Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO NEVER SLEPT
Khloe woke because something smelled like coffee.
For three peaceful seconds, she had no idea where she was.
Warm blanket.
Soft mattress.
Rain against glass.
Then she opened her eyes.
The ceiling was unfamiliar.
Her cheek was pressed against a pillow that probably cost more than her monthly grocery budget.
And Vincent Costa was sitting twelve feet away.
Khloe stopped breathing.
He occupied the leather chair beside the windows, his white dress shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Tattoos disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair was still damp from the rain.
He looked exhausted.
He also looked awake.
Very awake.
“Good morning, Miss Evans.”
Khloe sat up so quickly the room tilted.
“Oh my God.”
Vincent lifted his coffee.
“That seems dramatic.”
“I’m in your bed.”
“I noticed.”
“I can explain.”
“I was hoping you might.”
Khloe looked down.
The cashmere blanket covering her definitely had not been there when she fell asleep.
Her embarrassment intensified.
“I was leaving the permits. Paulie said upstairs study. There was a desk. I thought—actually, I knew this wasn't the study after I came in, but then I got dizzy, and I sat down for literally five minutes.”
Vincent glanced at his watch.
“Three hours and forty-two minutes.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
“Please fire me quickly.”
That surprised him.
“Quickly?”
“I have enough savings for maybe six weeks, assuming my transmission doesn't die.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead he stood.
Khloe instinctively shrank backward.
Vincent noticed.
The tiny movement irritated him more than it should have.
Not at her.
At himself.
“You think I'm going to hurt you?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Vincent stared at her.
Khloe corrected herself.
“I think you have a reputation that encourages prudent behavior.”
This time his mouth actually twitched.
“You've worked for me for two years and that's the longest sentence you've ever said to me.”
“I generally try not to attract your attention.”
“Apparently sleeping in my bed seemed more efficient.”
Khloe stared at him.
Then, impossibly, a laugh escaped her.
Tiny.
Nervous.
She immediately covered her mouth.
Vincent had heard people laugh around him thousands of times.
Most of it was fake.
This wasn't.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he liked the sound.
Then his expression changed.
“Why were you working until midnight?”
Khloe blinked.
“What?”
“Paulie called you at midnight.”
“Yes.”
“When did your shift begin?”
“Eight.”
“Yesterday morning?”
“Yes.”
Vincent stared at her.
“That's sixteen hours.”
“Technically, I took twenty-seven minutes for lunch.”
His jaw hardened.
“How often?”
Khloe sensed danger but couldn't identify its direction.
“How often what?”
“How often does Paulie keep you there that late?”
She hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Vincent picked up his phone.
Khloe stood immediately.
“Please don't tell him I complained.”
“You didn't.”
“He'll know.”
Vincent looked at her.
“He won't be supervising you anymore.”
Khloe went pale.
“Mr. Costa, I really need this job.”
“And you'll still have it.”
“Then what happens to Paulie?”
Vincent considered several answers.
The old Vincent would have enjoyed watching her wonder.
Instead he said, “Human Resources.”
Khloe stared.
“You have Human Resources?”
“Apparently.”
A laugh nearly escaped her again.
Then Vincent's phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His amusement vanished.
One of his security men had sent a photograph.
The zoning permits.
Vincent turned toward the desk.
The folder Khloe had delivered remained exactly where she'd placed it.
But something was wrong.
He opened it.
Read the first page.
Then the second.
“Did you look through these?”
“No.”
“Did anyone touch them after Paulie gave them to you?”
“No.”
Vincent pulled out a sheet from the middle.
It was not a zoning permit.
It was a transfer authorization.
$4.8 million.
His signature line waited at the bottom.
Khloe saw his face change.
“What is it?”
Vincent said nothing.
He checked another page.
Then another.
Three documents had been hidden among the legitimate permits.
If he'd signed everything half asleep, millions would have moved through shell corporations he didn't recognize.
Someone had used an exhausted secretary and a 7:00 a.m. deadline to put fraudulent papers beneath his hand.
“Mr. Costa?”
Vincent looked at Khloe.
“Who prepared this folder?”
“Paulie.”
The room went silent.
Vincent picked up his phone.
“Don't leave the estate.”
Khloe's stomach dropped.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why can't I leave?”
“Because Paulie knew you were bringing these papers.”
Vincent walked toward the door.
“And right now, I don't know whether he expected you to make it home.”
The words turned Khloe cold.
Vincent stopped.
Fear had returned to her face.
He hated that he'd put it there.
“Lock this door after me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Ask Paulie some questions.”
“Mr. Costa.”
Vincent turned.
Khloe was clutching the blanket around herself.
“There was something strange last night.”
His expression sharpened.
“What?”
“When Paulie handed me the folder, he asked whether my car still had the brake problem.”
Vincent went completely still.
Khloe swallowed.
“I never told Paulie my car had a brake problem.”
Twenty minutes later, one of Vincent's mechanics raised Khloe's sedan on the estate garage lift.
The cut in the brake line was clean.
Deliberate.
Vincent stared at it without speaking.
His security chief, Gabriel Torres, stood beside him.
“She's lucky.”
Vincent's eyes remained on the severed line.
“No.”
Gabriel waited.
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Someone expected the rain to finish what they started.”
He looked toward the manor.
Through an upstairs window, Khloe stood wrapped in his blanket, unaware that Vincent could see her.
For two years, she had tried to remain invisible.
Someone had finally noticed her.
And tried to make her disappear.
Vincent turned toward Gabriel.
“Find Paulie.”
Gabriel nodded.
“And Vincent?”
“What?”
“He hasn't shown up for work.”
Vincent's eyes hardened.
Gabriel held out his phone.
There was one new message on the screen.
A photograph.
Paulie's office.
Empty.
May you like
And on his desk, written across a sheet of paper in thick black marker, were six words.
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO WAKE UP.
