“Alessandra, it would facilitate matters if you would pay attention when I’m speaking to you.”

Allie turned to find Julian standing in front of a wall safe concealed in one of the bookcases. For a split second she wondered how the hell Julian knew the combination. But then she remembered he’d been her father’s right-hand man for months; his heir apparent. Of course he knew the combination. Her father had trusted Julian implicitly. In return, he’d betrayed him by taking his life.

“You killed him,” she whispered, tearing her eyes from the dark crimson stain on the desk. “He trusted you to take care of not only his company, but his child, and you killed him.”

With a final spin of the dial the lock disengaged. “Well, to be fair, I merely paid a man to shoot your parents in cold blood.” He smirked as he swung open the small iron door. “It’s not as though I actually pulled the trigger.”

The fucking bastard. This was all just some twisted game to him. But she had him. All she had to do now was pray to God the recorder had captured what he’d just said. That, and get the hell away from him.

“I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden,” she said, offering the only excuse she could think of for a hasty exit.

“No need to feign a headache, ma cherie. I’m entertaining a guest later, so Philippe will drive you back to the city after dinner.” A salacious grin curved his lips. “Unless, of course, you’d like to join us. Amber does have a fondness for blondes.”

Julian turned and Allie’s breath caught. In one hand he held the prenuptial agreement, and in the other hand he held a gun. “Why do you have a gun?” Her mouth was so dry she could hardly get the words out.

He walked toward her, oozing arrogance. Allie’s heart rate spiked as he drew closer.

“Never hurts to have incentive,” he said, coming to a halt in front of her and setting the paperwork on the desk. “After all, you’re of no use to me if you don’t sign.” The pleasure he took from her fear was obvious in his tone. He stroked her blond hair, curling a strand around one of his fingertips. “So be a good girl and don’t make me kill the golden goose.”

“Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Hmm.” A leering grin curved the corner of his mouth. “That’s what I like to hear.” Releasing the lock of her hair, he ran his index finger down her throat, tracing the wildly throbbing vein in her neck. “Perhaps this arrangement won’t be so intolerable after all.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his finger trailed to the deep V of her blouse. Allie tensed beneath his touch. If he went much lower . . .

Julian’s fingertip slipped inside her blouse and his hand stilled. His nostrils flared and his face contorted with rage. “What the fuck is this?”

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was pitch-black as Hudson brought the DB9 to a stop at the perimeter of the Lake Forest estate. He’d killed the headlights about fifty yards back and stayed deep enough in the shadows so as not to be spotted. From what he could see, there was only one car parked in the driveway, a piece of shit we’ll-pick-you-up Lexus rental. He’d half expected to be greeted by a welcoming committee of Julian’s thugs, but so far all he’d been met with was silence. It was quiet, too quiet; just the hissing and ticking of the car’s engine cooling.

He’d been in the bowels of the garage beneath his building when he got Allie’s text. The damn thing had rebounded him into pissed-off territory and left him feeling frustrated and powerless. The only advantage he had in this impromptu recovery mission was the burner phone that had allowed him to track her. But what the fuck was she doing meeting with that asshole alone? Her safety was Hudson’s top priority, and this move was a direct contravention of the proposed and agreed upon plan.

Goddamnit.

He ran a hand through his hair, then checked his watch. Where the hell was Max? Needing to do something besides cool his jets, Hudson pulled out his cell and punched the speed dial. Max picked up on the first ring.

“ETA?” Hudson’s voice was low but still razor sharp.

“Twenty out.”

Too fucking long. Hudson ended the call with a curse. His gut twisted at the thought of Allie in such close proximity to that sociopath, and the oxygen he was sucking down burned his already dry throat. Christ, the depravity Julian was capable of was limitless, and he had no remorse over its execution.

As if on cue, lights flared in a room at the far end of the house. Hudson knew from the crime scene photos that it was the study where Allie’s father had been shot. Anxiety jacked the rate of his heart until he felt like the thing was going to explode out of his chest. He had to do something. He couldn’t just sit there and wait, not while Julian was doing God knows what to his wife.

Hudson yanked on the door handle and made a quick lunge to get out of the car. At a mission-critical pace, his long strides took him in the direction of the brick mansion and toward the pair of French doors flanking the study. He dodged a bird bath that was dry as a bone and hopped over a row of low-lying bushes. Damn, there was a lot of glass. But the outside garden area was an unlit sanctuary of low-hanging branches, affording him the perfect cover.

He lined himself up flat against the house and listened. There was no sound of anyone approaching from the sides or the back. Inside, the sharp inflection of a French accent fired up Hudson’s temper. He shifted, and what he saw was someone writing his own obituary. Julian was standing only inches from Allie, who was backed up to a massive desk. Her face was frozen in a mask concealing what he knew was a replay of the gruesome scene she’d walked in on not long ago.

Impulse told him to storm in there and assume control of the situation. But as much as it killed him to admit it, he had to wait. Still, the urge was damn near overwhelming, and the feeling only intensified as he watched the scene play out in front of him.

Julian pivoted and crossed the room to a safe concealed in the bookcases. Hudson’s eyes refocused, his gaze tightening on the iron box as Julian spun the dial—right, left, then right again. He swung the door open, and when he turned back around, Hudson’s blood went ice cold. It wasn’t the papers in Julian’s left hand that did the deed, but the glock gripped in his right.

Hell no. Hell motherfucking no.

Allie’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and her body trembled. Julian was even closer now, direct-contact close, and the rank joy on his face was a kick to the head. The prick looked like he was in the throes of some orgasmic rush.

Hudson shifted his weight, bracing his feet in the patches of snow that clung to the earth. His spine straightened, his stance widened, and his glare narrowed on the guy who stood precariously close to the edge of his own death.

One fucking move . . .

Then he was touching her. Julian’s fingers twisted in Allie’s hair before trailing down her neck. Abruptly his expression changed and his face contorted with rage. Allie flinched as he ripped down the front of her blouse with a sharp jerk, leaving the delicate garment in tatters and exposing the recording device tucked inside her lace bra.

Fueled by hatred and protective instinct, Hudson surged forward at a dead run. His shoulder slammed into the door, smashing it back against the wall and shattering the glass into a million pieces. Julian’s head shot up at the unexpected interruption, with the business end of the gun following his line of sight. With that hardware in his hand, Hudson knew Julian was a man with a purpose. But so was he. And anyone who got in his way was putting themselves in front of a speeding fucking train.