The sound of metal striking concrete echoed from beneath a battered motorcycle parked near the orphanage's side entrance. Sebastian followed the noise, Duncan trailing a few steps behind with obvious reluctance. Tool handles and what looked like the remains of several dismantled engines littered the ground around the bike, creating a mechanical graveyard that spoke of countless repair attempts.

"Vivian," Duncan called out, his voice carrying a warning note. "You have a visitor."

A stream of creative profanity emerged from under the motorcycle, followed by the sharp clang of a wrench being dropped. Two oil-stained boots appeared first, then long legs encased in worn denim that had seen better decades. Sebastian found himself holding his breath as the rest of the figure slid out from beneath the machine.

The woman who emerged was nothing like what he'd expected, and everything he'd never dared hope for.

Vivian Harrington rose to her feet in one fluid motion, wiping grease-blackened hands on a rag that had given up any pretense of cleanliness long ago. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, though several rebellious strands had escaped to frame her face. The oversized work shirt she wore hung loose over her frame, but couldn't hide the unmistakable curves beneath. When she turned to face them fully, Sebastian felt his carefully maintained composure crack.

She was beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of the society women who frequented his business circles, but with a raw, uncompromising intensity that hit him like a physical blow. High cheekbones and a stubborn chin gave her face character, while her eyes-a startling shade of green-held a wariness that spoke of hard-won experience.

Those same green eyes were currently fixed on him with undisguised hostility.

"Who the hell is this?" Vivian demanded, jerking her head toward Sebastian while addressing Duncan. Her voice carried a roughness around the edges that suggested she wasn't accustomed to moderating her language for polite company. "Please tell me you didn't sell us out to another one of those vultures from Morrison Construction."

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but Vivian wasn't finished. She took a step forward, her boots crunching on scattered metal debris, and pointed the wrench she still held directly at his chest.

"Let me save you some time, pretty boy. Whatever offer your company thinks is going to convince us to sell this place, you can shove it where the sun don't shine. We're not moving. Not for you, not for Morrison, not for anybody. So why don't you climb back into whatever fancy car brought you up here and-"

"I'm not with Morrison Construction," Sebastian interjected smoothly, though his pulse had quickened at her unexpected vehemence. The way she moved, the controlled aggression in her posture-this was someone who could handle herself in a fight. Someone who'd had to. "My name is Sebastian Forsythe, and I'm here about something much more specific than real estate."

Vivian's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "Forsythe." She tested the name like she was tasting something unpleasant. "Never heard of you. Which means you're either nobody important, or you're somebody who works real hard to stay off the radar." She shifted her weight, and Sebastian caught a glimpse of the knife sheath at her belt. "Either way, I don't like you."

"Vivian," Duncan warned, but there was affection beneath the reproach. "At least hear what the man has to say."

"Why should I? Look at him, Duncan." She gestured with the wrench, taking in Sebastian's expensive suit and polished shoes. "Everything about this guy screams corporate money. The kind of money that bulldozes places like this without losing a minute's sleep."

Sebastian felt an unexpected stab of something that might have been hurt. Her dismissal stung more than it should have, more than it had any right to. "You're not wrong about the money," he said quietly. "But you're wrong about my intentions. I'm not here to threaten your home."

"Then what do you want?"

Sebastian glanced at Duncan, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Permission, or perhaps resignation. "I'm looking for someone with a very particular set of skills. Someone who goes by the name 'Black Cat.'"

The change in Vivian was instantaneous and electric. Her entire body went rigid, and the hand holding the wrench tightened until her knuckles showed white through the grime. For a moment, Sebastian thought she might actually swing it at his head.

"Never heard of any Black Cat," she said, her voice deadly quiet. "Sounds like something out of a comic book."

"Does it?" Sebastian stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse hammering at the base of her throat. "Because I heard she's very real. And very good at acquiring things that don't technically belong to her."

"You're fishing in the wrong pond, suit." Vivian's smile was all teeth and no warmth. "Duncan, get this parasite off our property before I decide to give him a closer look at my wrench."

But Sebastian had seen it-the flicker of recognition in her eyes when he'd mentioned the Black Cat. The way her breathing had changed, becoming shallower, more controlled. She knew the name because it was her name.

"My company recently had something stolen," he continued, ignoring her threat. "A prototype chip with applications that could be... lucrative in the wrong hands. We have reason to believe the Black Cat was involved in its acquisition."

Vivian laughed, a harsh sound that held no humor. "And you came all the way up here to our little orphanage because you think some mythical cat burglar is hiding out in the mountains? That's rich."

"Not hiding," Sebastian said softly. "Living. Protecting something that matters to her." His gaze flicked toward the orphanage, then back to her face. "Someone who understood what it meant to fight for the only home she'd ever known."

The wrench moved so fast Sebastian almost missed it. One moment Vivian was standing three feet away, the next she had the tool pressed against his throat with enough pressure to make breathing interesting. Duncan started forward, but Sebastian held up a hand to stop him.

"Careful, pretty boy," Vivian whispered, her face inches from his. This close, he could see gold flecks in her green eyes, could smell motor oil and something that was uniquely her beneath it. "You're making assumptions about people you don't know. Assumptions that could get you hurt."

Sebastian met her stare without flinching, even as the cold metal bit into his skin. "Am I wrong?"

For a long moment, they stood frozen in their deadly tableau. Sebastian could feel his pulse beating against the wrench, could see the war playing out behind Vivian's eyes. Then, slowly, she stepped back and lowered the tool.

"You've got balls, I'll give you that." She wiped her free hand on her jeans, leaving fresh streaks of grease. "But you're still barking up the wrong tree. Even if this Black Cat exists-which I'm not saying she does-what makes you think she'd want to do business with some corporate suit?"

"Because," Sebastian said, straightening his tie where her proximity had disturbed it, "I'm prepared to make it worth her while."