Claim Me

Chapter 3

3Lucas

I wake up Friday morning with a throbbing headache that adds to my fury. I’ve barely slept—Diego and Eduardo kept sending me hourly updates on their search for Yulia—and it takes two cups of coffee before I start feeling semi-human.

As I’m getting ready to leave the kitchen, Rosa walks in, dressed in jeans instead of her usual conservative maid’s outfit.

“Oh, hi, Lucas,” she says. “I was just looking for you.”

“Oh?” I try not to glower at the girl. I still feel bad that I had to squash her little crush on me. It’s not Rosa’s fault that my prisoner escaped, and I don’t want to take out my shitty mood on the girl.

“Señor Esguerra said I can explore the city today if I take a guard with me,” Rosa says, watching me warily. She must’ve picked up on my anger despite my attempts to look calm. “Is there anybody you could spare?”

I consider her request. Truthfully, the answer is no. I don’t want to take any guards away from Nora’s parents’ house, and fifteen minutes ago, Esguerra texted me that he’s taking Nora to a park, which means he’ll need at least a dozen of our men to be in position there.

“I’m going to Chicago today,” I say after a moment of deliberation. “I have a meeting there. You can come with me if you don’t mind waiting for a bit. Afterwards, I’ll take you wherever you want to go, and by lunchtime, one of the other guys will be available to replace me—assuming you want to stay in the city longer than a couple of hours, that is.”

“Oh, I…” A flush darkens Rosa’s bronzed skin, even as her eyes brighten with excitement. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be imposing? I don’t have to go today if—”

“It’s all right.” I remember what the girl told me on Wednesday about having never been to the United States before. “I’m sure you’re eager to see the city, and I don’t mind.”

Maybe her company will get my mind off Yulia and the fact that my prisoner is still on the loose.

Rosa chatters nonstop as we drive to Chicago, telling me all about the various Chicago trivia she’s read online.

“And did you know that it’s named the Windy City because of politicians who were full of hot air?” she says as I turn onto West Adams Street in downtown Chicago and pull into the underground parking garage of a tall glass-and-steel building. “It has nothing to do with the actual wind coming off the lake. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yes, amazing,” I say absentmindedly, checking my phone as I get out of the car. To my disappointment, there’s no new update from Diego. Putting the phone away, I walk around the car and open the door for Rosa.

“Come,” I say. “I’m already five minutes late.”

Rosa hurries after me as I walk to the elevator. She takes two steps for every one of mine, and I can’t help comparing her bouncy walk to Yulia’s long-limbed, graceful stride. The maid is not quite as petite as Esguerra’s wife, but she still looks short to me—especially since I’ve gotten used to Yulia’s model-like height.

Fucking stop thinking of her. My hands clench in my pockets as I wait for the elevator to arrive, only half-listening to Rosa chattering about the Magnificent Mile. The spy is like a splinter under my skin. No matter what I do, I can’t get her off my mind. Compulsively, I pull out my phone and check it again.

Still nothing.

“So what is your meeting about?” Rosa asks, and I realize she’s staring up at me expectantly. “Is it something for Señor Esguerra?”

“No,” I say, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “It’s for me.”

“Oh.” She looks deflated at my curt reply, and I sigh, reminding myself that I shouldn’t take out my frustration on the girl. She has nothing to do with Yulia and the whole f****d-up situation.

“I’m meeting with my portfolio manager,” I say as the elevator doors slide open. “I just need to catch up on my investments.”

“Oh, I see.” Rosa grins as we step into the elevator. “You have investments, like Señor Esguerra.”

“Yes.” I press the button for the top floor. “This guy is his portfolio manager as well.”

The elevator whooshes upward, all sleek steel and gleaming surfaces, and less than a minute later, we’re stepping out into an equally sleek and modern reception area.

For a twenty-six-year-old guy born in the projects, Jared Winters certainly leads a good life.

His receptionist, a slim Japanese woman of indeterminate age, stands up as we approach.

“Mr. Kent,” she says, giving me a polite smile. “Please, have a seat. Mr. Winters will be with you in a minute. May I offer you and your companion some refreshments?”

“None for me, thanks.” I glance at Rosa. “Would you like anything?”

“Um, no, thank you.” She’s staring at the floor-to-ceiling window and the city spread out below. “I’m good.”

Before I have a chance to sit down in one of the plush seats by the window, a tall, dark-haired man steps out of the corner office and approaches me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Winters says, reaching out to shake my hand. His green eyes gleam coolly behind his frameless glasses. “I was just finishing up a call.”

“No worries. We’re a bit late ourselves.”

He smiles, and I see his gaze flick over to Rosa, who’s still standing there, seemingly mesmerized by the view outside.

“Your girlfriend, I presume?” Winters says quietly, and I blink, surprised by the personal question.

“No,” I say, following him as he walks back toward his office. “More like my assignment for the next couple of hours.”

“Ah.” Winters doesn’t say anything else, but as we enter his office, I see him glance back at Rosa, as if unable to help himself.