So did I.

“Are you trying to make me kill you?”

“Nah.” I backed around the corner of his desk and out of reach, adrenaline surging through me like tiny bolts of lightning. “But you were right—anger does interesting things to women.”

“So do I.” He lunged around the desk, holding his ribs where I’d kicked him, and I backed up until I hit the wall. But then there was nowhere else to go. Ruben was there in an instant. I tried to dodge him, but his fist slammed into my stomach and another breath was ripped away from me. I choked and half collapsed, but he held me upright.

When I could breathe again, I pushed him away and took another swing at his ribs—an angry afterthought that exposed the bandage on my arm. Ruben dodged the blow and grabbed my left arm, pulling me closer, squeezing my injury mercilessly.

I screamed as his fingers dug into both the entry and exit wounds, through the bandage.

“Done?” he asked, in a whisper against my ear.

I could only nod. There was still plenty of fight in me, but I’d had too little sleep and lost too much blood to give it my best, especially considering that he had the greater size and strength, and he could command me to stop whenever he tired of the game. I was never going to get the better of him without a weapon.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Got shot,” I gasped through the brutal pain he’d reawakened.

̶Sit.” He hauled me toward his desk and shoved me into one of the chairs in front, where I sucked in a deep breath and held it, riding out the worst of the pain in my stomach and my arm. All in all, I’d seen better days.

“I want you back on my case, full-time,” he said, picking up our ongoing business discussion as if there had been no hiatus. “What’s your next step?”

“I don’t know yet. The name she gave you was fake. All of it, as far as I can tell. And you don’t even have a picture of her.”

“It was eight years ago. I was trying to hide her from Michaela, not provide evidence of our affair.” Though clearly his policy on extramarital recreation had changed at some point. “And that was before I realized the only women who can be trusted are woman under surveillance.”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “But without her blood, or her real name, or a photo, or proof that anything she told you about herself was actually true—including her fucking age—she can’t be found. She disappeared, Ruben. All I have to go on for your son is the middle name you gave him. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“I want you to find him!” Ruben roared. “I don’t care about her—I don’t even need to see her—but I want my son. You will find him for me, or you will be in breach of contract, and I will execute the consequences of that breach. Do you understand?”

Of course I understood. I’d thought of little else in the past year and a half. “There’s one other possibility, but you’re not going to like it,” I said, holding my arm, though that did nothing for the pain.

“No.” He gave his head one short, sharp shake for emphasis. “You’re not getting a sample of my blood.”

“Ruben, this may be your only shot. Other than the mother, you’re his closest relative, and since you’re both male, your blood’s going to be the closest in energy signature to his. I wouldn’t need much, and you’d have to be out of my range, so I wouldn’t be pulled to you instead. But at the very least, I should be able to tell if he’s alive, and if he’s within my range, I might get a general direction.”

He scowled. “Do you really expect me to give you a sample of my blood, then leave the city with it in your possession?”

I eyed him in challenge. “Do you really expect me to find your son?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled, and when he met my gaze again, suspicion rivaled determination in his eyes. “You’d have to take another oath, swearing to destroy the sample when you’re done and never, under any circumstances, use my blood for any other purpose.”

“Paper only,” I said. “No more marks.”

He nodded. “I’ll have something drafted in a couple of days—the contracts department is backed up at the moment, with my top Binder missing.”

“Fine. Are we done here?”

“For now. My driver will take you home.”

“My office,” I insisted.

“Good.” He nodded, and I decided to let him think I was heading to the office to work on his case. “Stay away from Caballero,” he called, as I headed for the door. “Or I’ll call you right back in.”

“Bite me,” I said, and he laughed, already picking up the phone to give instructions to the driver.

I closed the door behind me and had made it halfway down the hall, clutching my bruised stomach, before I realized I wasn’t alone. Again.

“You are never going to find her,” Michaela said, and I stopped in the middle of the hall, groaning on the inside.

I let go of my stomach—never advertise weakness—and turned slowly to see her leaning against an open doorway behind me. “Find who?” Feigning ignorance seemed like my best bet at the time.

“Tamara Parker. She is dead.” Michaela sauntered toward me, and I took a step back.

“Do I even want to know how you know that?”

Meika shrugged. “I had her killed years ago. For sleeping with my husband.”