Chapter 5
Chapter five
Walker
I stared at the job offer on my laptop screen, my finger hovering over the reply button. Six months in Dubai. Executive protection detail. Ridiculous money I didn't need. The email had come from an old military contact of Gideon’s who'd transitioned to private security for the obscenely wealthy.
It was exactly the kind of clean break I needed to get my head on straight. A reason to leave this city and all its complications behind.
"You're not seriously considering that, are you?" Maddox asked, leaning against my office doorframe with his arms crossed. I hadn't heard him come in, which meant I was more distracted than I'd realized.
I closed the laptop. "Just weighing my options."
Maddox snorted, pushing off the doorframe to drop into the chair across from my desk. "Running away, you mean."
"It's a job offer," I said flatly. "A good one."
“You have a company,” he pointed out unnecessarily. And yes, I knew that, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t manage without me. And there hadn't been any requests for our other services for a few weeks. No large jobs since we'd gotten Emily—Dion's Little—out from that hellhole.
"It's also you looking for an escape hatch because a little blonde girl got under your skin." Maddox had never been one to mince words, even back when we'd met in basic training. It was one of the reasons we'd remained friends—that brutal honesty was rare in our line of work.
I leaned back in my chair, studying the ceiling tiles rather than meeting his gaze. "It's not about Lottie."
"Bullshit."
My jaw tightened. "I've been thinking about a change for a while now."
"Since when? Three days ago?" Maddox's voice softened slightly. "Look, man, Dion told me what happened. That you found her being attacked, took her to your place—your place, Walker—and then she shut you down when you tried to help."
"She didn't shut me down." The memory of her pale face, her desperate insistence that she needed to go home, still bothered me. "She just...didn't want what I was offering."
"And what exactly were you offering?" Maddox leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because from what I hear, you were ready to swoop in and rearrange her entire life after knowing her for all of twelve hours."
Maddox paused. “This is the Little that’s looking for a Daddy, correct?” I nodded. “Which you think you aren’t?”
I shook my head even though it felt wrong. “So, you approached this like a Dominant?”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. He wasn't entirely wrong.
"I was trying to help," I said finally.
"Sure you were." Maddox's tone made it clear what he thought of my methods. "The question is, were you trying to help her, or were you trying to fix a problem to make yourself feel better?"
The question hit too close to home. I hadn’t been able to help my gran. I'd been asking myself the same thing for three days, ever since I'd dropped Lottie off at that crumbling apartment building.
"Both, maybe," I admitted.
Maddox nodded, satisfied with my honesty. "So now you're running to Dubai because a girl you barely know made you feel something you weren't prepared for. Are you sure you’re not a Daddy?"
"It's not that simple." I’d spent years honing my craft in that dungeon. I knew what my needs were. Except, if I was going to be honest with myself, I hadn't been interested in a scene with anyone since the first time I'd laid eyes on her in that cute pink dress.
"It never is." He stood up, stretching his long frame. "Look, instead of running halfway around the world, why don't you just go see her? Check if she's okay."
"She made it clear she doesn't want my help," I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.
Maddox shook his head. "You didn't offer help, Walker. You offered a solution to a problem you'd diagnosed without consulting the patient. There's a difference. You know better than anyone that the types of relationship we offer can’t start without trust and consent. She shot you down because she doesn’t trust you. Hell, she doesn’t know you from Adam, and based on her history I’m not exactly surprised. "
I rubbed the back of my neck, frustration building under my skin. "What would you suggest, then?"
"Start by seeing if she's alright. Ask what she needs instead of telling her what she should want." He moved toward the door, then paused. "And maybe consider why you care so much about this particular girl when you've spent half your life keeping everyone at arm's length."
After he left, I sat in the silence of my office, his words echoing in my head.
Why did I care so much? I'd seen plenty of vulnerable people in my line of work.
I'd helped some, failed others, but I'd never brought any of them home before.
Never felt this gnawing worry that followed me through sleepless nights.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my keys and headed for the parking garage.
My phone vibrated and I answered. Eric. "Are you interested in more on the girl? There's something seriously off with this girl's background."
I gripped the phone tighter as I slid into my car. Eric had already given us the basics, but I'd told him that was enough when she'd been clear my help wasn't welcome. "Tell me."
"Parents died when she was five, as you know. Car accident, but..." Eric hesitated. "Walker, the police report has inconsistencies. A junior officer raised doubts, but it was dropped.”
My jaw clenched.
"Can't prove anything but the whole thing seems dirty, because there was never any real attempt to locate the other car.
It had false plates, but the same ones had been used in two previous low-level smash and grabs.
Two potential lines of inquiry just left hanging for a double homicide.
Charlotte Mallory became the ward of her father's brother, Stephen Mallory, no other relatives.
“He moved into Lottie's house, gained control of all assets through guardianship, including her parents’ business interests. Mainly three apartments that all had tenants with long-term lease agreements, and because of their business and accident insurance are mortgage free."
"And now?"
"He still has full control of her parents' estate, which wasn't massive but included a paid-off house in Oakwood Hills, two cars, and the rental properties worth about three quarters of a million.
The only thing she took was seven hundred dollars, which covered the deposit on the apartment she rented two months later. "
"She's working minimum wage on Nebraska Avenue," I said flatly. "Living in a shithole apartment."
"Exactly."
Heat crawled up my neck. "This uncle. Where is he now?"
"Still living in her parents' house. Drives a new Mercedes. Dabbles in a few investments but not profitably. It’s Lottie’s parents’ businesses that are keeping him afloat and he can’t sell them because of her." He paused. “I know you said to leave it, but—"
"No, this is good," I croaked out.
"I need time to go into her parents’ will a little more. I have a contact that can translate the legalese a bit better.”
I closed my eyes, fighting to control my breathing. "And Lottie?"
"No criminal record. High school diploma but she was homeschooled, started community college but dropped out after one semester. No credit cards, no loans, barely any digital footprint at all. It's like she's been..." Eric trailed off.
"Isolated," I finished for him. Controlled. My grip tightened on the mug until I heard the ceramic creak. "Send me everything."
"Already did. Walker..." Eric paused. "I’m going to keep digging."
I paused, remembering those goddamned bruises. "What about her medical history?"
"Haven't looked, but I can."
"Thanks, Eric." I ended the call, setting my phone down carefully before I gave in to the urge to hurl it against the wall.
But the pieces of Lottie's life were clicking together with sickening clarity.
Lottie's nervousness, her lack of resources, the way she clung to that teddy bear like it was her only friend in the world.
Her uncle—her supposed guardian—had stolen everything from her, possibly even killed her parents although that while had been very convenient for him, might be a stretch.
But he'd definitely cast her out once he'd secured her inheritance.
And last night, she'd nearly been attacked again because she couldn't afford to live somewhere safe.
Sunny's Mart was even more depressing in daylight—a squat, faded building with bars on the windows and a flickering neon sign missing half its letters. The parking lot was littered with trash, and a group of teenagers loitered near the entrance, sharing a cigarette.
I parked across the street, watching the store entrance while trying to look inconspicuous in a neighborhood where my SUV already stood out like a sore thumb. After twenty minutes, I spotted her through the window—a flash of blonde hair behind the counter.
My chest tightened at the sight of her. Even from this distance, I could see the bruise on her cheek, dark against her pale skin, and I got out, heading nearer to the window to see her properly but making sure she didn't see me.
I watched as she moved slowly, as if every motion caused her pain, but she smiled at customers, counted change, and bagged their goods.
She was working. Functioning. Surviving.
I should have felt relieved, but instead, unease crawled up my spine. Something wasn't right. Her movements seemed off—a slight tremor in her hands, the way she leaned against the counter when she thought no one was watching.
I debated going inside, but what would I say? "Hey, I've been sitting outside stalking you because I can't stop thinking about you"? That would definitely make things better.