Her eyes narrowed.
"Baby doll?" she echoed. "Who is that?"
She straightened slowly, the graceful motion sohow more threatening than any sudden movent. Her gaze slid to Igor.
"Igor, go look around. Make sure no one else is here."
Igor nodded once. He didn’t speak. The massive man simply pushed himself away from the crate like a moving mountain and walked toward the far end of the warehouse.
Each of his footsteps echoed hollowly in the vast, dim space.
"He is a good man," she comnted lightly as Igor disappeared behind a row of stacked shipping pallets. "He does not ask questions."
Her eyes returned to Brandon.
"Whoever Baby Doll is," she continued calmly, "she is not and has nothing to do with."
Brandon’s pulse thudded painfully in his temples.
If she was not affiliated with Babydoll...
Then why the hell was she here at their rendezvous point?
The idea that soone else had been orchestrating events from the shadows, soone that had nothing to do with Babydoll made his stomach twist.
Another player.
Another puppet master.
"You wanted to et ," Brandon said, forcing steel into his voice despite the dryness in his throat. "You have . Now what?"
"Now," she said smoothly, "we talk about your future, Brandon... If there is a chance for one."
Brandon’s gulp was loud.
She reached into the shadows and dragged another chair forward. The tal legs scraped harshly across the concrete floor.
She sat with effortless poise, crossing her legs. The expensive fabric of her dress whispered softly.
For a mont she simply studied him.
Not like a person.
Like a specin.
"You have two very large problems," she said finally.
Her voice was almost conversational.
"You’re a murderer, for one."
Brandon’s stomach clenched.
"And you’re obsessed with a woman who is about to marry the man you wish was your father."
She tilted her head slightly.
"It’s an entertaining little Greek tragedy."
The warehouse humd quietly around them. Sowhere a loose sheet of tal rattled in the wind.
She leaned forward.
Her storm-gray eyes locked onto his.
"I can make it all go away."
Brandon felt sothing sharp and dangerous spark inside his chest.
"The evidence," she continued softly. "The suspicions."
Her lips curved faintly.
"I can even... encourage Lyse to see things differently."
His heart lurched at the sound of her na.
"A little well-placed doubt," the woman went on. "A few rumors about Levi’s fidelity..."
She shrugged lightly.
"You’d be surprised how fragile these things are."
Hope pierced Brandon’s thoughts like a needle.
Toxic.
Painfully sharp.
She was offering him everything.
A clean slate.
A chance with Lyse.
The life he had convinced himself had been stolen from him.
It was a devil’s bargain.
And he was tied to a chair in an empty warehouse with a giant enforcer roaming the building.
He wasn’t exactly negotiating from a position of strength.
"Why?" he asked hoarsely.
The question scraped out of his throat.
"Why would you help ?"
Her smile blood.
It was dazzling.
Perfect.
And utterly empty.
"Because I want sothing back," she said.
She leaned back slightly in the chair, folding her hands over her knee.
"Sothing only you can give ."
Brandon’s eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"I want your inheritance."
The words landed like a dropped stone.
"My what?"
"Your father," she said patiently, "Brett Faulkner, was a very wealthy man long before he ca back into your life."
Her eyes glinted faintly.
"All that money. All those offshore accounts. All those assets quietly tucked away under different nas."
She let the silence stretch.
"They’re currently tied up in probate."
Brandon stared at her.
"With you," she finished calmly, "his only biological son, listed as the sole heir."
The scope of it made Brandon’s head spin.
"You want... all of it?"
She gave a tiny shrug.
"I’m not unreasonable."
She leaned forward again.
"I want you to sign it over to . Everything."
The warehouse suddenly felt colder.
"In exchange," she said, her tone turning smooth again, "I give you a new life."
Her smile returned.
"A life with Lyse."
Brandon’s mind reeled.
The sheer audacity of it.
The scale.
This woman hadn’t simply stumbled across information.
She seed to have engineered everything.
She had maneuvered him into this exact mont like a chess piece sliding across a board.
"And if I refuse?" he asked.
The smile vanished instantly.
Her face went still.
Empty.
"Igor is a good man," she said softly.
The words sent a chill down Brandon’s spine.
"But he is also very creative."
Her gaze never left his.
"He knows how to make a death look like an accident."
A small pause.
"A botched robbery."
Another pause.
"A suicide."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Born of despair over a lost love."
Brandon’s chest tightened.
"The police already have a file on you," she added calmly. "A history of obsession."
Her lips curved faintly again.
"No one would question it."
The choice was no choice at all.
It was a gun pressed gently against his skull.
"I’ll need to think," Brandon said.
It was the only card he had left.
Ti.
"You have until Igor gets back," she replied imdiately.
She lifted her wrist, glancing at a delicate watch.
"He’s a very thorough man."
Her gaze returned to Brandon.
"So," she said pleasantly, "not long."
The ticking clock settled into the stale warehouse air like a living thing.
Brandon’s thoughts exploded into chaos.
Babydoll.
This woman.
Levi.
Lyse.
The nas spun violently through his mind.
He forced himself to breathe.
Think.
His mind, usually sharp and focused, felt like a scrambled radio dial jumping wildly between frequencies.
But slowly,
Painfully
He forced the noise into sothing manageable.
Babydoll.
The numbers in the machine.
The voice on the phone.
The one who had sent the paparazzi video.
The one who had pushed him.
Provoked him.
Encouraged him.
That had all been real.
This woman had a copy of the footage.
But she hadn’t been the one to send it.
Which ant soone else had been watching everything.
Watching Brandon.
Watching Lyse.
Watching Levi.
And now watching this woman too.
A third player.
A silent observer manipulating both sides.
Brandon’s gaze flicked briefly toward the darkened corners of the warehouse.
A strange thought crept into his mind.
What if Babydoll hadn’t just been feeding him information?
What if she had been guiding him here?
Guiding him toward this woman.
Toward the truth.
Or toward sothing worse.
A faint tallic clang echoed sowhere deep inside the warehouse.
Igor.
Checking the building.
Brandon’s ti was running out.
He looked back at the woman sitting calmly across from him.
She believed she had already won.
She believed this was the final move.
But the existence of Babydoll must an sothing else.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise followed by the sound of sothing heavy falling to the ground.
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