Chapter 18
Chapter 18:
She turned and walked toward the exit, her nails pressing into her palms until the skin broke.
Her phone rang.
“Grandmother?” June answered, her voice fracturing slightly on the word.
“June.” The matriarch’s voice was stern, but underneath it ran something warm. “I heard about the divorce. I will not have you disappear without a proper goodbye. Come to the Hamptons estate tomorrow. I have something that belongs to you p>
“I — I can’t, Grandmother p>
“I am an old woman, June. Don’t make me beg. Tomorrow. Dinner p>
June closed her eyes. Grandmother Compton was the only person in that family who had ever treated her like a human being.
A𝗰ti𝗏e c𝗈𝗺𝗺𝘂ո𝘪𝘵y 𝗈n
“Okay,” June whispered. “I’ll be there p>
In the concierge waiting area, Cole’s phone buzzed against his thigh. He glanced at the message from his investigator: Subject identified: Dr. Miles Prescott. Chief Scientist, Apex Bio. Net worth: approx. $50M.
Cole frowned. Apex Bio? That struggling startup?
“What’s wrong?” Alycia asked.
“Nothing,” Cole said, pocketing the phone. “Just business. Grandmother wants us in the Hamptons tomorrow p>
“Ugh, she hates me,” Alycia pouted.
“She’ll learn to love you,” Cole said, rising from his chair. “Especially when we announce that you’re the new face of Compton Medical p>
He had no idea that the true face of Compton Medical — the genius behind the patents that had made it worth anything — had just walked out of the building with a quietly broken heart.
The sky over Long Island was the color of a fresh bruise.
Rain lashed against the taxi’s windshield. The driver, a nervous man named Stan, gripped the wheel with white knuckles.
“Miss, I don’t think we can make it,” Stan called over the thunder. “The road is flooding p>
The car sputtered. Coughed. Died.
“Engine’s flooded,” Stan said, slumping back in his seat.
June looked out the window. They were on the narrow service road leading to the Compton estate. Still a mile away.
“I’ll walk,” June said.
“In this? You’ll die p>
“I’ll be fine p>
She pulled her trench coat tight and stepped out. The wind hit her like a fist. The rain was freezing, soaking through her clothes in seconds.
Every step was agony. Her boots sank into the mud. Her incision burned as though the stitches were separating all over again. She lowered her head and pushed forward.
Headlights cut through the darkness behind her. A large SUV. She turned, shielded her eyes, and raised her arm.
Inside the Range Rover, Alycia leaned toward the glass.
“Cole, look — is that June p>
Cole slowed. He squinted through the rain.
It was her. Standing ankle-deep in mud, soaked through and barely upright.
His first instinct was to stop. To open the door.
Then he remembered the video. The man in the club. The Aston Martin.
“It’s a setup,” Cole said, his jaw tightening. “She knew we were coming. She staged this p>
“Really?” Alycia asked, affecting concern. “But she looks so cold p>
“It’s a pity play,” Cole said. “She wants me to rescue her. She wants to prove she can still snap her fingers and make me come running p>