“No. He’s not working in that capacity. He used to be intelligence. Has a lot of ways of finding out need-to-know intel and worked with a wide variety of agencies. Silvanov sent him over.”

“Silvanov?”

“Yeah,” he says. “One of the men I work for. The guy I told you about. The ex-Bratva dude.” He has mentioned them, but I had forgotten his surname. Samuel continues. “They’ve sent Marcus over to help your father look into this because apparently the police are being useless, and your father found something out he thought might need further investigation.”

“What?”

He sighs and rubs his jaw. “Your guess is as good as mine. He’ll be here in thirty minutes. I’m going to get changed.”

He grabs the condom and the shirt, and as he passes me by, he kisses me on the head. “This will get sorted; don’t worry, okay?”

Then he pauses. “The alarms are all set. Please come immediately and get me if anyone turns up at the door before I’m done in the shower.”

Less than ten minutes later, he’s downstairs, wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt, holster on clear display with no button-down to cover it. He leans against the door, hand resting on the gun at his hip. That shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.

“You were super quick in the shower.”

“I was in the Navy.” He smiles at me. “You want a drink?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“Tea, coffee?”

“A glass of wine,” I say. “Don’t judge me. Today has been a head fuck.”

He sighs but says nothing as he heads into the kitchen. Today isn’t the day, but I’ve decided I am going to tackle this problem. I don’t want to end up like my grandmother, bitter and lonely, and having the first drink of the day as soon as the sun is over the yardarm, as she says. Once this shitshow that is my current life calms down, I’ll deal with it. I swear it to myself.

Samuel hands me the glass of wine, white, which is what I would have asked for, and a packet of dried fruits and nuts. “Eat if you’re going to drink,” he says.

He’s bossy, but I am growing to like it.

He putters about in the kitchen, while I nibble at my nails and drink the wine, managing a handful of the snack. I feel too nervous and queasy to eat much.

When the doorbell goes, I jump a mile, even though I’m expecting it. Samuel strides to answer it, and moments later enters the living room with a tall, ruggedly handsome man by his side. The man is muscular but not as broad built as Samuel, or quite as tall. He looks a little older and has dark hair.

“This is Carolina,” Samuel says.