Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)

Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)

London Miller





Preface





On a late Sunday night, while most of the city was sleeping, Luna Santiago hadn’t expected to be riding the elevator up to the nineteenth floor of a building in midtown where Dr. Donna Marie’s office was located. And despite the woman’s unassuming photograph next to her biography on her website—Luna didn’t think she was any ordinary therapist.

Not when it had taken a security guard that was far more skilled than he pretended to be to key her up—though not before taking a copy of her ID and calling her name up. Only once he had gotten the all clear from someone upstairs did he walk her to the bank of elevators on the other side of the building and let her through.

The doors pinged once she reached her floor, opening to a lobby, the receptionist’s desk the first thing Luna could see. Dr. Donna Marie, MD was inscribed in bold chrome letters along the front of the dark wood.

A woman seated behind the desk, red hair twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, pearl earrings dangling from her ears, and a black dress that conformed to her shape, looked to Luna with a blink, smile already forming. Maggie, her name was, from the nameplate at the corner of her desk.

“Good evening, Mrs. Runehart,” she greeted as she moved to her feet—she couldn’t have known how much Luna had grown to despite that name. “If you would please have a seat, Dr. Marie will be with you shortly.”

There was a waiting area, directly opposite of where she was standing, but one glance in its direction told her it was the last place she wanted to be.

Especially since her husband—estranged, she should say—was already seated, a newspaper in hand as he read the classifieds. Since she could remember, he made it a point to do this on the second of every month.

The listings, he had told her once, and old habits.

At least it wasn’t the obituaries again.

He was early—earlier than even her as their appointment wasn’t for another half hour at least—but that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Kit Runehart was punctual to a fault.

And whether she liked it or not, unless she wanted to stand in the middle of the floor, she had no choice but to go over to him.

Crossing the floor, she sank into a chair opposite him, picking up one of the magazines that she wasn’t really going to read, just to give herself something to do.

His gaze had yet to lift from what he was reading, but she had noticed the slight stiffening of his body as she’d walked past.

She knew what he was thinking—undoubtedly wondering why she hadn’t taken the seat at his side. It used to be second nature to her when she was with him.

Next to him was where she loved to be.

But she couldn’t give in to him, not yet, and she knew that if she fell into temptation now, she would be back at square one.

It was a desire she had to fight with every last bit of her being. Worse, she was further annoyed with herself because she actually wanted to be sitting next to him. Feel the brush of his leg when he moved, or the way his fingers would curl around her thigh whenever she was next to him.

Patience, one of his infamous lessons, had never been her strong suit.

The tangible silence stretched on between them until Maggie announced that it was time, then ushered them into a back office, offering to fetch them tea as they waited.

Luna tried busying herself by looking around the spacious room, from the books lining the built-in shelves along the walls, to the awards and accolades hung up.

She had been determined not to be the first to break, but after seeing what a few of those awards were for, she forgot all about that.

“Marriage counseling?” she asked, her surprise bleeding through her voice. “Are you serious?”

Finally, finally, he looked at her, and when he did, she was reminded why she had avoided him at all costs.

Long before now, he had crawled beneath her skin and embedded himself there. Most days she felt comfort in that knowledge—other days she just wanted to take a knife and dig him out.

His eyes softened the way they only did when he looked at her—as though she was the only thing that mattered to him.

It was that look that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.

“My attempt at appeasing you,” he answered, draping his arm across the back of the love seat he sat on.

To anyone else, that might have sounded reasonable—and maybe if they were two other people, she might have gladly accepted this—but they had the type of problems that a counselor couldn’t fix.

Luna shook her head, disbelieving. “And you think this is the right answer?”

Kit nodded with the barest shrug of his shoulder. “It’s a start, no?”

Before she could respond, Dr. Marie appeared, Maggie at her heels carrying a heavy silver tray. “Good evening to you both.”

Kit was the first to ease to his feet, all predatory grace and ease, first assisting Maggie with the tray, then greeting Dona with a charming smile.

Manners maketh man.

Luna could almost hear his voice in her head, repeating words he lived and breathed.

Manners—like saying please and thank you.

Remembering just how he liked for her to use those words made her skin flush, but she quickly shoved those memories away.

Donna Marie was older, in her late fifties if Luna had to guess, with white-blonde hair and pale, porcelain colored skin. She wore a sharp two-piece suit, and a pair of cat-eye frame glasses adorned with small pearls at the corners.