Chapter 6
SIX
The gala had wound down to silence, the chandeliers dimmed, the music long gone. From the observation balcony, the city’s lights glittered below.
Reid stepped out into the night air, the heavy door whispering closed behind him. He scanned the wide crescent curve of the terrace. His eyes found her immediately. Claire, draped in shadow and silence, seated in one of the low-backed lounge chairs near the far edge. But she wasn’t alone.
Two Chase Security operators flanked the exit, standing a short distance from her, just inside the shadows cast by the alcove’s overhang.
They weren’t speaking. They were watching her and not fooling anyone with the illusion of nonchalance.
The kind of presence meant to be unseen while making damn sure everyone knew they were there.
Reid’s stomach gave a small automatic twist. He wasn’t afraid or surprised. He recognized she was being handled. He walked past them without a glance. They didn’t move. He doubted they would, unless she tried to jump the railing or make a scene. Still, their presence redefined the quiet.
Claire sat motionless, back slightly curved, elbows resting on the arms of the chair like she’d poured herself into it and didn’t plan on leaving.
Her black gown pooled in soft ripples around her legs, more like something spilled than worn.
Her bare feet were tucked against the cushion.
Her shoes sat discarded at odd angles, toes pointed like they’d been kicked off with intent.
The glass in her hand was half full, pale gold catching the faint balcony lighting. She hadn’t taken a drink in a while. He could tell by the way the condensation had gone patchy. She didn’t look up when he came closer.
“Your mother’s gone,” Reid said quietly, not bothering to smooth the words over. “She left without you. I’ve been asked to see you home.”
He noted a flicker, a fractional shift of her shoulders. There was no acknowledgment beyond the smallest thread of breath escaping.
“That sounds like her,” she said, voice flat.
The kind of tone people used when they were too tired to play their part.
He’d heard steel in her voice earlier this evening, the glinting kind, weaponized for social combat.
She left it behind in the ballroom with the scent of champagne and sound of applause.
He hesitated before stepping closer, his jacket still draped over his arm. The air out here was colder than he liked. High-altitude wind slid across the terrace, unkind and sharp, lifting the edges of her hair. “You’ll freeze out here.”
“I’m fine.” She said it like it didn’t matter, like everything inside her had already gone cold anyway.
Reid didn’t argue. He didn’t want to test how thin the ice beneath that voice had become. He just leaned forward and carefully draped his jacket over her shoulders. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t shrug it off. That alone told him more than words would’ve.
Something had shifted in her, almost imperceptibly. Not softened, just... deflated. The fight had gone out of her posture, and he didn’t know whether that was better or worse.
“Slip your shoes back on,” he said after a moment, quieter now.
She moved like each action required conscious choice, sliding her feet into the heels without rush or care. Then she straightened, and her eyes met his. She was exhausted, yes, but more than that. This was a quiet surrender that didn’t feel like giving up. She was just done.
He gave her a moment. Then, without knowing exactly why it felt important now, he said, “We didn’t get a chance to trade names back when we were chasing those three bastards through the building.”
The corner of her mouth barely twitched with a breath, not a smile.
“I’m Reid,” he said simply.
A beat passed. Her fingers shifted slightly on the stem of the glass. Then she looked past him, toward the door, toward the security men pretending not to eavesdrop.
“I remember. Someone also called you Anchor,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
Reid turned and opened the door to the interior corridor. He held it and waited. She followed.
The click of her heels on marble was subdued. There was none of the crisp, cutting rhythm from earlier. Each step landed like punctuation at the end of a sentence no one had wanted to write.
As they stepped inside, he glanced past her toward the security men. Neither moved, but their job was done now. They weren’t there to protect her but to contain her. And Reid wasn’t sure who should be more worried about that, her or the ones giving the orders?
Reid’s jacket was warm against her bare shoulders, carrying his scent of faint soap, clean wool, and something darker she couldn’t name. She pulled it tighter without thinking as they walked, heels tapping softly on the marble.
Heather was gone. Of course she was gone. That was the pattern: arrive, assess, correct, withdraw. It was like clockwork. Claire had been a grown woman for years and still felt twelve every time it happened.
Reid didn’t fill the silence as they crossed the lobby. He moved beside her with the quiet precision of someone who didn’t need to be noticed to own the space.
When he opened the SUV door for her, Claire slid inside, the leather cool under her legs, the faint scent of cologne and vinyl mingling in the air. She folded her hands in her lap and watched her reflection ghost across the passenger-side window.
Reid joined her a moment later. He didn’t say anything as he started the engine, just adjusted the mirrors and pulled smoothly into the roundabout. The valet lane emptied behind them. The gala was truly over.
The city slipped past outside her window, filled with dark glass, gold streetlamps, storefronts with closed signs glowing dim in the windows. The SUV hummed like a secret in motion.
She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him. Not just beside her but aware of her. She felt it in the way he checked intersections before slowing, in how he didn’t fill the silence with questions or sympathy.
“You don’t have to…” she began.
“I do.” No hesitation. No glance.
The finality in his tone shouldn’t have caught her off guard, but it did. Something in it cut through the numbness settling over her all evening. It made her throat ache more than she wanted to admit.
He drove for another block. “Are you hungry?”
She blinked. The question hit her sideways. Her stomach answered before her brain could. She hadn’t eaten. A few sips of champagne, a canape she couldn’t remember, and that was it.
“I know you didn’t eat,” Reid said as if reading it from her silence. “You never touched your plate.”
She exhaled, not quite a sigh. “Yes. Okay. Yeah.”
He nodded once, not smug, just efficient. “Let’s hit Frita Batidos.”
That surprised her. “That’s still open?”
“Late on weekends. I’ve got the app. We’ll order ahead, take it back to your place.”
She didn’t argue. The thought of sitting somewhere, even half empty, even anonymous, was too much. But warm food, something spicy, something real in the quiet aftermath of too many crystal glasses and unreadable stares? That, she could manage.
She leaned her head lightly against the cool glass, her voice barely above the engine’s hum. “Thanks.”
Reid merged onto the main road with a fluid confidence, one hand already pulling his phone into reach. A few taps. The glow of the screen on his face. A low voice: “Plantains or fries?”
Claire hesitated, then, almost without thinking: “Both.”
And for the first time all night, she saw his reflection tilt slightly in the window enough to register as a smile.
CLAIRE’S APARTMENT – 0210 HOURS
By the time they found street parking, the bag of food had filled the SUV with the scent of spiced beef and grilled citrus. Claire opened her door into the thick night air, her heels in her hand again.
Reid circled to the sidewalk without asking, grabbing the food and locking up behind them. She didn’t wait for him, just started up the narrow stairs, barefoot, her dress whispering against her legs as she climbed.
No elevator. No doorman. Just three narrow flights of creaking steps and a cracked hallway bulb that always flickered once before lighting fully.
She heard him behind her, footsteps steady, unhurried. Not crowding but there.
At her door, she fished out her keys with practiced fingers. The lock always caught slightly before giving. She leaned her weight into it just enough, and it gave way with its usual groan. She stepped inside and flipped the switch.
The light in the living room came on, yellow and tired. A small space. Clean, but lived-in. Books sat on the window ledge. A hoodie rested over the back of a secondhand chair. Blankets that didn’t match were folded near the radiator.
She didn’t bother making excuses for it. He didn’t look like he needed any.
Claire set her heels down by the wall and headed to the tiny galley kitchen.
Reid followed, setting the bag down on the small circular table tucked between two mismatched stools.
The food made the room smell like a real place again, like late-night kitchens and cheap dates and something warm that didn’t come from a tray carried by waiters in black jackets.
He pulled out a stool but didn’t sit. Not yet. He watched her. Not intrusively. Just... present.
She unwrapped the food, hands steady. She handed him a fry without asking, and they ate in silence, passing sauces and napkins like a language neither of them had used in a while.
Halfway through the burger, she looked up and caught him watching her again. “You always this quiet?” She wiped her thumb on the edge of the wrapper.
“Only when I don’t trust what I might say.” His voice was calm, even, but something in it traced her skin, making her pulse tick upward without her knowing why.
She leaned back, chewing slower now, as if the food needed more time to land. “And now?”
“I’m still deciding.”