Chapter 1 #2
He laughs, the sound echoing off the gym walls, utterly unimpressed. "And you’ve been skulking around the gym anyway. You need to get out of here."
"Is that a directive?"
Amusement flashes across his face, but there’s steel underneath it, a definite command in his eyes. "It’s a polite request."
I rest my bottle on the bench and shake my head, trying to buy time to think of a better argument.
"I don’t know if I’m the best person for this.
" I doubt Brooke would think I am. She may have apologized, but given the ongoing tension after we left the Glades, she thinks I’m a joke. And maybe she's not wrong.
"Why?"
Knowing that he’s probably already three steps ahead of whatever excuse I’m about to come up with, I try again. "What about Samantha’s induction?"
He folds his arms, almost smirking, sensing my desperation. "I think we can handle it without you."
Still fighting against the rising dread settling in my chest, I cast about for names, any names. "Verity would be great at close protection."
Silas narrows his eyes. "This sort of work has never bothered you before. Something you’re not telling me?"
I shrug, feeling a twinge through my left pec that reminds me I’m not at full strength. I’m pushing it. If I’m not careful, I’ll tear the ligament. I’m already benching more than I should without a spotter.
"She’s probably still traumatized by what happened in the Glades. I don’t want to add to that. Might slow her recovery," I offer, trying to make my voice sound convincing.
I know I’m fighting a losing battle when he pulls out his phone, thumb already moving across the screen. "All the more reason to make sure she's okay."
"What about Adena?" At this point, even Delilah would be better suited than I am. Anyone but me.
"Adena’s at a bike rally in Denver. You approved her leave."
I shake my head, casting a look at the mirror where my reflection stares back, looking as trapped as I feel. "Just got my dates mixed up, that’s all."
He doesn’t buy a word of it. If I fight this too much, he’s going to know something is up. The man has an uncanny ability to smell evasion from a mile away.
I didn't say a word about what happened when I retrieved Brooke, and I’m not planning to. Some things are better left buried.
The solid thumping of the song ends, and the silence is more pronounced when Silas’s lips twitch into a smirk. "Starting to think you’re the one who’s been traumatized. What did she do to you?"
I send him a warning glare. "Nothing, man."
Silas's lip curls, and I hate that he’s left me with no choice but to relent. He’s backed me into a corner, and we both know it. "Then I’ll go ask Reese to fuel up the Cessna."
"Roger that," I mutter, defeat heavy in my voice.
With a loaded look, Silas lets me know he’s aware something is going on I don’t want him to know about. The man misses nothing, stores everything, and uses it when it suits him.
Until now, my only consolation has been that no one will find out, and I'd never have to face Brooke again. That hope just died a quick death, crashing around me like the weights I just pressed.
I look up, sighing as I read the scrawling scripture on the wall above the Smith machine.
The words have been there for years, faded but still legible, like a constant, unyielding truth.
"Cursed is the man who trusts in man, who makes flesh his strength, and whose heart turns away from the Lord. " Jeremiah 17:5.
Should have guessed the Lord would force me to address this sooner rather than later. He has a way of making sure we face the things we'd rather forget.
Brooke
Stifling yawns, I try to listen as my Uber driver fills me in on his latest trip to Vegas. This isn't my first ride with Lucky Larry, and sure enough, he's still convinced something shady is going on at the casino.
"…I was winning, you know? Then poof! Gone," he says.
"That's why it's called gambling," I reply, my voice dry.
He shakes his head while I send another pleading text to my whistleblower.
"Nah, nah. There was this other guy, see? Then it was like—they gave my cards to him. You gotta get down there, Brooke. I'm telling ya, they're rigging the tables."
The conviction in his voice makes it hard not to get irritated. It's not the first time he's picked me up from the police station in the middle of the night, but as far as he knows, it's the first time I've been the victim of a crime.
Instead of replying, I sigh and count the streetlights until my 1929 Pueblo Revival comes into view. Nestled in the Sam Hughes neighborhood, I fell hard for its original hardwood floors, coved ceilings, and double-hung windows.
Usually, coming home brings comfort. Not tonight. I'm exhausted, my car's been towed, and I might've just lost the biggest story of my career. The lecture from Mick didn't help either. I only called him because I was bored.
Just as another yawn creeps up, Larry mutters a low curse. "Whoa. That your brother?"
I blink, rub my eyes, and follow his gaze. "What in the world…"
There's a man standing in my front yard near the mesquite trees—six-foot-three, two-fifty, and definitely not my brother. My pulse kicks up before I even recognize him fully in the dim light. When I do, my stomach backflips.
"Oh, just terrific," I mutter. Caleb is the last person I expected to see—and the last person I want to deal with.
Larry pulls up to the curb and puffs up. "You want me to get rid of him?"
I bite back a laugh. "He's a friend of my brother's."
Larry doesn't press. I tip him and climb out of the lime green Camry, passing the Pathfinder I assume Caleb arrived in.
Dressed in black pants and a fitted shirt, he looks almost exactly like he did the night he manhandled me in the Glades. He doesn't approach. Just waits near my porch like a sentry, electric blue eyes tracking my every move.
Belatedly, I realize that's exactly what he is.
"Mick called you," I say, grateful my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
He shrugs. "He called Silas. Silas sent me."
My eyes drift to the bags at my front door, and something hot flares in my chest. "So you just show up and expect me to let you stay?"
His gaze flicks over me, slow, assessing, then past me. "Can we do this inside? We're a little exposed out here."
The way he says "exposed" sends a shiver down my spine. I pull my keys from my pocket with more force than necessary and head to the front door. He intercepts me and takes the keys without asking.
Caleb steps inside first, gun already in hand. Of course he's armed. Of course he's cautious. The man operates like danger is always one breath away.
I follow him inside, both irritated and slightly amused when he tells me to stay put while he clears the house.
While he invades my privacy, I check voicemail, email—anything. Still nothing. The last message I got from her was almost fourteen hours ago.
His voice breaks the silence as he steps back into the hall. "Let me grab my gear."
He turns sideways to fit through the door with his bags. I have to bite back a sarcastic comment about his size taking up my entire hallway.
Instead, I head to the kitchen. After five hours at the station and a late-night run through the park, I'm grubby, grouchy, and in no mood for Caleb Evans and his tactical presence.
Or the way my house suddenly feels too small with him in it.
He tucks his weapon behind his back while I yank open the fridge and grab a carton of orange juice.
"I don't know what Mick told Silas, but this isn't necessary."
Caleb's eyes lock on mine. "Maybe not. But I think he'd sleep better knowing someone's watching your six."
I grab a glass, hyperaware of his presence behind me. "I'm not comfortable with you sleeping in my house."
He nods, calm. "Understandable, but unavoidable."
The glass nearly slips from my hand. "Yes, it is. I'm fine."
He glances at the juice, and I catch the hint of a smirk. "You know that stuff's loaded with sugar and acid? May as well be drinking cola."
"I know that," I snap. "And this—this right here—is why I don't tell Mick anything. He's already too protective. "
Caleb's lip twitches. "Brothers are supposed to be protective."
I slam the carton down. "I'm fine."
He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "That's the second time you've said that. I didn't believe you the first time, either."
My frustration bubbles. "I value my privacy. That's all."
His face hardens. "Do you value your life? Because if that's in question, you need someone close by for a few days."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to wrap my head around how fast this got out of hand. And trying to ignore how the thought of him staying makes me nervous for reasons I don't want to examine.
"Am I being billed for this? Or is Mick?"
He softens, and something in his expression makes my chest tighten. "No charge. Mick called in a favor. And we owe you for Samantha."
What?
I drop into the nearest chair, too tired to argue. When did I lose all control?
Caleb pulls out the chair across from me, and I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is. "What were you doing in the park that late?"
I toy with the juice carton. "Running."
His brow lifts. "Alone? In the dark? "
I groan. "I was meeting someone. I lost track of time."
"Who?"
"A source."
His jaw tightens. "This goes faster if you're straight with me."
I shift in my seat. "Okay, look. I get why Mick's concerned. And I appreciate… I mean, after what happened… you didn't have to come."
He cuts in quickly. "We don't need to revisit that."
I wince. "Like I said on the plane; I thought you were one of them. They tied my hands. I thought they were going to strap a bomb to me. I panicked and fought back."
He gives me the same skeptical look he gave months ago. I sigh. "You didn't say you were a friend of Mick's."
Caleb rubs a hand down his face. "Didn't have time. I had maybe two minutes to get you out the window and hand you off to Verity and Adena."
I sit up straighter. "If you're still holding a grudge because I crippled you?—"
"You didn't cripple me. You… momentarily displaced my focus."
I snort. "Is that the technical term for being kicked in the… you know what’s?"
His eyes darken. "Glad you're amused. But if I'd fired my weapon accidentally, I could've killed you."
That shuts me up. The smile slips from my face .
He exhales, and when he speaks, his voice is rougher. "Are you even aware of the danger you place yourself in?"
“You're wasting your time. It was probably some bored kids."
"We'll find out. I'll get the security footage in the morning. Until then, I'm taking the spare bed."
I study the breadth of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curls just enough to soften all that muscle. And try not to think about how that body is supposed to fit on the child-sized bed in my guest room.
To distract myself, I switch the subject. "I need a shower and sleep. Talk in the morning?"
He pushes back from the table, his voice low. "Works for me." He pauses, then adds the words that knock the floor out from under me. "But until I’m sure there’s no threat... I’m not leaving your side."