Page 86 of Duty Devoted
Richard opened his desk drawer, retrieving a tablet with the same care he probably used for million-dollar contracts. “Yesterday, 6:47 p.m. Hospital parking garage, level three. I had security pull the footage immediately.”
He swiped twice, then turned the screen toward me. The time stamp glowed in the corner as grainy footage played. Lauren walking to her car, shoulders dropped with exhaustion, bag draped over her shoulder. Two men materializing from between vehicles like smoke. One grabbing her bag, yanking hard. The other reaching for her, hands grasping.
Her scream, even without audio, sent ice through my veins.
The struggle was brief—maybe thirty seconds before security arrived. But thirty seconds was an eternity when someone had their hands on you. Thirty seconds was enough for everything to change in ways you never recovered from.
“Guards responded quickly,” Richard said. “She was lucky.”
Lucky. I watched Lauren crumple to the ground after the attackers fled, knees hitting concrete, arms wrapping around her head. That wasn’t luck. That was trauma response. That was someone who’d already been hunted once, attacked again when she’d just started to believe in safety.
“The police think it was a standard mugging. They wanted her purse, maybe jewelry if she’d been wearing any.” Richard closed the tablet, placing it precisely where it had been. “But after what happened in Corazón, we can’t be too careful.”
“What precautions have you taken?”
“New parking spot directly next to the guard station,” Richard ticked off on manicured fingers. “Direct line of sight, minimal walk. Building security has her photo, orders to escort her if she’s ever alone.”
“Her apartment?”
“She’s in our same building here, twelve floors down. She wouldn’t stay here with us—” Catherine’s mouth pulled tight at the corners. “But at least she agreed to that much. You’ll evaluate it, recommend improvements?”
“That’s the plan.”
“She won’t like it,” Catherine warned, touching her pearls again. “The security, someone watching her. She’s always been so independent.”
Independent was one word for it. Stubborn, determined, brilliant, compassionate—I could think of a dozen others that fit better.
The front door opened, the sound carrying clearly through the penthouse’s acoustic perfection. Quick footsteps on marble,the particular rhythm of heels worn by someone who’d rather be in practical shoes.
“Lauren’s here,” Catherine murmured, rising. “I asked her to come by.”
She appeared in the doorway seconds later, and every thought in my head evaporated.
Two months had changed her. The Lauren I’d known moved with unconscious confidence, comfortable in her own skin. This woman looked like she was wearing someone else’s life.
Designer clothes. Hair styled in smooth waves instead of her practical ponytail. Makeup subtle but perfect, hiding the natural glow I’d loved.
But it was her eyes that gutted me. Still that brilliant green, but filmed now with exhaustion and something else. Fear. Wariness. The constant vigilance of someone who’d learned that safety was an illusion.
She saw me and froze. Just for a second—anyone else would have missed it. But I cataloged the way her pupils dilated, the slight catch in her breath, the white-knuckled grip on her purse strap.
Then her gaze slid past me to her parents, and ice formed over every feature. “What have you done?”
“Lauren, sweetheart.” Catherine glided toward her daughter, arms extending. “We hired protection. After yesterday?—”
“You hiredhim?” Her voice stayed level, but I heard the steel underneath. The same tone she’d used when Mateo Silva had tried to intimidate her.
“Citadel Solutions is the best,” Richard said. “You know that. They got you out of Corazón safely.”
“They. The team.” Her eyes found the window behind me, focusing on skyline instead of faces. “Not him, specifically.”
“Mr. Kane volunteered for the assignment,” Richard continued, missing every warning sign his daughter was broadcasting. “Given his familiarity with your situation?—”
“My situation.” She laughed, brittle as winter ice. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Lauren.” Catherine’s reaching hand stopped inches from her daughter’s arm as Lauren shifted backward. “After what happened yesterday?—”
“It was a mugging. Random. Could have happened to anyone.”
