response to what he read on the small screen. It didn’t appear that he took pleasure in being right, but it did seem as if bringing in the FBI had been the exact trigger to produce an emotional response from the man Agent Coulter was searching for. All Ashlyn wanted now was to be in the comfort of her own home…but that had been invaded too. She was starting to understand just how people reached a breaking point after some nutcase slowly chipped away at their defenses until they broke down. What he said in the text message wasn’t true, but it was Agent Coulter’s job to make sure it couldn’t happen. “You are mine. You always have been. We’ll be together soon.” * He curled his lip in disgust and contempt. He’d wanted to see her facial expression when she received his text, but she’d been rushed into the backseat of the town car. Did she think one man could keep another such as him from claiming what was his? No. This wasn’t her fault. She was being used by weaker men. She’d smiled at him today. She recognized their bond as he had. The affection was her way of telling him someone had forced her to bring in the authorities. He could read her body language like no other. She wanted him to save her from those telling her what to do, forcing her to test the truth of his devotion. He would now clear a path to their future.
CHAPTER EIGHT ‡ K eane closed and locked the deadbolt installed in the door of Ashlyn’s apartment behind him, noting that the locks had been changed recently with a high quality replacement set. He glanced at the casement and noted the heavy brass strike box for the deadbolt. The next intruder would need considerable better lock picking or bumping skills to negotiate that minefield of security pin tumblers—unless, of course, he’d used a key. What he was not surprised by was the faint scent of lavender that hung in the air. It had been her favorite fragrance in the candles she’d preferred to have in her home, not that he’d ever been here before. She’d purchased a couple for the hotel room where she’d stayed during that high-profile case for those few months in California, opening up to him about her likes and dislikes. Keane had thought he’d known what to expect when he’d walked through the front door, but all it did was remind him that he really didn’t know her at all. Their time together was a microcosm of her world—representative but not all encompassing, as he would soon find out. Ashlyn had already crossed the small entryway and started to turn right onto the grey slate of her kitchen. The modern stainless steel appliances, along with the Divani white-leathered tall chairs, were strikingly different than the antiquated worn oak office furniture she used at work. Keane immediately reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cuff of her suit jacket. She’d been quiet since receiving the text and that was understandable. He’d been on the phone with Coulter for the majority of the ride to her apartment building, but he wasn’t about to let her wander around her apartment until he’d cleared the place of any immediate threats. “Let me have a look around first, please,” Keane said in a reassuring tone, motioning for her to stay by the front door. It hadn’t been his intention to worry her any further, but her blue eyes creased in the corners indicating he’d done just that. He set her briefcase on the table to his left. “I won’t be very long.” Keane walked past a thin side table up against the wall of the foyer. It was clear of the vase that had once been there, at least from what the initial crime report had detailed. He prevented himself from directing her to take off her heels, knowing how sore the cuts had to be after standing on her feet all day. He refrained though. Her comfort wasn’t his place to manage any longer. The apartment had an open layout, making it easier for him to ascertain risks. Her living room consisted of what