She pursed her lips in confusion.
“You’re a model, too. You advertise for several brands.”
She gnawed at her lip. “Sponsorship,” she said with a nod. “My agent suggested I take on some campaigns, to build my profile. To future proof my career a little.”
His eyes held hers, no hint of expression on his face.
She swallowed over a tight lump in her throat. “And how would anyone be able to turn my phone into a tracking device anyway?”
“Our phones are tracking us, all the time.” He said, with a level of calm that made no sense given what he’d just said. “The question is whether your stalker has been able to access that information. As for the why, that’s obvious. He’s crazy. The how is pretty simple, too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He leaned closer. “Malware could have been embedded in something very innocuous seeming. An email from a friend, communication from a newsletter. A text from the post office about a package being delivered. Any number of things. Once you click on the link, it activates spyware that turns your phone against you. Not only can it track you, it can eavesdrop on everything you say.”
She swallowed past a big lump in her throat. His words rang with truth, and indeed, she’d heard of this sort of thing, but had never imagined it could happen to her. “It seems so…sinister. And sophisticated. That would imply this person is highly intelligent and determined.” A shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t as though she’d imagined this to be a random series of haphazard events, but somehow, she’d clung to the idea that she was simply dealing with an over-enthusiastic, mentally-unbalanced fan. Someone who needed medical help. Not someone capable of organizing anything so detailed.
It made the stalking so much more layered, so much more…a sob built inside her chest, but she bit it back, refusing to give in to the undignified wail that was wringing through her ears. Panic though was a weight, dragging against her.
“God, Leonidas. I can’t—,” She dropped her head into her hands, trying to think clearly, trying to push back the tsunami of emotions that were crowding her. “I just want this to end.”
She struggled to catch breath, sucking in and out but feeling as though her lungs wouldn’t cooperate. She tried to focus, concentrating on a rhythm, on slowing down, but nothing helped. Nothing, until he reached across and put his hands on hers, and warmth enveloped her, wrapping her in fire and flame, pushing anything else from her mind. She grabbed to the distraction, to the pleasure that enveloped her, focusing on the physical contact and the ways in which it was spiraling through her.
Desire was a whip at the base of her spine, and she supplicated herself to its power willingly, her eyes hooded as they met his, her lips parted now not from shock but from a rich, building tide of need.
“Leo—,” she pressed a hand to his chest. What had he said about using sex to forget? She’d never tried that before, but had a feeling it would be pretty effective. “I’m—,” But how could she even suggest that? This was no longer the version of Leonidas she’d sat across from over dinner, nor was he the same man who’d kissed her afterwards. He was all business, pure focus, his eyes locked to hers, but his mind clearly engaged elsewhere.
“Tell me about your usual routines,” he said after a beat, reaching for his phone and loading up an empty notepad. “Start at the beginning.”
Her way of dealing with this was much more appealing but there was such authority in his bearing that she wondered, and even hoped, something might be about to change. After a year of being hunted, was it possible relief was in sight? Maybe, just maybe, with Leonidas Xenakis on her side, the balance of power would shift and she would finally, finally be safe.
Chapter5
AT SOME POINT, SHE must have fallen asleep, because Mila woke, being carried against Leonidas’s chest, with an intense, all-consuming feeling of…safety. In her sleep, she smiled, and snuggled closer to him, relief in her brain. She couldn’t grasp why she should feel such a thing, but knew she did. She was conscious of stairs, and then being resettled, still in his lap, then, the moving of a car. She tried to open her eyes, to look out of the windows, but she was so tired. It had been an awfully long time since Mila had relaxed enough to sleep well. There was the briefest impression of passing lights, and then she slept heavily, until the car came to a stop. Strong arms were wrapping around her, carrying her with ease. There were no lights here, and even the moon was dull, hidden behind clouds. Gravel crunched underfoot, a heavy timber door opened, and then, Mila was being placed in the biggest, softest bed she’d ever known.
She was utterly exhausted. She knew she should wake up, say something, but the sense of being cared for, and of being safe, was intoxicating. His hands removed her shoes deftly, taking extra care with her broken ankle; she was asleep before he’d neatly placed her shoes on the floor beside the bed.
The sun rose slowlyover the Loire valley, bathing the rows and rows of vines and fields in gold, so the green leaves shone brightly, contrasting against the clear dawn sky. His eyes rested on the landscape—which he’d always loved—but his mind was far away. Every now and again, he reached for his phone, to study the photographs of the villa, the words that had been scraped into the wall, as though just by looking at them, he could understand something vital.
He knew more now than he had last night.
He knew the paint was a British brand, available for purchase only in the UK, meaning it had been bought and brought to Croatia for the purpose of vandalism. He knew disturbances had been observed in the crawl space of the roof, including a single wrapper from a snack bar, meaning the stalker had likely been hiding out up there. While the idea made Leonidas’ skin crawl, it also offered some hope. Hope of fingerprints, hope of DNA, hope ofsomethingthat had previously been unavailable to investigators.
There had to be something.
The obvious suspicion was that the stalker was connected to Mila, or somehow eavesdropping on her calls. These were the easiest ways to explain his intimate knowledge of her location, but there were other possibilities too. His security chief was preparing a dossier for him, and as soon as Leonidas had it, he’d possess more information. Until then, he had an unwelcome sense of uselessness.
Standing, he paced towards the edge of the terrace, casting his eyes over the vines, lips tightened. At least here, she was safe.
All Xenakis properties had the advantage of being fortress-like in their security. Their family fortune was considerable, such precautions were wise. Here, on a hill in the heart of the Loire valley, Leonidas’ winery had all the charm of a rustic chateau, and the practical features of a prison. An electric fence guarded the perimeter of his land, an electronic gate blocked any unwanted traffic, cameras monitored the exterior of the house at all times for motion or intrusion, all windows and doors were alarmed, and the feeds were scrutinized off-site, the video footage held by his own security team.
It was the safest place in the world.
Here, he could protect her.
He pulled out his phone to send Benji a quick update, but even with his old friend, he obfuscated with. “We’re safe,” the text read.
“Great. Where?”