Page 81 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
"He's going to contact her."
"That's our assessment, yes."
"When?"
"Unknown. Could be days, could be weeks. He's patient, sir. He'll wait for the right moment."
I force myself to breathe. To think. To push past the rage clouding my judgment and analyze the situation clearly.
Zach wants revenge. That much is obvious. He blames the Brotherhood, and specifically me, for Daniel's imprisonment, for his own exile, for the destruction of everything he built. And now he's found Poppy—a woman connected to me, a woman who witnessed something she shouldn't have, a woman who could be turned into a weapon against everything I've worked to build.
What does he know? How much has he figured out?
"The questions about her mother," I say slowly. "The name change documents. Why those specifically?"
"We're not sure, sir. It could be a general background—understanding her vulnerabilities, finding pressure points. Or it could be something more specific."
Something more specific. The words echo in my mind, connecting to fragments I haven't examined closely enough.
Josiah's research from weeks ago. Linda Marsh, who changed her name and started running when Poppy was two. The gaps in her history, the paranoia, the sense that she was hiding from something.
Or someone.
"I want everything you can find on Linda Rivers," I say. "Her history before the name change. Where she was living, who she was connected to, why she ran. Go back as far as you need to."
"Sir, we've already—"
"Go deeper. There's something there, something we missed. Find it."
"Understood. And the Mercer situation?"
"Keep monitoring. I want to know the moment he makes contact—with her, with anyone connected to her. And Hutton?"
"Sir?"
"If he gets within a hundred feet of her, I want to know about it. Immediately."
"Yes, sir."
I end the call and stand in the hallway, staring at nothing.
Zach. After three years of silence, he's finally making his move. And he's chosen to make it through Poppy.
Why her? Of all the ways he could strike at the Brotherhood—at me—why focus on a florist I've taken to my bed?
Unless he knows something I don't.
The thought nags at me as I return to the bedroom. Poppy is still asleep, curled on her side, her dark hair spread across my pillow. She looks peaceful. Innocent. Completely unaware of the danger circling toward her.
I should tell her. Warn her that someone is asking questions, that an enemy of mine might try to contact her. Give her the information she needs to protect herself.
But telling her means explaining Zach. Explaining the Brotherhood. Pulling back the curtain on the world I've kept hidden from her.
She knows I'm a murderer. She's accepted that—or at least, she's stopped fighting against the knowledge. But murder is one thing. The Brotherhood is something else entirely.
I'm not ready for that conversation. Not yet.
I slip back into bed beside her, and she stirs, her eyes fluttering open.
