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Chapter 737:
The penthouse on Fifth Avenue was bathed in the cold blue glow of the Manhattan skyline. Cole sat alone in the darkness, his right hand wrapped in thick, bloodstained bandages. A half-empty glass of bourbon sat on the marble coffee table in front of him, its surface rippling faintly with the distant hum of traffic far below.
Cole closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He had spent the last three days locked in this apartment, fighting the urge to drive to Joan’s building, break down her door, and drag her back here where he could keep her safe. Where he could control every single thing that happened to her. It was what he had always done. It was the only way he knew how to love.
His private phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Cole’s eyes snapped open. He frowned at the screen. Lucas. The owner of The Velvet Room, the most notorious underground club in Manhattan. Cole had done business with him a few times over the years, mostly for security contracts. They were not friends.
He picked up the phone, his voice cold and flat. “What do you want p>
“Cole, guess who just walked into my club tonight?” Lucas said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count p>
“I don’t have time for your games, Lucas,” Cole said, already reaching to hang up. “If you don’t have something important to say, I’m done p>
Dо𝘄𝗇lo𝗮𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘭𝗲 р𝗗𝘍ѕ 𝗼𝗇
“Whoa, easy there, tiger.” Lucas laughed. “I was just about to tell you. It’s your ex-wife. Joan Erickson. She’s sitting at my bar right now, looking like she’s about to murder someone p>
Cole’s pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed his irises. He shot to his feet so fast the coffee table scraped across the marble floor, sending the glass of bourbon crashing to the ground. The shards scattered everywhere, but he didn’t notice. The bandage on his hand split open, and fresh blood seeped through the white gauze. He felt no pain.
All he could feel was ice-cold, suffocating terror.
“What is she doing there?” he snarled, his voice dropping to something close to a growl. “Why is she in your goddamned club p>
“Relax, she hasn’t caused any trouble. Yet,” Lucas said. “Looks like she’s here for Richard Beasley. She cornered Lexi in the bathroom five minutes ago, tried to pay her to wear a wire p>
Cole’s mind raced. Richard Beasley. Of course. Joan had been investigating him for months, digging into the embezzlement at Apex Bio and the suspicious car crash that had killed her mother seven years ago. He knew that. He had been watching her every move, from a distance, just as Father Thomas had told him to.
But Richard Beasley was a cornered animal. His company was collapsing, his assets were frozen, and the FBI was breathing down his neck. He had nothing left to lose. A woman walking into his den alone, asking questions—it was suicide.