Chapter Eighteen #2
How many was that now?
She darted a glance toward the bedroom door. Could Caleb hear?
Ring.
She turned the phone over with a slow, shaking hand.
The number wasn’t one she recognized. Local area code.
A clinician from the regional medical center? A patient?
She hit the green button just before it went to voicemail.
“He—hello?”
A low, steady dial tone buzzed in her ear.
Gia dropped the phone on the bed.
By the time Zach pulled in, the last light had drained from the sky. Caleb opened the door to a gust of cold air that knifed through his shirt and carried the scent of snow. Steel gray clouds rolled in overhead, blotting out the stars.
He stepped back to let his cousin inside .
“Is that from my car?” Zach pointed at the gray tarp Caleb found in the Charger’s trunk that was serving as a makeshift drape over the sliding glass doors.
“You’ll get it back. Thanks for picking up my things.” Caleb took his duffle and the garment bag containing his funeral suit from Zach’s hands.
“Hi, Zach.”
Gia’s voice held a note of hesitation. Even before she spoke, Caleb had felt her behind him.
Zach stepped forward and tugged off his ball cap. His gaze lifted, and the second it landed on Gia, something in his face shifted. Softer.
Too soft.
Beneath Caleb’s skin, tension gathered like a fuse burning short.
He’d seen that look before. Knew exactly what it meant. And every instinct demanded he knock it off Zach’s face.
His fingers curled into his palms.
Awareness sparked in his cousin’s eyes. Zach’s gaze dropped to Caleb’s hands and rose again, mouth twitching with a smug little smirk.
Asshole.
Behind Caleb, Gia moved. “Why don’t I find a place for these?” she said, reaching for his duffel and garment bag.
A tightness pulled at her mouth. “I’m sure you two have some things to discuss.”
As she retreated down the hallway, the sway of her hips snagged his attention—and held it. That bedroom had become her refuge since they arrived.
“You’ve got it bad, cousin.”
His head jerked around to find Zach’s smirk now a full-on taunting grin .
He opened his mouth to tell his cousin to fuck-off. Only…
The bastard was right. He did have it bad, and it seemed wrong to deny it.
“Any news?” he asked instead.
Zach’s expression turned grim. “The guys who came after you managed to slip back under whatever rock they came out from.”
“Ortega is getting help from the Aztec Kings.”
“Probably. He has history with them.” Zach’s hat beat a rhythmic thwap against his thigh. “Not gonna lie, Cousin. Taking on a drug cartel and an outlaw biker gang at the same time may be biting off a bit more than we can chew.”
Caleb peered at the closed bedroom door and kept his voice low. “It’s the only way to keep Gia safe. I don’t think this bastard has any intention of letting her go.”
Men like Lopez didn’t let people walk out of their lives. Carried out in body bags, yes. Leave unscathed?
He had a bad feeling Gia wouldn’t be so lucky.
“So, it’s about Gia now, not getting revenge for what happened to your amá ?”
His head whipped around to glare at his cousin. “Can’t it be both?”
Even as he said it, he knew the truth. If he thought there was a better way to keep Gia safe, he’d take it.
Abandon his plan. Let someone else take on Espina Negra.
For her.
A sharp twinge jolted his heart, sending his hand flying to his chest.
“You look like you just ran into an electrified cattle fence.” Zach positioned his cap on his head. “Maybe you won’t be putting us and the rez in your rearview so fast, huh?”
Hell . “My life isn’t here.” The words felt hollow. Performative.
A few days ago, he’d meant them with his whole chest.
Zach’ s grin faded. “Grandfather wants to hear from you. These guys came onto Navajo Nation land to try and take you out. You’re our problem now.”
As the front door shut behind his departing cousin, the bedroom door opened.
Caleb felt Gia’s gaze caress the space between his shoulder blades.
“Maybe Vincente will leave us alone.” He heard the tremble in her voice. The false hope she didn’t believe. “The police are searching for his men. He can’t afford the attention.”
“He won’t.”
“But, maybe he—”
“He won’t.” Caleb turned. Gia had closed the distance between them. “Men like him don’t stop until someone makes them stop.”
Color drained from her face, the light in her eyes dimming. She sat on the orange couch. Tilted her head back. Closed her eyes. Shut him out.
But she couldn’t hide the tremble on her lips.
That sensation crawled across the back of his neck. The sense that there were still things Gia kept from him.
Trust.
She was running from a man who’d abused her trust.
Was with a man who wanted to use her as bait.
Just as Caleb wanted to trust her, he had to earn her trust in return.
He sat next to her, his fingers itching to smooth over the waterfall of glossy hair hanging down the back of the sofa.
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we make a plan. Together.” He gave up the fight and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. The soft strands clung to the calluses on his fingertip. “If there’s an extra pillow and blanket in that bedroom, I’ll make do on the couch.”
Her eyes opened. Their gazes locked. Held .
Need so strong it threatened to level him surged.
His vision narrowed to encompass only Gia. Her deep blue irises framed by thick black lashes that didn’t need mascara to enhance them. The gentle slope of her feminine nose. Her full bottom lip. Even the curves of her ears were graceful.
His lips brushed hers. A gesture of comfort.
That’s what he told himself, at least. And he wouldn’t go any further. It had been a helluva day and there were too many unspoken issues to address.
Except her scent filled his lungs. Her lips tasted like prickly pear from the balm he’d seen her apply several times during the day.
It was becoming his favorite flavor.
“Caleb.”
Her palm lifted to his chest, the feel of her warm skin against the thin cotton of his shirt jacking his muscles taut.
He wanted her hands everywhere on his body. “Get me that pillow and blanket, sweetheart, before I end up sharing that bed with you.”
The rasp in his voice should clue her in on how close he was to kicking his good intentions to the curb.
She took her hand back, gave an unsteady nod, and rose from the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
Caleb removed his weapons—shoulder holster, the knife strapped to his ankle—and placed them on the coffee table.
He wanted Gia.
In his bed.
In his life going forward.
But when he put Vincente Lopez in jail—or in the ground—what then?
Would she still want him?
Or remember he’d been willing to use her as bait ?
The thought gutted him.
Somewhere along the way, his feelings had moved from attraction and the impulse to protect, to something deeper that burrowed its way into every cell in his body.
Not simply need or lust. It was more.
It was respect.
Admiration.
Despite everything she’d lived through, Gia led with her heart.
Caleb braced his forearms on his knees. The weapons on the table—that’s what he knew.
How to fight and how to protect. How to be a good teammate.
And yet, his whole damn life he’d been the kid peering in from the outside, watching people form connections he never let himself truly be a part of, always the outsider.
He told himself it was safer that way.
But Gia? Gia belonged wherever she went—because she made the people around her feel seen, understood, valued. She built communities. She didn’t hold herself apart, afraid to care too much.
For just a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to be part of this community.
His grandfather was right. There were things he didn’t know. Didn’t understand about what went down between his mom and her family. He wasn’t sure he could ever let go of the feeling they’d abandoned her. That they could have done more.
But maybe they could come to some sort of understanding.
Gia wasn’t the only one who needed roots, even if he’d spent his life pretending otherwise.
“Caleb.” His name. Soft and hesitant.
He raised his head. Gia stood at the bedroom door, empty-handed, her teeth worrying her lush bottom lip. She still wore her jeans and purple sweater, but she was barefoot, her toenails painted a dusky pink that matched the lip color she favored.
“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.” She swallowed, gripping the doorframe as if steadying herself.
Her voice wavered, then steadied. “I want you to make love to me.”