Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Elena
The bathroom fills with steam until the mirror fogs and the tiles sweat.
I sink lower in the tub and let the water climb my shoulders.
Lavender trails behind the soap as I run the bar over my arm, then set it back in the dish and watch the suds slip away.
I breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. My chest loosens a little. Not much.
I stay until the water cools past comfortable, then pull the plug. The sound of the drain is louder than usual. It leaves me chilled and bare under the overhead light, which I hate. I wrap myself in a towel and stand there another minute like I’m waiting for a verdict.
Blinds down. Always down. The marshals were very clear. The bathroom door is cracked just enough to see the dark line of the hallway. No shadows move. I step out and pad to the bedroom, towel tucked tight, skin prickling where the air hits it.
On the dresser: the same bottle I’ve kept for years. My favorite lotion—the one I don’t use very often. It’s clean and sweet, with a hint of vanilla that complements the lavender perfectly.
I sit on the edge of the bed with its freshly washed sheets and smooth it into my calves, my thighs, my stomach.
The routine helps, like I can rub the day out of me if I keep going.
I work my shoulders last, thumbs digging into the knots at my neck.
It doesn’t solve anything, but it’s something I can control.
I should be exhausted. I was awake at 2:00 this morning, and I haven’t stopped for a moment since.
But I’m energized. There’s a tingling under my skin that’s making me jump. My heart is pounding, and I can feel it everywhere.
I cross to my dresser and pull open a drawer. I dig down beneath the practical—the bras and underwear that sit beneath my suits day after day.
What I pull out isn’t practical. It’s silky and lacy. Dark, thin straps. It’s not for sleep. It’s for reminding myself I’m a woman underneath the armor I wear every day.
I pull it over my head, and the fabric slips down my spine like a whispered secret. The hem skims mid-thigh. It fits. It makes me stand up straighter, arch my back. Makes me aware of every goosebump coming alive on my skin.
I don’t know why my hands are shaking.
I walk to the kitchen and open a bottle to rest. It makes a soft pop that sounds loud in the quiet apartment. I pour a glass, not full, and lean on the counter while I take the first sip. The wine is cherry and smoke. It warms my mouth, then my chest. It should be enough to take the edge off.
It isn’t.
I tell myself I’m doing all this because I need a bath and I need to sleep.
Because a hot soak and clean sheets are good choices after a long, tiring day.
Because lotion helps dry skin, and the nightgown is perfect for a warm night like this.
Because a glass of wine is reasonable for a woman who spent the day arguing over GPS points and ankle monitors and whether a dot on a map deserves to ruin a man’s life.
I tell myself all that and hear the word bullshit slide through my mind.
I turn off the kitchen light, glass in one hand, bottle in the other, and walk back through my dark apartment, not turning on any lights.
On the nightstand: phone, charger, the little notepad the marshals left with their emergency number. I set the wine down beside it and pull back the covers. The sheets are cool. The silk slides against cotton, and my skin wakes up all over again. I lie on my side and try to will my mind quiet.
It doesn’t listen.
Today plays back in jump cuts. The monitor room.
The thin carpet. Roberto’s outrage. The tech’s shaking hands.
The way Luca sat and watched, silent, and then the way the room shifted when everyone else left—just an inch—and I forgot for a second that we were two people on opposite sides of a line.
The sound of his voice when he spoke, expressed his grief for my mother.
I take a longer sip and set the glass down too fast. It clicks against the table. I flinch. Get a grip, Elena.
I should text the marshals that I’m turning in. I should set my phone on Do Not Disturb and let the night be boring. I should stop hoping for the thing I’m not admitting to.
It’s ridiculous to even think…
I shake my head and pull the sheet up over my knees, leaning back against my pillow.
The apartment settles with the familiar creaks and groans.
A scrape from the hallway has me sitting up fast. My heart pounds so hard, I can barely hear anything at all.
It’s nothing, I tell myself. Pipes. The neighbor’s cat. Heat expanding in old wood. Absolutely nothing.
It would be impossible.
A soft step just outside. Then my bedroom door swings inward, slow, like a breath.
“U.S. Marshals,” a low voice says immediately, both hands up in the doorway. “Elena?”
Air returns to my lungs in a rush that almost hurts. I yank the sheet to my collarbone.
“It’s me,” Lawrence adds, stepping into the wash of lamplight. Another deputy hovers behind him in the hall, angled to keep the sightline, palms open. “You didn’t answer the check-in.”
I blink at the nightstand. My phone is face down, Do Not Disturb still on from court earlier. I’d meant to text and forgot. My heart keeps trying to run a marathon inside my ribs. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He means it and also doesn’t. “We called twice.”
“You could have called a third time. Or knocked!”
“We didn’t want to alert anyone if there was a chance…” the deputy says from the hall, apologetic.
“So you scared me half to death and broke in?” I push a hand through my hair and try to slow my breathing.
Lawrence takes a careful half step in, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to my face. He does a quick scan, taking in the wineglass, the bottle on the nightstand.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Yes.” I sound too defensive. “Yes. I was in court earlier and forgot to turn off ‘Do Not Disturb.’”
“Put us on your ‘allow’ list,” he says mildly.
“I will,” I say. “Can you just get out now, please?”
Lawrence’s mouth tightens, but he keeps his tone even. “We’ll key the lock back and be gone in sixty seconds.”
“Make it thirty.” I pull the sheet higher and angle my body away from the door. The nightgown suddenly feels like a mistake. “And knock next time. I may be under protective orders, but I still have my right to privacy.”
He nods once, professional to the bone. “We’ll do a quick loop, then won’t disturb you again.”
He gestures to the deputy, and they step out.
I hear quiet footfalls down the hall, a low murmur into a radio, the soft thunk of my front door closing and opening as they check it.
Their steps fade, and then a final click as my door closes with them on the other side.
I let my shoulders drop. My hands are still shaking. I take a careful sip of wine to give them something to do, set the glass down, and stare at the ceiling until my heart rate remembers how to be normal.
Embarrassment slides in once the adrenaline drains out—how I looked, the rush of panic, the way I snapped.
Damn it, I should’ve checked in.
Now they’re out there thinking I’m…
I blow out a breath.
Entertaining myself.
I’m just settling back against my pillows, feeling extremely foolish when the door to my bedroom swings open again.
I freeze. Every muscle goes tight, a sharp, animal instinct. The pulse under my skin doubles as a dark figure fills my doorway.
For a second, I can only stare.
Then his soft voice breaks the silence.
"Elena."
A shiver runs down my spine, and goosebumps come alive on my skin.
I reach for the lamp, but Luca puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head.
I pull my hand back.
It takes everything I have not to speak, not to ask questions. How is this happening? Why are you here? What is this?
What am I doing?