“Exactly. I’ll pick up a fingerprint kit, and we’ll run them through the database. If we get a hit, then we’ll know your name, home country, and even your parents’ names.”
“Why wouldn’t we get a match?”
“There are any number of reasons,” he says, “but let’s cross that bridge if we come to it.”
“No. No, I want to know the reasons.”
“It’s really—”
“I want to know.”
He sighs. “You could have crossed the border illegally.”
“Why would I do that?”
“There’s a black market for American women in the sex trade. Normally they’re drugged, and you have no marks on your arms. But—”
“Enough,” I say, not needing anything else to freak me out. “I get the point: there are reasons. What happens next?”
“I’ll bring in a fingerprint kit.” He glances at his watch. “It’s nearly five now, and visiting hours end at eight. So most likely I’ll have to bring it tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d like to get a photo that I can show around the neighborhood where we found you. Maybe someone knows you.”
A photo—good God, I don’t even know what I look like! “I . . . Yes. Okay.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll take a few now, if that works for you?”
“Of course.” I’ve barely issued the approval before he snaps a few shots and is inspecting them.
“Looks good,” he says. “Do you want to approve it?”
He offers me the phone and I hold up a hand again. “No,” I say quickly, irrationally panicked at the idea of seeing myself, especially when seeing myself, finding me, is exactly what I’m after. “I really don’t want to know how I must look right now.”
“Far better than you might think,” he says, a hint of warmth in his tone as he slips his phone back in his jacket and stands, his hands settling on the railing as he stares down at me. “There’s a reason he told them you’re his sister.”
“What do you mean? You said he did that to be able to be in my room with me.”
“A decision he made the moment he brought you to the hospital. That doesn’t add up to being a stranger to me.”
“Why can’t he simply be a good guy helping someone in need?”
“Because this is Kayden Wilkens we’re talking about, and Kayden Wilkens doesn’t do anything, including you, without an agenda.” He’s looking at the doorway now.
My gaze follows his, my lips parting with the impact of finding Kayden standing there. If Detective Gallo demands attention, Kayden just plain claims it. He is power, control, beauty, and, right now, anger. The air crackles with its intensity, and when his piercing blue eyes shift from Gallo to me, I have a sense of a wolf who doesn’t bother with sheep’s clothing, with his sights set on me.
And I’m certain that it’s not protectiveness or obligation I see in his face. This time, it’s one hundred percent possession.
three
I am his.
That is the unapologetic message in Kayden’s gaze I know he intends for both myself and Gallo to see. And I do. I see it. I understand it and I feel it in every part of me. Possession. Demand. Control. He wants it all, but I do not know why. Nor do I know why I am not afraid of him or these things. I only know that Kayden Wilkens is one hell of a man, and that it’s become necessary to my survival to admit that the woman in me is drawn to him, deeply, completely. To the point that I’m not even close to objective where he’s concerned, vulnerable in ways that could be dangerous if his intentions toward me are not as honorable as he claims. And the truth is, my strong sense of my familiarity with Kayden both supports the detective’s claims that he might be more to me than he admits and drives my need to believe he is honest, the true light in the tunnel of darkness I cannot escape.
“Take my number in case you need it,” Detective Gallo orders, bringing my attention back to him.
I face him to find him extending a card to me. I accept it, murmuring an appropriate “Thank you,” but I am not pleased with the glint of satisfaction in his eyes that tells me he knew Kayden was at the door when he issued that crass warning. That also tells me I am indeed a token in a game he’s playing with Kayden, rather than someone he is truly here to help, making me question his motives for being here at all.
He glances at his watch. “I’m going to gamble on making it back here tonight with the fingerprint kit.”
“I thought it would be tomorrow,” I say.