Chapter 4 Why Are You Here?

The sound of footsteps was getting closer, each thud hammering in my chest. My pulse raced so hard it almost drowned them out. The hallway was nothing but dead ends, the only exit a heavy iron door to my right... and it was locked from the outside.

What now?

They had guns. If they found me here, there would be no witnesses left to tell the story.

My eyes swept the narrow space, searching for anything I could use. My fingers brushed over a safety release bar. I braced myself, ready to go down fighting if I had to, when the iron door suddenly swung open. A strong hand shot through the gap and yanked me out of the stairwell.

Light flooded my vision. I blinked hard, disoriented, and realized the man in the stairwell had stopped chasing me. Relief washed over me in a shaky breath.

"Ms. Windsor, what are you doing here?"

The voice was deep, familiar. I looked up... and froze. The man who had pulled me out was the same male escort from last night.

What the hell was he doing here?

That meant the man in the stairwell — Arthur — was not him after all.

For some reason, that thought brought me a flicker of relief.

"I... I came to see a friend," I said, my voice dry, still tight from the adrenaline.

"Really?" His mouth curved into a half-smile, the kind that did not quite reach his eyes. "Ms. Windsor, you dressed as a nurse, hiding in a hospital fire escape... to visit a friend?"

Given that he had just saved my life, I decided not to bite back. "And you? Why are you here?"

"I am visiting a friend too."

He looked down at me, amber eyes catching the light in an unsettling way. "Ms. Windsor, I know your work is... unique. But you should be more careful. The signal here is terrible. You would not even be able to call for help."

I opened my mouth to explain, but he stepped closer without warning. His long fingers tilted my chin upward, his voice dropping to a low, taunting whisper. "Or maybe... you are here to follow me. Because last night's service was not enough for you..."

My face burned with sudden heat. I knew if I kept standing here trading words, I would slip up and give myself away.

Thinking fast, I let my knees buckle and pitched forward into his chest, letting out a soft, pained groan. "I feel... a little dizzy..."

His hands instinctively caught me, steadying my weight.

In that split second, I shoved him back with all the strength I had, spun on my heel, and bolted for the stairs. I glanced over my shoulder just long enough to throw him a sharp, mocking smile. "I have things to do today. Another time."

I did not slow down until I burst out of the fire escape and into the crowd, letting the tide of people swallow me. My pace did not ease until I reached the black merchant van parked down the street. Only then did my breathing start to even out.

George's eyes widened when he saw me, pale and shaken. "What happened? Did you lose the target?"

I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to replay Arthur's face in my mind. But the light in that stairwell had been too dim... I could not see him clearly no matter how hard I tried.

"George, has Daniel ever mentioned that the kidnapper might be with the Mafia?" My voice was cold now.

George hesitated, then gave me a look of grudging admiration. "You are good. I just got that intel myself."

He reached into the passenger seat and pulled out a thick envelope. "While you were gone, Daniel's wife called. She gave me something new. She said her husband has been quietly moving product for the Mafia, but with his daughter's illness, he lost focus... and lost a shipment."

Mafia.

The word made my stomach tighten. I had been careful my whole career to avoid any entanglement with them. And yet, here I was — nearly spotted, maybe seconds from being silenced for good.

"This case is off," I said flatly.

George blinked. "Wait, what? You are just going to—"

"Refund the retainer in full. Add a million as penalty. We are done." The image of Daniel on his knees in that stairwell still lingered in my mind, and for a moment, pity dulled my voice. "I do not care how much he is paying. I am not crossing that line."

"At least look at this first," George insisted, sliding the envelope toward me. "Daniel's wife managed to get a photo of the kidnapper. This could be the smoking gun—"

"I said no." I pushed the file away, hard enough that the photo slipped free and fluttered onto the seat.

I barely glanced at it... and my breath caught. My whole body went still.

The man in the picture wore a black suit, his hair the color of gold, and those amber eyes — deep, dangerous, unforgettable.

It was him.

The male escort from last night.