Lost and Found (Masters & Mercenaries: The Forgotten #2)(88)

He huffed, a sound somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Yes, well, I’m sure my father will be thrilled to see it. I’ll let security know you’re going to be here in your office.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Anything I should be worried about? You said it was legal paperwork.”

“Just some cleanup on staffing situations,” he replied with an odd smirk. “You know how my father likes to cover the foundation’s ass on all fronts. Feel free to look at it if you like, or you can ship it straight on to HR after signing for it. Good night. I hope it’s a fun evening for you.”

He slipped away before she could say anything else.

And she was left alone with her thoughts, and they weren’t all that good. She really did need to work on the report, but the numbers scrambled in front of her.

She should have told Owen what happened. She should have gone to the café at the bottom of the castle and sat with him and told him everything.

Or she should consider the fact that they’d only slept together a couple of times and she was putting a whole lot on him.

No. He cared about her. She felt it. They were together and that meant she couldn’t leave him out of important things. She expected him to let her know if he was in trouble because he had to know she would move heaven and earth to fix things for him.

She loved him.

A low groan came from the back of her throat, and she put her head down on her desk. It was stupid. It was everything she’d worried it would be. This was precisely why she’d tried to stay away from the man in the first place. She’d known she would fall for him and hard.

Owen Shaw was her damn knight in shining armor, and she was an idiot if she didn’t call him. He probably knew investigators who could handle this. She would pay him back in ridiculously kinky sex and give him all the love and affection he so obviously needed.

She sat up and felt better having made the decision.

She stood up. She needed a cup of coffee and then she would call Owen and ask if they could talk. Maybe she would ask him if he could come up here and sit and wait with her for the courier. Then they could pick up a six-pack and some takeout and talk about all this in bed.

That was what she truly needed, his arms around her. Once she talked this through with him, she would feel better. It had been a mistake to keep it from him.

The floor was quiet as she stepped out of her office. Across the way, she could see the sun starting to sink, the dying light shining off the buildings. The elevator doors opened and she hoped it was security escorting the courier up. If she could get out of here fast, she’d go to Owen’s work and surprise him.

Except she wasn’t sure where his building was.

A man strode out, his pace nearly a jog. “Dr. Walsh. Dr. Walsh, I need to talk to you.”

She froze where she stood because she knew that voice. It sent a chill down her spine. The last time she’d heard that voice had been when the man attached to it had threatened to rape and murder her.

Dr. Reasor. Except Dr. Steven Reasor had died. He died. It had been the only reason she’d felt safe.

“Hi, my name is Tucker and I’m an intern downstairs.” He strode her way and his hair was longer than it had been when he’d worked for McDonald, but there was no way to mistake those blue eyes. At first she’d thought he was handsome, but she’d seen how cold those eyes could go. Arctic. Like the coldest winter day.

He was dead. They’d told her he was dead. Dr. McDonald had told her. It had been an accident, and that had been the first time she’d been able to breathe.

He was coming for her. He was saying words, but all she could hear was the ones he’d said that day.

You really should run. Maybe I’ll catch you. Maybe I won’t. Either way, you should run.

She turned on her heels and took off toward the stairs.

It was pure panic, and it came from PTSD. It came from him turning into the nightmare she had for weeks afterward.

He’d promised if she ever got caught up in his world again, he would come after her. She’d believed him.

Don’t think about it. It hadn’t been real. It hadn’t been real. Couldn’t be real.

She ran, screaming out for help. Fear ruled her. It caused her to be irrational, made her see things that weren’t there. Probably.

It didn’t matter. She had to get to a place where she would be safe. She would call Owen. She would lock herself in a room and call Owen. He would come for her.

She just had to get somewhere safe.

He was shouting behind her, but she didn’t stop. She hit the door to the stairwell, her arms slamming into the metal with a hard thwack.

He was still behind her. She had to think. She had to know the building better than he did.

How long had he been here? How long had he been stalking her?

Would he take her back to that place she’d gone to? To that hell she’d convinced herself couldn’t possibly have been real?

Couldn’t go back. Couldn’t go back.

The door came open as she rounded the corner and saw a man with dark hair. He wore the uniforms the janitors wore. He was tall and broad, and in that moment, he looked like the best thing she’d ever seen.

“Please help me,” she said.

He frowned. “Of course. Are they already here?”

She stumbled coming off the last step and he caught her up in his big arms. “They?”