Marcus Vale stood near the doorway, his hand still resting on his holster, his face grim.

“Elena,” Benjamin said, not looking up.

“Is it true?”

“We don’t know anything yet, Benjamin,” I said, walking over to him.

“She is a master manipulator. She wants to tear you apart from the inside out.”

“But Claire’s safe,” Benjamin murmured. “She kept her private files in the study at the Aspen house.”

He finally looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red.

“We are in the Aspen house, Benjamin,” I said gently. “The safe is behind the portrait in the library.”

He turned and walked out of the room without another word.

I followed him down the wood-paneled hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick runners.

Marcus fell into step right behind us, his eyes scanning the shadows of the large house.

We entered the library, where a fire was dying in the grate, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.

Benjamin walked straight to the oil painting of Claire that hung above the fireplace.

He stared at her painted face for a long second.