I hit fog. Scrubbed records. Closed filings. Banking practices that would make a compliance officer nervous.”
Charlie didn’t look surprised. “You’re thorough.”
“That’s my job,” I said. “My other job is asking why a network like that keeps popping up in documents involving arms shipments, private security contracts, and money moving through Dubai and Cyprus.”
Levi’s head turned sharply toward me. I felt the weight of his attention like a hand on my neck.
“Money through where?” he asked.
“Later,” I said, eyes not leaving Charlie.
“And your job description?” Charlie asked mildly. “Is it ‘decide we’re guilty and work backward’?”
“If you’re innocent, the truth will exonerate you,” I said. “If you’re not, the truth will be the reason.”
“That sounds like a tagline,” he said. “You should put it on a mug.”
“You think this is funny?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. Jet lag, caffeine, and the memory of Levi’s hands on my skin didn’t make for good impulse control.
“I think you walked into my home based on anonymous whispers,” he said, humor thinning out. “And I’m trying very hard to decide whether I should be insulted or impressed.”
“My sources aren’t anonymous to me,” I said. “And they risk a hell of a lot more than hurt feelings.”
He studied me for a moment. “Who?”
“People who don’t want their names next to yours in a morgue report,” I said. “That’s as specific as I’m getting.”
Levi’s forearm brushed mine as he shifted, a subtle reminder that I wasn’t actually alone here.
“Dominion Hall is a security and philanthropic organization,” Charlie said.
“We protect assets. We invest in communities. We hire veterans and first responders who deserve better than a handshake and a pamphlet when they get out. The structure behind that is complicated. Complexity is not automatically corruption.”
“That’s a diplomatic way to refer to men with inherited fortunes and military backgrounds,” I said.
Charlie’s smile sharpened. “Inherited, sure. But fortune implies excess. Waste. We’re far from that.”
“People with secrets always say they’re ‘far from’ something,” I murmured. “Especially when a journalist starts asking questions.”
He tilted his head. “You really don’t spook easy, do you?”
“I’ve been shot at for less,” I said. “Money doesn’t impress me. It just tells me how many people you can afford to hurt before anyone makes you stop.”
Something flickered across his face then—just for a heartbeat. Not anger. Something like weariness.
“You want to ask it,” he said. “So ask.”
“The last names,” I said. “You all share one: Dane.” I let the word hang for a second, then tilted my head toward Levi. “Same as his.”
Levi went still beside me. Even without looking, I felt it.
Charlie’s gaze sharpened. “You’ve been busy.”
“You don’t scrub this hard if you’re proud of the connection,” I said. “Are Levi and your associates related? Is that why you sent a plane?”
“We sent a plane because Levi does the kind of work we value,” Charlie said. “He doesn’t freeze when things get ugly. He finishes what he starts. That’s rare.”
“That’s an endorsement,” I said. “It’s not an answer.”