Chapter 20 - Gabriel #2
"Maybe. But this target lives in your house. Sleeps in your bed. Knows things she shouldn't know." He moves closer, lowering his voice. "If Zach gets to her—if he turns her against you—"
"He won't."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because she's mine." The words come out harder than I intended. "She's chosen to be here. Chosen to stay. Whatever Zach offers her, whatever lies he tells, she won't betray me."
"You sound very certain for a man who's known this woman for a month."
"I know her."
"You know her body. You know her fear. But do you know her loyalty?" Josiah shakes his head. "She witnessed you commit murder. She's been coerced into your bed, into your home. If someone offered her a way out—if someone promised to help her escape—"
"She doesn't want to escape."
"How do you know?"
The question hangs between us. How do I know? Because she stopped running. Because she looks at me with something other than fear now. Because she draws serpents whispering to flowers and keeps the dahlias I give her and moans my name like it's the only word she knows.
But Josiah is right. None of that is proof. None of that guarantees she won't turn on me if given the chance.
"I know," I say, because it's the only answer I have.
Josiah stares at me for a long moment. Then he sighs.
"I hope you're right, brother. Because if you're wrong—if Zach turns her into a weapon—it won't just be you who pays the price. It will be all of us."
He leaves without waiting for a response.
I sit alone in my study, staring at the files on my desk, thinking about the woman upstairs.
She trusts me. She said so herself.
But can I trust her?
The answer should be no. Trust is weakness. Trust is vulnerability. Trust is handing someone a knife and hoping they don't use it.
And yet.
And yet when I think about Poppy—her eyes, her voice, the way she looks at me like I'm something worth looking at—I find myself wanting to trust her.
Wanting to believe that what's growing between us is real, is mutual, is something that can't be destroyed by whatever poison Zach plans to pour in her ear.
I pull out the sketch from my pocket. The serpent and the dahlia, worn soft from constant handling.
She drew this before she knew me. Before she had any reason to trust me.
Maybe that means something.
Or maybe it means nothing at all.
The afternoon passes in a haze of research and frustration. Hutton's team digs deeper into Linda's past, but the trail goes cold after a certain point—deliberately cold, professionally cold. Someone scrubbed her records. Someone with resources and connections.
Brotherhood resources. Brotherhood connections.
The realization settles into my gut like a stone.
Linda Marsh was connected to us somehow. To the Brotherhood. And whatever that connection was, it was significant enough to warrant a complete erasure of her identity.
What happened twenty-five years ago? What made a woman change her name, take her infant daughter, and run?
And why is Zach so interested in finding out?
I think about calling my father's old contacts, the men who would have been active in the Brotherhood when Linda disappeared. But most of them are dead now, or too old to remember, or too deep in their own secrets to share them.
There's one person who might know. One person who was there, who rose through the ranks at the same time my father did, who might have witnessed whatever happened to Linda Marsh.
Bryan Vanderwal. One of the oldest Brotherhood members still alive. Retired now, living in a sprawling estate an hour outside the city. My father's closest friend before his death.
I haven't spoken to Bryan in years. Haven't had reason to. But if anyone knows what secrets the Brotherhood was keeping twenty-five years ago, it's him.
I make a note to arrange a visit. Soon.
In the meantime, I have more immediate concerns.
I find Poppy in the library, curled up in one of the leather chairs with a book she's not really reading. I can tell by the way her eyes aren't moving, by the furrow between her brows, that her mind is elsewhere.
"You're worried," I say from the doorway.
She looks up, startled. "You move too quietly."
"Habit." I cross the room and stop in front of her chair. "What are you thinking about?"
"The questions. The ones you mentioned this morning." She closes the book, setting it aside. "You said someone was digging into my background. My family."
"I did."
"Why would anyone care about my background? I'm nobody. A florist. I don't have enemies, I don't have secrets, I don't have anything worth digging for."
You have me, I think. And that makes you worth everything.
"People connected to me have enemies," I say carefully. "It's possible someone is trying to find leverage. A way to get to me through you."
"That's insane. We've only been..." She trails off, searching for the right word. "Whatever we are. It's only been a few weeks. How would anyone even know?"
Because they're watching. Because the Brotherhood has eyes everywhere, and Zach has spent three years building his own network of informants and spies. Because nothing stays secret forever, and my obsession with her has been obvious to anyone paying attention.
"People talk," I say simply. "Word gets around."
She studies my face, and I see the moment she decides not to push further. Not yet.
"Should I be worried?"
"No." I crouch in front of her chair, bringing myself to her eye level. "I told you—you're safe here. With me. I won't let anyone hurt you."
"Even if they're trying to get to you through me?"
"Especially then."
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then she nods slowly.
"Okay," she says. "I trust you."
There it is again. That word. Trust.
She keeps handing it to me like a gift, and I keep taking it even though I know I don't deserve it.
I lean forward and kiss her—soft at first, then deeper, claiming her mouth the way I've claimed the rest of her. She responds immediately, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders, her body arching toward mine.
I pull back before it goes further.
"I have work to do," I tell her. "But tonight—"
"Tonight," she agrees, and there's a promise in her voice that makes my blood heat.
I leave her in the library and return to my study, my mind already turning back to the problem at hand.
Zach is circling. Getting closer. Planning something that involves Poppy, involves her mother, involves secrets I haven't uncovered yet.
I need to find out what he knows before he makes his move.
And I need to make sure that when he comes for her, I'm ready.
She's mine.
And I protect what's mine.
No matter what it costs.