"Let her go."
The voice came from the SUV. It was calm, unhurried, but it carried the weight of a nuclear threat.
Kian froze, his grip on Carmen loosening slightly. He turned his head, his eyes widening when he recognized the face in the window. "Thorne? This is none of your business. This is my wife."
"Your ex-wife," Julian corrected smoothly. He gave a slight nod toward the rear of his vehicle.
Two massive men in dark suits stepped out of the front of the SUV. They moved with the silent efficiency of trained killers. Before Kian could react, one of them grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until Kian yelped and released Carmen. The other gently steadied her as she swayed on her feet.
"Get your hands off me!" Kian shouted, struggling against the bodyguard's grip. "I'll have you arrested for assault!"
Julian stepped out of the car. He walked over to the gravel, ignoring Kian entirely. He looked down at Carmen, who was barely conscious, her head lolling.
He bent down and picked up the cracked photo of her and her mother. He slipped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then, he carefully lifted Carmen into his arms. She was feather-light.
"Take him to the ground," Julian ordered without looking back.
A loud grunt and a thud told Carmen that Kian had been introduced to the gravel.
Julian placed Carmen gently in the back seat of his SUV. He climbed in beside her and shut the door. The soundproofing immediately cut off Kian's screaming.
"Drive," Julian told his driver.
The car pulled away smoothly. Inside the cabin, the air was cool and smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood.
Carmen forced her eyes open. The world was spinning, but she could see the man sitting next to her. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, an aura of absolute control.
"You're Julian Thorne," she slurred, her tongue feeling heavy.
"And you are very lucky I was in the neighborhood," Julian replied, his gaze fixed on her face.
Carmen's brain was foggy, but her medical training kicked in. The weakness, the dizziness, the blurred vision-it was more than just exhaustion. It was chemical.
"Hospital," she rasped, swallowing hard. "He's been poisoning me. Something slow-acting. Chronic. I need a full toxicology screen. And dexamethasone. Ten milligrams. Now."
Julian raised an eyebrow. He didn't question her. He simply spoke into the car's intercom. "Change of destination. NewYork-Presbyterian, VIP wing. And get Dr. Evans on the line. Tell him to prep for a priority toxicology case and have ten milligrams of dexamethasone ready on arrival."
He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed in thought. "You seem to know your way around a medical emergency," he said quietly. It wasn't an accusation, but a statement of fact, filed away for later.
Carmen didn't answer. She leaned her head back against the cool leather, conserving her strength. The fog in her brain was thick, and a cold dread was seeping into her bones. He knew. Kian had been poisoning her. For how long?
Julian watched her, his expression unreadable. He had come to the Morrison estate today on a hunch, a calculated business move to probe a rival's weakness after hearing rumors of the divorce. He hadn't expected to walk into a kidnapping.
And he certainly hadn't expected Kian Morrison's supposedly unremarkable wife to diagnose her own chronic poisoning and prescribe the correct counter-agent while on the verge of collapse.
He leaned back against the leather seat. He studied her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, even in her dazed state.
"I've been looking for someone with a very particular set of skills, Mrs. Morrison," he said, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp. "It seems my search may have just gotten more interesting."
Carmen stared at him. The mask was slipping, on both their parts. She couldn't talk her way out of this. The evidence was in her own words, in the blood running through her veins.
She met his gaze, her eyes as cold and hard as his. "What do you want, Thorne?"
