Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (60)

“I doubt he would do the dirty work himself, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to pay for chaos. Do you think we can figure out if he was involved?”

When I meet Lachlan’s gaze, his brow is furrowed, his eyes dark as they sweep across my skin, leaving heat behind. “It’s your contract, duchess. Do what you want.”

I return my attention to the screen and gnaw at my lip.

“It’s a good plan,” Lachlan says as he points to one of the locked tiles. “Click on that one and enter your Leviathan account number. We’ll check through his bank records and see if there are any recurring payments around the same time as the murders. That’s where I would start.”

I grin at Lachlan. And though it’s soft and almost shy, he smiles back.

And we hunt through the records together.





RETREAT




Lark


Lachlan leans against the passenger side of the Charger with his arms crossed. The doors to Shoreview Assisted Living slide shut behind me and I take a few steps into the muted light of the overcast morning, my bag slung across one shoulder, the strap of a guitar case across the other. Though my eyes are hidden by sunglasses, I know he can see the surprise and trepidation in my wary stance as I draw to a halt. I don’t know why I’m surprised when it’s been just over two weeks now of Lachlan doing little things to try to chip away at the wall I try to keep between us. It’s not the first time he’s showed up somewhere unexpectedly to offer me a ride. But something in his expression seems different this time, even from a distance, and it keeps me locked in place.

Lachlan unfolds his arms, stepping to the side to open the car door. He flips the passenger seat forward so I can put my belongings on the back seat. When he faces me once more, I haven’t moved an inch.

“Come on, duchess. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I ask.

“Can’t tell you.”

I swallow and fidget with the strap of my bag but I don’t come closer. A heavy beat drums in my chest as indecision and distrust root me to the ground.

Lachlan takes a small step forward and I remain still, my steady breath a fog in the cold air. “The … uh … the passenger seat is comfortable.”

“Better than the trunk?”

He winces. “I thought it might be too soon for that joke.”

“It was probably going to come up eventually.”

His hand slides to the back of his neck. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting to see what he’ll say. We’ve never spoken openly about that night—maybe we’re both too stubborn, or are unwilling to fracture the fragile peace that’s grown between us. But something seems different in Lachlan today. Like there’s both heartache and hope in his eyes.

He takes another step closer. I stand my ground. “That night we met,” he says, his voice soft with regret. “The way I acted, the way I took my shitty attitude out on you, putting you in the trunk … it wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Lark. I know what I did was … it was cruel. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take a lot of things back. But I can’t. I can only tell you I’m sorry, and I’m not going to ask you to forgive me.”

I square my shoulders and tip up my chin. “Well, that’s kind of a half-decent apology, aside from the weird forgiveness part.”

“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me because I want to earn it.” Lachlan takes a final step closer. Gently, he takes the strap of my bag and slides it from my shoulder. “And when I do, you can let me know.”

My cheeks heat beneath the cold bite of the wind. And he sees it. His lips curve in a faint smile before he turns and starts walking back to the car.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” I call after him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the type to give up easily. I’m not afraid of putting in the work.”

“And what if we both get what we want and time is up on our marriage but I still haven’t forgiven you?” I ask. “I guess you’re in the clear then, right?”

Lachlan flinches from the sting of my words.

He lays my bag in the back seat and slides off his sunglasses as he turns to face me. The leather of my gloves creaks as my grip tightens across the strap of my guitar case. I clutch it as though it’s a lifeline in choppy waters. “There’s no end date, duchess. Get in,” Lachlan says. “We’ve got somewhere to be, and before you ask again, I’m not going to tell you. It’s a surprise. So please just get in.”

I grin and draw closer, finally passing him the instrument. “‘Please’? I didn’t realize that word was in your vocabulary.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he says as he lays the guitar down and flips the passenger seat back into place. He turns to me and offers his hand. I stare at it, unmoving and suspicious.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you into the vehicle. You know, like a gentleman. Believe it or not, I’m normally quite a well-mannered bloke and not a total heathen. You just caught me on an off day,” he says, which earns him a snort. “Okay, maybe a few off days.”

“Well, this chivalrous streak is weirding me out.”

“Then I guess you’ve got two choices. Get used to the weird, or fight me every step of the process. Either way, I’m not going to stop.”