Chapter 4
FOUR
LEAVES
PATRICK
Noelle doesn’t move a muscle. At least, not right away.
What a good girl.
Her reaction, when I do get one, is nothing short of subtle; if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss it entirely.
A pause too long. A careful blink that is more than just fluttering her eyelashes.
Her fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne glass while her smile freezes on her gorgeous face as though she’s not sure she heard exactly what I said.
But I do pay attention. I always have, even before she commanded all of it.
And when I threw her own words back at her, I didn’t do it for shits and giggles.
This Christmas, Starling will be mine, but that means I don’t have all the time in the world to claim her.
It’s the 23rd, and while I could’ve continued in this little facade that this chance encounter is what it seems to be—a coincidence mixed with a touch of shit luck—I’m itching for Noelle to learn just how far I’ll go for her.
I’ve killed for her. I’ve lied to her for her own sake.
I’ve cut her off from the outside world, courtesy of the mobile jammer that I stuck beneath the snow before I knocked on the door, the hapless guest who had rented out the same chalet.
The jammer made it so that she couldn’t call the resort to verify my story or find me my own cabin to stay at for the holiday.
The fact that I have access to her computer—courtesy of a favor I collected from Tanner Fielding, the Sinners Syndicate’s resident tech genius and hacker extraordinaire—meant it was child’s play for me to take a copy of her email confirmation, photoshop it to have my name on it instead, and print it out as ‘proof’ that the ski resort reservation team double-booked the same chalet.
Through her computer… through the journal she’s kept since those bastards did their best to clip Starling’s precious wings…
I’ve gotten to know Noelle Halliday. A single glimpse of the woman in a coffee shop over a year ago has turned into a full-blown obsession.
I’ve stalked her. Hunted for her. Gave her everything she wanted, and I’ve learned everything there is to know about her.
Would she turn a hapless stranger away in a snowstorm? At Christmas? Fuck, no. She did exactly what I expected her to do: she invited death in through the front door, and now she’s playing nice with him, eating cookies and drinking champagne.
Until I let some of Saint seep through the mask, giving her a hint that I might be more than I appear to be.
I can tell the moment she shakes it off.
When she convinces herself that—like my arrival last night—it’s just another coincidence, that despite her instincts telling her that I shouldn’t be trusted, I’m in law enforcement.
She’s safe, isn’t she? Of course, but not because of the badge I bought from Springfield PD’s own, Officer Burns.
She’s safe because she has Saint watching over her, and that’s exactly what I’m doing as I notice Noelle forcing her shoulders to loosen before she lifts her glass, taking a larger-than-usual sip like she can drown the awkward moment in champagne and holiday cheer.
I let a few seconds stretch between us, just to see what she does with them.
In a forced and chipper voice, she murmurs that it’s getting late.
It’s a way for her to end the evening on her terms, almost as though my words are still running easily through her pretty little head.
I’d been expecting that; even before I made the pointed comment, I knew Noelle would use it as a reason to retreat to her room.
But if she wasn’t thinking about me before? She will be now, and that’s good enough for me.
So I murmur an agreement under my breath.
My posture stays equally loose as I lean casually into the seat across from her.
My hands stay visible, my own glass of bubbly untouched.
My lips curve as the cable-knit sweater I purposely bought to play the part of the friendly resort guest rustles gently as I shift, letting her watch me closely.
Go on. Look at me, Starling. I’m harmless.
It’s true. With the sweater and the slacks instead of my thousand-dollar suit, all of my weapons out of sight, I’m no contract killer.
I’m Patrick, not Saint, and I’ve spent half my life perfecting the act until I lay my trap and let it snap.
For two decades, I’ve fooled men with guns and women with sharper instincts than hers have ever been into believing that I am harmless. That I’m perfectly safe.
I’ve convinced them to trust me only to end up with them all on their knees before Saint, begging for mercy and receiving none.
Noelle… she’s different. Oh, I’ll have her on her knees like so many others, but she has nothing to fear from me. As I’ve proven since last November, I’ll give her everything her heart desires.
Except for her freedom, that is.
Deep down, the broken, beautiful creature that she is must at least suspect that something’s not right.
That I’m not who I told her I was. As she peers at me over the rim of her glass, I notice the exact moment she starts wondering what’s really going on here.
Being from Springfield could be as big a coincidence as the two of us being assigned to the same chalet.
But considering how I didn’t seem the least bit put out to find her here, or to realize that the cell service was ‘dead’…
almost like I was prepared to accept the unusual circumstances…
the Noelle before that holiday party might’ve looked past it.
But the Noelle who’s been hurt before? She’s careful, and I’m proud of my Starling.
I allow her her excuses. So she’s ready to turn in for the night?
“If you’re going to bed, I’d like to take a quick shower,” I tell her, doing my best to put her at ease. “I haven’t had the chance since I left Springfield last night. If you don’t mind?”
Her eyes find mine, a slight furrow to her brow. There are two bedrooms in the chalet, both upstairs, and a single full bath. I’ve used the john, but not the shower—until now.
Noelle’s cheeks flame as red as her hair, and I know that, whether she wants to or not, she’s imagining me naked in the stall.
Good. This will go a lot better for the both of us if she’s even half as attracted to me as I am to her, and if I put the idea of my wet body into her head on purpose…
well, everything I do is meticulously planned, isn’t it?
“Sure,” she says after a moment. “Yeah. That’s okay with me.”
I knew it would be.
Never losing my friendly smile, I nod once, easy as ever, and push my seat away from the table. With a small, casual wave, I stand, and as I walk toward the stairs, I don’t look behind me. No reason to. I can feel her gaze on my back like a heated brand, curious and wary.
A quick stop to grab a few things, then an easy stroll down the hall upstairs. Only after the bathroom door clicks shut behind me does my grin go from easy to determined.
I set my toiletry bag on the counter, then turn on the shower spray, my thoughts still downstairs with Noelle and the two glasses of champagne she’s had tonight.
So far, it’s been a Christmas miracle. Not only did Noelle’s kind heart lead to her allowing me to stay at the chalet, but instead of locking herself in her room all afternoon, she actually spent it with me.
It’s like she already senses the connection between us, knowing like I have for the past year that we’re meant to be.
But if she hadn’t opened the door last night? If she hadn’t agreed I could stay?
I would’ve been here anyway. I would’ve found a way inside.
Still, it makes me hard, knowing that she invited me in on her own accord.
The way I see it, consent is complicated.
People like to pretend it’s a clean line: yes or no.
A door open or a door shut. In my world—in that of the Dragonflies, of organized crime, death for sale, and women who can be bought and claimed—consent is more like a door you coax open slowly until someone forgets it was ever closed.
The shower is running, though I haven’t climbed into the stall yet. Instead, I turn to the mirror.
The hot water steams the glass, but I can still see myself through the haze. The man staring back at me looks exactly like what I’ve worked hard to be. Presentable and professional. Just handsome enough while also being forgettable—unless I want to be remembered.
And, fuck me, I want to be all that Noelle Halliday knows.
I strip off my sweater and fold it neatly, placing it on the other side of the counter. It’s an old habit of mine: keep your things where you can find them. Keep control. Never leave a trace you don’t mean to.
The ivy leaves on my skin stare back at me in the mirror. Faded green inked into rough and weathered skin that’s seen too much and healed up anyway.
Thirteen green leaves on my right bicep and my shoulder. Thirteen kills that were in service to the Libellula Family before my retirement early last year.
I have plenty of green—and now I have five red leaves forming a flower on my back.
Five, because Starling wished without knowing there was a man listening who finds pleasure in killing those who deserve it. What might’ve been a private scream into the void last Christmas turned into a wish list that I followed to the letter.
One by one, the men of Evergreen & Co. fell, and they died because I did it all for her. To avenge Starling, and to prove myself worthy of her the only way that ‘Saint’ Patrick North knows how to.
I didn’t eliminate them all at once, even though I’d wanted to.
That would’ve been sloppy, drawing too much attention and leaving too many questions asked.
Besides, I have a fondness for the dramatic, something that Damien Libellula encouraged in me when he gave me the name of someone who betrayed the Dragonflies. I don’t just kill. I make a statement.
And I did exactly that to the bastards who hurt Starling.