Chapter 9 #2
Blake tipped his glass in her direction. “Then don’t stop.”
Her smile faded into a more thoughtful expression.
She stared into the amber glow of her wine for a moment before speaking again.
“I grew up in Galway. A small house near the docks. My father was a fisherman, which meant his life was the sea. He taught me the tide charts before I could read properly. My mother …” Her voice caught, just faintly, before she steadied it.
“She worked in the library. That was her world. She loved books, stories, and preserving the town’s history.
She gave me that love. She died when I was fifteen.
Pneumonia. She passed quick. Too quick.”
Blake stayed quiet, letting her words fill the space.
“My father followed a few years later,” she continued, her tone softer now, wrapped in memory.
“A storm caught him and two others out past Inis Mór. Their boat went down. They never found him.” She blinked once, her gaze fixed on the candle flame.
“My brother took over the business after that. Still fishes, still takes a boat out every day before dawn. He says the sea doesn’t forgive, but it also doesn’t forget.
He couldn’t walk away from it if he tried. ”
Her hand tightened around her glass before she set it down carefully. “I left. I had to. Too many ghosts in Galway. Too many empty chairs at the table.”
Blake watched her, the way her shoulders squared even as her eyes shimmered with the weight of loss. She carried her past the same way she carried her work, strapped to her like armor.
“And you?” she asked suddenly, turning the conversation toward him, sharp and searching. “What was boyhood Blake like?”
He let out a quiet laugh, setting his fork aside.
“Restless. Wild. I lived in Arizona most of the time. I love the dry heat, desert scrub, and air that could strip you to the bone if you weren’t careful.
My father runs his business from there, a job that keeps him very busy.
But every summer, I ended up in South Dakota at my grandfather’s ranch.
That was the best time. They had horses and more cattle than you can imagine.
It’s a magical place. The sky is so wide it feels like it could swallow you whole.
That’s one of the places where I learned what hard work meant.
Where I learned silence could be a friend. ”
Her eyes softened, and she seemed to be studying him with a curiosity that felt dangerously close to intimacy. “So, you’ve always had two worlds.”
“Maybe.” He let his mouth curve faintly. “Or maybe I just learned early that you can belong in more than one place if you’re willing to adapt.”
She turned toward the tall windows, where the lights of the city shimmered against the Danube. “It’s getting late,” she murmured. “We still have to cross the city to my hotel.”
Blake shook his head. “No need.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? My things are there—”
“I already had a room prepared here,” he said, his tone smooth and matter of fact. “Guardian booked it. Two bedrooms. Plenty of space. And your belongings were transferred here this afternoon.”
Her lips parted in surprise, followed by the faintest breath of relief. She masked it quickly, but he caught the easing of her shoulders.
“Two bedrooms,” she repeated, the corner of her mouth twitching, testing him. She frowned suddenly. “Wait. How did you do that? You didn’t call anyone.”
“I did while you were showering this morning.” Which wasn’t a lie. Jewell had handled the rest on her own initiative, and he wasn’t upset about it either.
Blake let the statement stand. Let her believe she’d won that small battle. What mattered wasn’t the beds. It was that she’d sleep under his protection in a place where he could keep her safe.
He escorted her upstairs, where Blake slipped the keycard he’d picked up when they passed the check-in desk into the door and pushed it open.
He gestured for Elise to wait outside, then quickly scanned the room before moving to let her in.
The suite stretched wide and elegant. Wood floors were softened by Persian rugs, and tall windows overlooked the glittering curve of the Danube.
The furniture was upholstered in creams and deep blues.
Two bedrooms branched off opposite ends of the main sitting room.
Elise froze just inside the door, her gaze sweeping across the space.
For a moment, awe softened her sharp edges.
She took in the high ceilings, the gleaming brass fixtures, the carved crown moldings.
Her lips parted, and she let out a low exhale.
“This is …” She shook her head with a half laugh. “Grand. Far too grand for me.”
He watched her move farther inside, her steps hesitant as though she might set off an alarm just by breathing wrong.
Then she spotted the wardrobe doors standing slightly ajar in the adjacent room.
Curiosity drew her across the room, and she pulled them open.
Her clothes, what little she had with her, hung neatly pressed, the wrinkles of travel gone.
Even her shoes were lined in precise pairs along the bottom.
She went still, fingers brushing the fabric as if to test if it were real. A small frown tugged at her brow. “You mean someone unpacked me?”
Blake gave a slight nod. “The staff handled it.”
Her expression wavered, unreadable. Gratitude? Discomfort? Maybe both. She closed the wardrobe doors gently and turned toward him, arms folding across her chest, watching him like she wasn’t quite sure if she should thank him or scold him.
Blake didn’t linger for her reaction. His focus shifted to the room itself. Habit. Instinct. He crossed to the first bedroom, flicked the light switch, scanned corners, checked windows and locks. Elise trailed after him, her heels soft on the rug.
“What exactly are you doing?” she asked, brow arched, suspicion threaded with amusement.
“Inspection,” he answered simply, pulling back the heavy drapes to glance at the glass and the view beyond.
“Inspection of what? It’s a hotel room, not a crime scene.”
Crouching briefly, he ran a hand along the frame then straightened. “Entrances. Exits. Sightlines from outside. Anyplace someone could plant something or get in without knocking.”
Her mouth parted in surprise before snapping shut. “You do this everywhere?”
“Everywhere,” Blake said, moving to the second bedroom and repeating the process without breaking stride. He tugged at the adjoining bathroom door, checked the latch, and scanned the mirror and fixtures.
Elise followed again, watching closely now. “And if you found … whatever it is you’re looking for?”
He met her gaze briefly, the corner of his mouth ticking up in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then I’d deal with it before you ever saw it.”
Her lips pressed together, but the sharp retort he expected didn’t come. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him with that relentless curiosity of hers. He finished the sweep of the suite, every window secure, every potential risk cataloged and dismissed.
Only then did he let himself breathe fully. Elise, still watching him, folded her arms and gave a quiet shake of her head. “You really don’t know how to turn it off, do you?”
“No,” Blake said evenly. “And that’s why we’re both still alive.”
The words hung between them, stark and undeniable, until Elise finally dropped her gaze, her fingers brushing along the polished wood of the table beside her. For once, she didn’t argue.
And then, Elise’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and stubborn. “No one’s tried to kill me yet. I mean, not here.”
He turned, the words hitting a nerve. Her chin was lifted in defiance, but she had no idea how close she’d already come. He closed the distance, his tone flat, cold with truth. “You’d be dead if you hadn’t left that shed in Antwerp. The one where the private investigator died.”
Her face went pale, the retort dying on her lips. “How—how could you possibly know that?”
Blake didn’t let her see the fight behind his calm.
Jewell had sent him the video while Elise was in the library that afternoon.
It was grainy street camera footage showing Elise and the PI entering the shack and then the investigator leaving it seconds before the place was engulfed in chaos.
The men who weren’t down had hustled into the shed but came out empty-handed.
Somehow, she’d escaped. Jewell told him about the old tunnels under the city and that she’d found Elise three blocks away from the water treatment plant on the other side of the bay about twenty-five minutes later.
“Street cameras,” he said evenly. “Antwerp’s covered with them.”
“And how did you get the video?”
“Guardian.” He shrugged. “Guardian has resources beyond your understanding.”
“Did you see him killed?”
Blake stared at her and nodded slightly. Enough that she knew he had.
She blinked, apparently stunned, and then moved to a chair as though her knees had given out. Her hands pressed flat to her thighs, her gaze distant, unfocused. “Sometimes it all feels like a nightmare,” she whispered.
Blake crouched down in front of her, leveling his gaze with hers. She looked small at that moment. He wasn’t underestimating her. She was still fierce, still stubborn, but shaken to her core. He reached for her hands, wrapping them in his, hoping to ground her.
“Nothing will hurt you,” he said, his voice low but implacable.
“Nothing will get past me. No one is more dangerous than I am.” He tightened his hold just enough to make sure she felt it, the iron in his words.
“I am your shield, your armor, and your defense. Don’t ever worry about your safety. I am here.”
For a beat, she just stared at him, her eyes searching his face as though trying to decide whether to believe him. He didn’t look away, didn’t give her a crack to pry at. Because this, her safety, was the only promise he couldn’t afford to break.