CHAPTER 5

PIPER

"Hello to you, too," drawls the man—Mr. Viktorov, apparently. "I see CPS sent their best and brightest today."

Somehow, he looks even more wild sitting behind a desk than he did in that alley. The wide expanse of his shoulders wasn't meant to be contained to an office chair. The tattoos I know cover his arms are hidden by a dark blue suit jacket, but I swear I can still see the outline of them through the sleeves.

"Not their most talkative, though."

His arrogant tone is what gets me to finally lift my jaw off the floor. I closed my mouth and took a mental inventory of this situation.

This man saved my life last night.

Then proceeded to haunt my dreams.

Now, he's in front of me.

I try to thread these points into something resembling logic, but I come up empty. Instead, I flip open the folder and check the address again.

"You can stop double checking," he advises before I can ask. "You're in the right place." He settles back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.

"How do you know?" I ask. "How did you—do you know me? Do we know each other?"

"We met last night, actually." I don't miss the note of amusement in his voice.

God, he's a douche.I blow out a frustrated breath. "I'm aware of that. But you don't find that a little odd? That we met last night and now, I'm your caseworker?"

Something tickles at the back of my brain. A suspicion I can't fully wrap my head around yet.

"What I find odd is that you seem surprised to see me," Mr. Viktorov answers. "Have you not read your case file?"

I take a lot of pride in my job. I have to—they sure as hell don't pay me enough to be in it for the money. So I want to argue that of course I read the file. I'm always prepared.But as it is… I can't.

"It's been a bad week. You should know—you were there for the worst part of it," I say. "Excuse me for being human and needing to take the night off."

"We all have our weaknesses."

His voice is flat and unreadable. I have a feeling that whatever species he belongs to doesn't have many weaknesses.

He leans back in his chair and points a finger at the chair across from him. "Sit. Read. I'll wait. I've had a lot of practice with waiting this morning."

I clench my teeth together to hold in my retort.So much for an easy day.

I settle into the leather chair and open up the folder. It's almost impossible to focus with his eyes on me. Especially since he makes no move to avert his gaze or keep busy. He just stares at me, waiting for me to finish reading.

Luckily—or not so luckily, in this case—it's easy to grasp the highlights of Mr. Viktorov's case. I barely get halfway down the first page before I gasp.

"You assaulted a doctor and kidnapped a baby!"

He doesn't respond. I keep reading in horror. Most files come with one or two "important notes'' at the bottom. If a birth parent is a flight risk or if the child has severe allergies, that kind of thing. But Mr. Viktorov has a page and a half of them, all bolded and italicized and underlined in red several times over.

He is, in fact, allergy-free—what a relief.

On the downside, he is also suspected to belong to an organized crime syndicate.

Like every accusation of that magnitude, it's caveated with the word "alleged" about fifty times. No one at CPS wants to get in a legal war with a violent, criminal billionaire. But I've been in the game long enough to know that "alleged" usually means "pretty damn certain."

If I'd read this last night, I probably would have tried to bring a male colleague along with me for some protection. But the image of James in his sweater vests, sweating and shrinking in the shadow of this giant of a man, is almost laughable.

"Based on your pallor, I'm guessing you've finished the file."

I flinch at the sound of his voice before quickly setting the folder aside and swallowing hard. "Where is the baby?"

"Not your concern."

I frown. "The baby is entirely my concern. That's my job."

"Your job is to determine if I am a proper placement for the child left on my doorstep," he replies. "The child is no factor."

"I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, Mr. Viktorov. The child is a very important factor in a case like this. We like to keep families together."

He shakes his head. "That isn't an option."

I take a deep breath. "Let's start at the beginning. How did the baby get here?"

"I wasn't there for that part, but when a man and a woman—"

"How did the baby come to be on your doorstep?" I interrupt, hissing the question between my teeth. I'm sure Mr. Viktorov knows exactly how to make a baby. If he ever wipes the scowl off of his face, he can probably get as much practice as he wants, too.

His blue eyes sparkle with amusement. Good God, those things are lethal. I do my best to focus on the expanse of the desk between us. It's safer that way. No unwanted flashbacks to my dream this morning.

"He was dropped off."

"By whom?"

"How should I know?"

I arch a brow. "A house this big, this expensive,with a gate, and you expect me to believe you don't have cameras?"

"They weren't working that day." He makes no attempt to sound believable. He doesn't need to. He knows I have no way of getting the truth out of him.

"Fine," I said. "So a stranger drops off a baby on your doorstep and then what?"

"I took him to the hospital."

I tap the folder. "Youlefthim at the hospital. That's what the case report says. You handed him over to a doctor."

His jaw clenches. "Yes. Then I changed my mind."

"You wanted the baby back?"

"Benjamin."

"What?"

"Benjamin," he repeats. "That is his name. I wanted Benjamin back.."

"So you assaulted a doctor. The report says you strangled him, actually."

"Is he dead?" he asks rhetorically, his voice a deep rumble.

"The doctor?" I skim the report again, but surely the man being a murderer would have been mentioned front and center, right? I finally found it at the bottom of page five. "No. He survived."

Mr. Viktorov nods like that proves his point. "If I'd strangled him, he'd be dead. I simply reminded him how much he likes breathing."

For a brief second, I'm back in the dark, wet alley. Mr. Viktorov is standing in front of me again, rain dripping down his neck as he looms over my attacker.The only thing you need to know is I'm the man willing to separate your hands from your arms if you touch her again.

He seems to be full of helpful "reminders."

"Why do you even want the baby? Are you the father?"

"I thought you were here to determine that."

"I'm here to determine if you should be granted guardianship, Mr. Viktorov. Right now, I'm asking about Benjamin's birth father."

"Timofey," he says.

"But you said—I thought the child's name was Benjamin."

He nods. "It is. My Name is Timofey."

A leftover tremble from my dream this morning settles low in my belly. Hearing a name has never been so intimate. "Oh. Sure. Okay. Timofey."

"I'm not Benjamin's biological father," he continues. "That doesn't change the fact that he will live with me, and I'll take care of him."

"Why?"

"Last I checked, babies need a hand here or there."

I blow out a breath and a strand of hair that has fallen out of my haphazard ponytail lifts and resettles on my forehead. I wouldn't be surprised to find steam pouring out of my ears at this point. The man is mashing all of my buttons at the same time.

"I'm asking why a single man like you would want to care for a random baby left on your doorstep? I've been a social worker for seven years and this is a first for me."

"What makes you so sure I'm single?"

The question takes me off-guard. My cheeks heat instantly. "Oh. Well, I—the chart said—I guess it didn't exactly say. I assumed. There was no mention of anyone else. You're alone now, so…are you single?"

There's that flicker of amusement on his face again. It almost gives me hope that the smirking dream version of Timofey isn't completely out of the question. What I'd give to see that smile in real life.

"I have no need for a partner. I can raise Benjamin on my own just fine."

It's an annoying non-answer. Annoying only because I suddenly want to know if there is a woman in the mansion wandering around somewhere. A man like Timofey surely doesn't go too long without a warm, willing body in his bed.

He's right, though. There's no requirement for him to have a partner. It's not pertinent to the case and it would be inappropriate for me to press. That doesn't stop me from wanting to.

"As you've pointed out a few times now, that is what I'm here to determine," I say. "Based on your file alone, it's not looking good."

He folds his large hands in front of him. I mentally measure them against my wrists, assessing how accurate my dream was this morning. How easily I would fit into them. What those fingers would feel like if they—

"What about my file concerns you?"

I blink away the dirty image. "You are a smart man, Mr. Vik—Timofey. You know my concerns."

"I'm sure there's a colorful list of my priors on there. Let's focus on what matters, though: I saved your life last night."

That tickle of suspicion from earlier finally clicks into place. And when it does, I gasp. "Oh my… oh my God. Did—did you stage what happened?"

"Your attack, you mean." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes. My 'attack.' You did!" I jump to my feet. "You hired that crazy guy to attack me so you could show up and save me. You wanted to get in my good graces so I'd give you Benjamin. You… you…" I fall silent, too stunned to speak.

Timofey fixes me with a stare, the seconds ticking away.

"Well?" I demand. "Are you going to even bother denying it?"

"I'm trying to decide if I'm flattered or insulted," he muses. "I'm going to be insulted. The fact that you think I need to resort to an elaborate set-up to get what I want…It's beneath me. The theory is beneath you, too. I called you stupid last night, but I didn't actually believe it. Maybe I should rethink."

I glare at him. "So what were you doing there, then?"

"Finally," he breathes. "The fun part."

Goosebumps erupt down my arms at the sinful suggestion in his voice.Was he there for me? No. No, definitely not. Why would he be?

"You seem to know a lot about me, Piper."

"It's Ms. Quinn." I try to sound confident, but my voice is shaking.

His eyebrow arches subtly before he continues. "You seem to know a lot about me, Piper. Now, let me tell you what I know about you." He plants his palms flat on his desk and rises to his full height, never once looking away from me. I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes. "You've been a social worker for seven years, but you still don't make enough money to dig yourself out of the financial hole you're in."

I narrow my eyes. "I'm in debt. Good guess. Me and most other humans on the planet."

"Yes, but your debt is different. It's not even yours," he says. "You have taken on the debt of not one, but two relatives. How are Daddy and Grandma doing, by the way? Talk to them recently?"

The air in my lungs turns sour. My chest burns, but I can't exhale. I can't move. Timofey and I, we're balanced on the precipice of something. One wrong move and it will all go sideways. I'll fall.

And I don't have to ask to know that, this time, he won't help me back up.

"You don't have to answer that, actually. I already know. No one would blame you for going so long between visits. You're a busy girl, what with work and keeping track of your friend Ashley." He clicks his tongue in faux disappointment. "When will that girl get and stay on the wagon?"

"How do you know about Ashley?" I croak. I have the urge to reach for my phone right this second and call her to make sure she's safe.

Timofey ignores me. "You attract addicts, but you aren't one. Good for you for overcoming the statistics. Especially coming from a broken home. The odds were stacked against you, but you came out on top. Is that why you got in this line of work? To help kids like yourself? To give back?"

That's exactly why I got in this line of work. But the way he says it makes it sound pathetic.

"This is illegal," I snapped. "You can't—You shouldn't know any of this. You spied on me."

"Are you going to file a police report?" he asks. "I'd be surprised. You didn't file one after your attack last night."

I feel flayed open. Bare naked in front of those icy blue eyes.

"If you think blackmail is going to work on me, you're wrong," I hissed. "There is no way in hell I'm leaving a child in your care. You aren't fit to be around other humans, let alone a child."

He waves a hand like he's shooing away a gnat. "Benjamin is staying here. File whatever reports you want. My lawyers will deal with them."

I stand up, shoving my chair back. "Then why am I here? If your lawyers can handle this, why did you show up at my job last night? There was no point in bringing me here."

"Everything I do has a point," he says icily. His eyes are just as frosty. "You're here because I can save myself the trouble of talking to lawyers and solve both of our problems at the same time."

"Let me guess," I sneer. "Money?"

"You say that you aren't in desperate need of some."

"I'd never be desperate enough to accept help from you."

"You may think you're above being bought, but that's only because you've never had the opportunity. But suddenly, your state college education and experience with children has some actual value. Rather than turn your nose up at it, I suggest you listen carefully."

Timofey leans forward, and even though he's still a foot away, I swear I can feel the brush of his lips on my skin. A chill races down my spine.

"You make too few pennies working too many hours. Then you come home to a tiny, overpriced apartment and stare at the ceiling while you wonder how you're going to keep making ends meet."

"Are you done, or are you just going to keep insulting me?"

"If you find the facts of your life insulting, that is your problem, not mine," he says. "I'm making you a generous offer. I don't need a woman in my life, but that doesn't mean there wouldn't be benefits to having one around. I'm offering you the opportunity to live here and take on that role."

"You're offering ?" I drop my voice like I'll be less mortified if I say it in a whisper. "I'm not going to be a live-in call girl. If you want sex, you can get it somewhere else."

Finally, at long last, Timofey's mouth twists into a smirk. It's barely there, just a ghost of a smile, but it's there. Of course it only happens when he's laughing at me.

"You'd be a live-in nanny. To Benjamin," he adds slowly. "The option of a promotion is never off the table, though. Work hard and who knows where it will take you."

I glare at him. "Fuck you."

"I thought you weren't interested in that?"

I ball my fists at my side. "I will never work for you."

"I doubt your pride is worth drowning in never-ending debt. You're in a storm and I'm offering you a life preserver, Piper. Take it."

On some level, Timofey was right: no one has ever offered to erase my debt. No one has ever dangled a life-changing amount of money in front of me. I've never had to decide how much my morality is worth.

But this isn't a generous offer I'm turning down. At best, it's a bribe to let this man raise a child he is obviously not fit to be within a hundred miles of. At worst, it's an outright threat. Do as I say or be punished.

I lived that way for long enough, doing whatever was necessary to avoid pain.

I won't do it anymore.

"Thanks for your offer, but I refuse." I snatch his case file off the desk and hug it to my thundering chest. "I'm going to submit my report, and it's going to be the honest version. Whatever happens after that isn't up to me."

I turn and march for the door. Just before I step into the hallway, Timofey's deep voice follows me.

"We all have more control over our destiny than we think," he says. "You're making a mistake. Think about that when you're home alone tonight."