Work Text
Chapter One
Skeletons
Kenzi Malikov cut the engine of her yellow Camaro and forced open the driver’s side door—the lock always stuck in anything higher than 60 degrees Fahrenheit. She’d negotiated her way into having the dents banged out and a fresh coat of paint slapped on just for this trip. It looked perfect … so long as no one peeked under the vintage beast’s hood. Climbing out, she checked the directions and address on her phone again, trying to assure herself her GPS must’ve gotten it wrong before gaping up at the entrance from behind a pair of thick, Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses.The woods that circled the community were plainly visible everywhere she looked, giving the illusion that the gates, edged by stone pillars and perfectly manicured greenery, only led deeper into the forest—as though no more than some random structure seemingly planted in the middle of nowhere. A solitary guardhouse stood just inside, the small building a pristine beige sort of brickwork, giving the impression it was probably power-cleaned often to stay so immaculate in this rustic setting that the granular surface of the masonry sparkled ever so faintly beneath what sunlight pierced the leafy canopy overhead. The guardhouse’s large single-paned window was mirrored to keep passersby from peering in … made one wonder what was going on inside that no one was supposed to see.Maybe that was her own paranoia speaking, she considered with a flip of her currently raven-black hair, electric blue and hot pink extensions threaded artfully through the nearly waist-length locks. After all, when someone was up to something in the shadowy recesses of posh places like this, well … it was usually people like her. Looking the part of someone who could reasonably belong as she currently did—with her snazzy fitted black blouse, her finest faux-leather leggings, black platform heels with the flashy red soles paired with a reverse-matched jacket and statement jewelry that looked more expensive than it actually was—and having a legit excuse to be there didn’t change that.You could take the cat out of the alley ….The gates loomed before her, all gorgeously detailed wrought iron and polished wood, adorned with ornate carvings that felt misplaced … like there was something medieval about them, sharply contrasting the entrance’s otherwise contemporary design. Beyond the needlessly showy little guardhouse, she spied a winding drive, the ancient oak and maple trees lining the ribbon of asphalt swaying eerily in the breeze. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and foliage.Beautiful as it was, she couldn't suppress a shiver. The whole setup felt strangely ominous. Maybe that was because she never met a nice thing that didn’t end up biting her on the ass in one way or another.Then again, maybe it was this entire bizarre—like straight out of a soap opera bizarre—deal with her biological father. She was trying so hard not to think about it that she was overthinking everything else. Overanalyzing and making every tiny detail bigger and weirder than it really was to balance it all out ….“Yeah,” Kenzi said to herself with a nod. “That’s it, that’s all. You’re just … shaken up ‘cause this is too weird.” It felt like a con. Like exactly the sort of story she would spin to get into a place like this, so to have it actually happening was probably what left her so unsettled.Kenzi took a deep breath, pushing the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. She approached the gates, the sharp clicking of her heels yet another contrast as the sound dueled with bird song and the rustle of the wind through all those leaves. As she got closer, she noticed a discreet intercom mounted to the right of the center pillar—the one with the community’s name, Sìdhean, emblazoned across it in fancy, archaic script. She didn’t bother wondering what it meant, all of these places had eccentric names, but she had puzzled over its pronunciation since the first time she glimpsed it in the very official-looking letter the estate attorney had sent her with all the pertinent information.A little perusing and hacking had turned up nothing suspicious about the attorney or the community, and the letter had arrived just as she needed to get out of Dodge, anyway. She still wasn’t entirely sure how the chick had even found her, but everything checked out, so here she was.Hesitating for a moment—as she wondered over the likelihood of anyone pulling anything this extravagant just to catch a smalltime grifter and pickpocket like her—she finally pressed the button.A crackle of static interrupted the far more pleasant ambient sounds of nature, then a male voice said, “Welcome to Sìdhean.” He pronounced it shee-han. There it is! Her lips pursed in thought. Huh, and people say Russian is hard. “How may I assist you?”“Uh, hi. My name is Mackenzi Malikov. I’m here about—" “Please pull up to the window and present your ID.”She jumped a bit at the abruptness of the response. And cutting her off like that? Rude, but she wouldn’t dare say that out loud, she had no idea what type of people she was dealing with here. Maybe they were chill and casual type of rich folk who would find her particular brand of snark and blunt honesty charming, maybe they were the uptight and snooty type who would try to have her arrested for sneezing too loud during a dinner party or something. Best to keep her tone—and words—polite as she could manage until she had a bead on which ‘type’ awaited her beyond these gates. “Oh. Um, okay. Th—thank you.”She resisted the urge to conspicuously race back to the car—she had a right to be here, no need to scurry around nervously—and strolled back, climbing in and turning the key in the ignition. Even on a con she was usually calmer than this, knowing the big rule of avoiding sending up red flags was acting like you belonged wherever you were—you didn’t give in to being caught until you were truly up shit’s creek. Then that rule went right out the window in favor of escaping by any means necessary.Even the gears on the gate must’ve been oiled and treated regularly, she realized, because as the massive iron doors swung open, the mechanical motion was whisper-quiet. “Fa-a-ancy,” she said under her breath as she pressed the gas and rolled on through.Pulling up to the guardhouse as instructed, she fished about for her wallet with one hand and rolled down the window with the other. She’d left her fake IDs buried in the bottom of one of her suitcases so as not to accidentally mix them up with her single genuine one as she plucked it free and waited. People didn’t have to examine their own driver’s licenses before handing them over, so the risk of needing to do so to be sure she had the correct one in hand would be bad. She wasn't planning on staying more than a few days before deciding what to do with the property and every valuable thing in it—sell, sell, sell—but seeing as she was technically homeless at the moment, she had literally every possession she owned in this world packed into the trunk.The mirrored window slid up, revealing a clear layer of Plexi-glass with a small opening in the bottom center. Smiling brightly at the man on the other side, she handed her ID over and pulled off her shades, permitting him to easily match her face to the image on the card.He looked it over and then passed it back with a clipboard for her signature. “Very well, Miss Malikov. If you could print and sign, then—” he caught her gaze quite purposefully before pointing down the drive—“you’re going quite a ways, the house is toward the end of Oberon Road, number 401. Can’t miss it. You’ll be met by Detective Thornwood, he’ll—”“Whoa, whoa.” She held up a hand, pretending her abrupt reaction was nothing more than confused curiosity rather than the result of her heart instantly and painfully slamming into her ribs at thousand miles a minute. “Detective? That estate attorney, Ms. Dennis, wrote that my father’s death was an accident. Is there something I should know?”“No, Miss.” The guard offered a sad smile. “Your father was a prominent member of our community, and our police force just wishes to take this opportunity to convey their sympathies personally.”Her brows shot up as she busied herself with putting her ID back in her wallet. “This place has its own police force? Seriously?”He shrugged. “Being so remote, we can’t always count on outside authorities to reach us in time, so it’s rather a necessity out here. You’ll find we have quite a few amenities to help in that regard. Anyway, Ms. Dennis is usually … all booked up in the afternoons, so Detective Thornwood offered to meet you in her stead. You have her number?”“Uhh ….” Kenzi scrambled through her oversized purse, coming up with the letter. “Yup, right here.”"Ah," he said simply, and she could see from the corner of her eye that he'd picked up a business card from somewhere beside him and had been about to hand it over if she'd needed it.She nodded, sliding her shades back into place to hide the sudden rapid fluttering of her lids. “Sorry, I’m just not used to security guards being so … versed in private matters.”The man had the good grace to wince and offer a polite shrug. “As I said Miss Malikov—”“It’s Kenzi,” she said, nearly snapping the words before tacking on in a gentler tone, “please.”“As I said, Kenzi, he was a prominent member of our community. His passing has sort of been everyone’s business. But you’ll find personal privacy is important here, so don’t you worry. It’s not a matter of gossip or anything so … unseemly.”Nodding, Kenzi took it as a delicate dismissal when the man stepped back from the glass and the mirrored partition slid back down into place.With a deep, grounding breath, she started the car and headed away, sinking into the vast greenery that spread out beyond the guardhouse. That conversation—innocuous as it was—set her on edge, reminding her of all the things she didn’t know about this entire situation.But she pushed everything down. The dozen questions all screaming through her mind, demanding answers from anyone who might offer some clarity on any of this would wait. She would do this, she would be perfectly presentable, ask the questions that seemed reasonable and feasible to get answers to, showcase all the appropriate reactions to her situation and anything else? Well, she'd have her father’s entire house to comb through in private for anything she couldn’t learn through other means.The important thing was that she be honest, she affirmed with a nod to herself in the rearview mirror. Well, to a degree, of course. About her unusual circumstances with her father. That was sure to cover anything off-color she might say or do in her supposed grief.Giving herself a shake, Kenzi focused on the drive. Assuming too much about an uncertain situation was asking for trouble.The road wound its way deeper into the woods, the towering trees casting dappled shadows on the pavement before it gave way to flagstone and the swooping foliage opened wide, revealing buildings in the distance, other cars rolling quietly through the community, and people on leisurely strolls going about their own business. Perhaps the mention of having their own cops should’ve been a tip off, but honestly, Kenzi hadn’t known what to expect, not really. Most ‘gated communities’ she was familiar with were a small collection of ritzy houses with maybe a few exclusive, ‘members only’ luxuries, like a playground, ballcourts, a pool, a gym …. But this?Sidhean was a literal town unto itself, smack-dab in the middle of the wilderness.She passed what looked like a quaint business district and found herself in what had to be the town square. Idling at the stop sign, she looked out at the streets branching off in various directions; she counted seven. A bunch had names that, like the community itself, she couldn’t hope to pronounce just by reading them, leading her to Oberon Road, which—thank all the powers that be—was spelt exactly like it sounded.Turning onto Oberon Road, she started to see houses. No two were quite alike—not what she expected from a place like this, something to which she could apply the word ‘cookie cutter’ had been more what she imagined—yet they were all similar, what with their manicured lawns and immaculate exteriors. Not a bit of shrubbery out of a place or a single blade of grass overgrown. The house numbers were a little odd, starting at 101 and jumping up by 20 from property to property. Maybe … they were accounting for how much space each lot took up? She knew diddly about how mail regulations worked, anyway.Finally she spotted the house marked 401. She pulled up, parking in the empty drive of the sprawling Victorian mansion, unable to help a feeling as though just as she was gaping at it through the windshield, its large windows made the house seem like it was gaping right back at her. Kenzi sat for a moment staring at the grand edifice. The way she’d been raised … the way she’d lived to avoid that homelife any longer ….Saliva pooled at the back of her mouth and she swallowed it down reflexively, fighting a sick and twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach. Rage. Pure and unbridled as she finally let herself think it.If she’d had to live like that while her father had lived like this, she was glad he was dead. She was only sorry she wasn't the one to have put him in the ground.A knock on the driver's-side window made her jump, a small, startled cry escaping her lips. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts, she’d not even noticed the lanky blond man stroll up to the car.Looking him over—he was handsome, his hair in shaggy curls, and he had a slightly unkept beard and mustache that somehow suited the rest of him—she found he looked shockingly normal. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Maybe for every male resident to be wandering around in a swanky 3-piece suit all the time? He wore a dark leather vest neatly fastened over a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black jeans. At his hip, clipped to his belt, a badge gleamed.Right, she thought, reeling back a knee-jerk reaction to give what she’d first assumed to be a nosy neighbor the brush-off. It wasn’t her fault she thought she’d glimpsed something … vaguely smoldery in his gaze she’d immediately mistaken for a preamble to flirtation. Maybe it was just something about him, she thought, clearing her throat and nodding to him.Smiling, she unbuckled her seatbelt and started opening the door. He easily caught it, guiding the rest of the swing into a smooth motion while extending his free hand down to her.Kenzi tried not to be startled by the simple courtesy of the gesture.“Miss Malikov?”Oh, even his voice was nice. That wasn’t fair. She nodded.“Detective Thornwood?”He nodded, a half-smile curving one corner of his mouth.Finally she let her hand drop into his, surprised by how warm his skin felt beneath hers. Refraining from making a soft sound in the back of her throat at how soothing she found his touch—she didn’t have very much experience with being soothed—she climbed out of the car, just as quickly extracting her hand from his as he closed the door.She tried to keep her eyes off how snug those jeans fit him, or how the fabric of his shirt was stretched just a bit to accommodate shoulders that were broader than should make sense on his lean frame.He fished a set of keys from his pocket—the movement making not letting her gaze swoop down to skim over the fit of his jeans on particular areas of his anatomy even more of a struggle—and held them out to her. She took them silently, nodding again and turning on her heel to face the house.“Miss Malikov,” he started as he followed her across the walk and up the steps to the imposing double doors of the front entrance.She glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Kenzi,” she said trying not to sound curt.“Kenzi,” he echoed, as far as she was aware completely oblivious to how the way that her name sounded tumbling from his lips was in danger of sending a delicious little shiver down her spine. “I wanted to greet you personally to express our community's deepest condolences about your father’s passing. Vissarion was a good man, he’s going to be missed.”Chewing at the inside of her lower lip to keep any scathing retorts from slipping out—she could recognize he didn’t deserve her lashing out at him for not knowing the whole story, hell, she didn’t know the whole story, either—she nodded while she unlocked the door. Kenzi ignored a passing curiosity as to why the woodwork of the doorframe matched the ornate detailing at the front gates and blindly pushed it open as she pivoted to face him. “Detective Thornwood—”“Dyson.” His smile was reassuring, warm, like his touch.“Dyson,” she repeated, her anger with her father allowing her to ignore how Detective Dyson Thornwood's smile sent a sweet little tingle arcing through her. “Would you like to come in? You’ve visited my father before, right? You could show me around while I explain precisely what my relationship with Vissarion was like.”From the way his expression changed—cooling in a way that was not unkind, merely troubled, perhaps even a hint confused—she knew it finally occurred to him that it wasn’t by choice that Vissarion Malikov’s daughter had never visited this community to see her father before. That it wasn’t by choice that she’d been a no-show for his funeral.Frowning thoughtfully, he nodded. “Sure.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “After you.”
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Chapter Two
Questions
Kenzi led the way into the house, her heart pounding in her chest. The interior was as grand and immaculate as the exterior, with gleaming marble floors and an ornate chandelier suspended from the high ceiling. She could hear the echo of her footsteps bouncing off the walls, reminding her how alone she was in this huge mansion.Dyson followed closely behind her, one hand tucked into his pocket while he looked around with a slightly furrowed brow. She could see him taking in every detail—the pristine furniture, the expensive art on the walls, even the vase of flowers that sat on a table near the entrance. Maybe he was wondering what to start with on this tour, maybe he knew her father as some great guy and was having trouble matching that with an idea of whomever Vissarion Malikov was in the eyes of his own daughter, since he was getting the sinking feeling that they were not the same person.She felt his presence behind her, but he didn't intrude on her space. Instead, he allowed her to take in the imposing beauty of her father's home at her own pace.His voice echoed softly as he began to guide her through the house. "On the left is the dining room, and adjacent to that is the kitchen. Both fully equipped, as your father liked to entertain. Parlor and sunroom to the right." He then gestured toward the sprawling staircase. "Upstairs are the bedrooms, your father's study, and a library."Despite herself, Kenzi felt a pang of curiosity at the mention of a library. She liked reading, loved it when the right book happened along—she just never had the opportunity to have more than a few books at a time in her possession. Having shitty parents and deciding you’d fare better on the streets could have that effect, Kenzi thought sourly.As she moved further into the house Dyson fell into step beside her; his presence was soothing rather than oppressive. His casual posture and calm demeanor made him feel less like an officer of the law and more like someone who genuinely cared about what she was going through.After a few paces, she paused, her gaze fixed on the top of the stairs. She hadn’t even realized she’d frozen in her tracks until she heard Dyson clear his throat gently behind her. "Are you okay?" he asked in a low voice.“Is there a pool?” she asked rather than answering—truth was she didn’t have an answer for his question, simple as it had seemed.“Yes.” Though his eyes rested on the side of her face as she continued staring up toward the second floor, he nodded in a direction. “Through the sunroom. There’s sliding doors that let out onto the house grounds; the pool’s out there.”He didn’t miss the way her eyes dropped even as her head remained tilted upward. “What else?”Dyson arched a brow. “Pardon?”Kenzi swallowed hard and then pivoted to face him. He ignored how the sight of those pale blue eyes of hers swimming with sudden, unshed tears carved him up inside. Ridiculous. Though he’d known what she looked like, he had only met her all of five minutes ago.But then his kind did operate on instinct more than sense.“You said the doors let out onto the grounds,” she clarified. “What else is out there besides the pool?”He shrugged, but didn’t sound at all like he was trying to be flippant or dismissive as he said, “Gazebo, gardens, greenhouse, a private tennis court, the stable—”“Stable?” she echoed, wide-eyed. “I … have horses now?”“You don’t like horses?”She was almost taken aback by how genuinely interested he sounded. Did he have a big, ol’ soft spot for hooved creatures, or was he just curious about, well, her? Questions were usually trouble, and Kenzi had been ready to run at the first bare whiff of trouble. But she’d also been doing this long enough to trust her gut, and everything about this man was telling her she could trust him.Offering a shrug of her own now, she dropped her gaze again, but this time it was in a show of embarrassment rather than whatever darker emotion had taken hold of her moments earlier. “No, I like horses. In theory. I mean, I’ve never ridden one, or petted one, or … seen one that wasn’t on tv or in a parade ….”“I could teach you.”She hadn’t been prepared for the way his voice had dropped a few octaves, the suddenly deeper register doing things to her. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she also wasn’t prepared for how he’d taken half a step closer, his head tipped ever so slightly so that his face was closer to hers. If they’d been in a room full of people and she’d been struggling to him over the din, she’d have thought nothing of the maneuver, but it was very different in a completely empty space.“You … you could?” she asked dumbly, chiding herself the entire time, Dammit, Kenzi! Do not tell this man how much you’d love to take him up on a lesson to ride things!The barest glimpse of a smirk curved one corner of his mouth, and she had to wonder if he’d somehow read something from her expression. Then again, maybe he just found the dumb girl act endearing.“Yeah, well, it’s a moot point at the moment,” he said, the innocent response making Kenzi wonder if she’d just imagined his reaction. “The horses—Vladimir and Lily—are being temporarily boarded at the local stables. But, if you decide to stick around, and you decide you want to learn, I’m your man.”Kenzi tried very, very hard to keep her face from making any telling expressions about the way he’d chosen to conclude that sentence. Perfectly innocent.But, just in case it wasn’t, she let herself smile as she said, “I might take you up on that.”He smiled back, a genuine, warm grin that somehow made the grandeur of the mansion seem a bit less intimidating. "I'd like that," he said softly. His gaze held hers for a moment longer before he cleared his throat and gestured toward the staircase again. "Shall we continue the tour?"Kenzi nodded, tearing her gaze away from his. She walked beside him as they continued through the house. As she took in more of her new surroundings, she couldn't help but be struck by how out of place she felt.This wasn't her world, and she wasn't sure it ever could be.After the game room, sauna, and in-home theater on the basement level—yet more things that made Kenzi think if her father had still been alive, she’d have strangled him to death with her own bare hands—they wound their way up to the top floor. Past a full wing of guest suites to the master wing with its huge, swanky bedroom, separate bath with a fireplace in the room—a roaring fire while she soaked in the tub? Who lived like that?!—a literal wardrobe room, the library he’d mentioned, and finally ending with her father’s study.But she couldn’t go in there yet, instead standing out in the corridor to gape at the door before her.Sure, it was just a study, with books and papers and probably some huge desk and a swivel chair behind it that would suit a villain from a 007 film, but if tv shows had taught her anything, it was that someone’s study could also be a deeply personal space. She had wanted to dig into her father’s past, find out what had made him walk away from their family—from her—but suddenly she wasn’t so sure she could deal with finding answers.“So,” Dyson said quietly, making her aware how obvious her unease must be—giving her a sense like he recognized that he was saving her from herself just now—as he continued, “you promised me an explanation in payment for this tour.”Turning in place, she rested her back against the solid wood of the door and tipped her head back to look up at him.He made a point of visibly allowing his gaze to wander over her features before returning to lock eyes with her. “Do you want to go inside or talk out here?”“I ….” She sighed and hung her head, not caring if it seemed too forward or familiar a move as she busied herself fidgeting with the buttons on his leather vest. It was his fault anyway for looming so close … and being so tall … and not stopping her.After what seemed like an impossibly long time during which she could hear the soft sound of his breaths, of her own, and could feel the weight of his attention on her, she finally answered. “Out here, but … there isn’t much to explain.”His gaze again trailed down her face to land on her small, slender fingers as they continued picking idling at his buttons. “Take your time.”“I, um ….” Kenzi forced a gulp down her throat, the noise of it impossibly loud in the silence of the grand, empty house. “Truth is, I didn’t know him. Until I got that estate letter from Ms. Dennis, I’d thought my father was dead.”She made herself look up, almost laughing at the way Dyson’s brow had furrowed. Well, yeah, he was dead, that was why she was here.Shaking her head, she hurried on, “I don’t mean recently, either.” The young woman shrugged and her lower lip trembled ever so faintly. “I mean I never even met him before. As far as I knew, he’d died when I was born.”Kenzi wasn’t prepared for the look of shock on his face. “That … that can’t be right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to get a grip on the way this revelation had jolted through his system.Dropping her hands from those shiny, silver buttons of his at last, she folded her arms under her breasts and seemed to curl in on herself a little, making her appear even smaller than she was. “That’s why I’m so … just so about all of this! To think he was living like this while I spent my entire life struggling and scraping and—” She cut herself off before she could go into detail about what that struggling and scraping had eventually grown to entail.The way his gaze roved about, she guessed he was trying to match this information with the type of man he’d known Vissarion to be. “This is … not possible.”Her delicate jaw set, and he was startled to see the anger there when he at last met her eyes again. Those broad shoulders of his slumped a bit as he exhaled a sigh. “Kenzi, I think—”“Look, Dyson, you seem like a really kind person, but don’t tell me what’s not possible about my own life!” She resisted an urge to push him away; annoyed though she might be with him just now, she couldn’t deny that she liked the comfort she felt in his nearness. But she also didn’t know why her father hadn’t been around, and damn Detective Dyson Thornwood’s comforting nearness that it soothed her just enough to let her think more clearly than she’d like to about the matter.Conceding to logic, she shook her head, releasing a sigh of her own. “I mean … if I’m being totally honest, I don’t know why he wasn’t there. For all I know, my mother could’ve left him and been lying to me all these years.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t be too far outside her playbook, from what I’ve seen.”Yet when Kenzi’s gaze finally returned to Dyson’s, she found that shock in his expression had only deepened.She felt her brows pinch together as she asked, “What?”Jutting his chin to the door against which she still had her back, he said, “I think we should go into the study.”Now those pinched brows of hers shot up. “Why?”There was no mistaking the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “There’s something you need to see.”“You’re kind of scaring me a little,” she advised with an awkward laugh.Gripping her shoulders in a gentle hold, he said very seriously, “I don’t want you to be scared, but I’d be lying if I said this isn’t very strange, and once you see what’s in there, you’ll understand.”“Okay.” She nodded, aware how wide her eyes had gone. “Strange I can handle, I think.”With a thoughtful frown, he dropped one hand to reach around her and turn the doorknob.At the sudden absence of the door pressing against her back, Kenzi became cognizant of how close together they stood. As much as she didn’t want to move, she reminded herself she had only just met the man and she might not even be staying in Sìdhean longer than it took to sell everything in this house and run off to the Caribbean, or somewhere. Avoiding any … potential entanglements until she knew what the next day—let alone the next week—might bring was her smartest move.She backpedaled one step, two, into the room, and then turned to face the interior of the study.The room was awash with the soft, golden glow of sunlight peeking in through heavily curtained windows. The walls were lined with dark, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with an array of leather-bound books and small, glimmering antiques. A large fireplace sat cold and empty, the mantel above it adorned with all manner of exquisitely expensive looking chachkis. The space was cozy for how large it was, and almost exactly what she’d pictured from outside the door.Dyson followed her inside, his steps silent on the plush area rug that covered the polished wooden floor. He moved toward one of the bookcases, behind the desk—007 villain desk and chair, check, a snarky little internal voice managed to point out—and then turned on his heel, facing the windows.After a moment of seemingly staring at the wall, he turned his head to meet Kenzi’s eyes. “Come here.”Though she was still unnerved by whatever was unfolding just now, she nodded and crossed the floor to stand beside him. “Okay, what?” she asked, tossing her hands in the air.Once more clasping her shoulders, he turned her to face the windows just as he was.“Wha … ?” She gaped at the single gilt-framed piece of artwork that hung so perfectly, so evenly, between the drapes.Unable to take her eyes off it, she rounded the desk and continued closer until she was face-to-face with it.Whirling to look at Dyson, she managed a small and broken, “I don’t understand.”His expression grave, he swallowed hard and shook his head, his gaze moving from the young woman before him to the portrait beside her. The one her father replaced every few years with a ‘more current’ version.The portrait Dyson had seen so many times in some form or another over the course of those years.“Neither do I,” he said, once more slipping into that deep, quiet tone, as he observed Mackenzie Malikov standing beside a meticulously rendered portrait of herself.