15. Blake
FIFTEEN
Blake
The Guardian Grind hums with the afternoon lull, the earlier chaos of the grand opening settling into a more manageable rhythm. The aroma of freshly ground coffee mingles with the sweet scent of baked goods, creating an atmosphere that’s both invigorating and comforting. I lean back in my chair, the supple leather creaking slightly, and take a moment to appreciate the warm glow of the Edison bulbs overhead. They cast a gentle light over our table.
Gabe clears his throat, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. “So, fearless leader, what’s our next move on Greaves?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” The mention of Greaves’ name is like a splash of cold water, jolting me from my momentary contentment. I lean forward, elbows on the polished wooden table, and lower my voice. “How did he slip away from us? He was on the fucking yacht.”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” Ethan’s fingers drum a restless tattoo on his mug, the ceramic clinking softly with each tap. “We’ve hit a wall. Every lead has turned up dry.”
“It’s like chasing a ghost,” Walt adds, his usual jovial tone tinged with frustration. “The bastard’s always one step ahead. ”
The rich taste of my coffee suddenly seems bitter on my tongue. “I know. It’s like he’s completely dropped off the grid.”
Rigel leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if he has? What if he’s gone to ground so deep we can’t dig him out?”
A heavy silence falls over the table, broken only by the whir of the espresso machine and the muted conversations of other patrons. I look around at my team, seeing my frustration mirrored in their faces.
“That’s not an option.” My voice is firm, even as doubt gnaws at the edges of my resolve. “We can’t let him slip away. Not after everything he’s done.”
Gabe nods, his jaw set in determination. “Blake’s right. We’ve got to keep pushing. There’s got to be something we’re missing.”
Before anyone can respond, a familiar voice cuts through our tense discussion. “Refills, gentlemen?”
Sophia approaches our table, a tray balanced expertly on one hand. The sight of her cheeks flushed from work and a smudge of flour on her forehead momentarily pushes thoughts of Greaves from my mind.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Walt grins, already reaching for a fresh mug, his eyes lighting up with appreciation.
She sets down our refills with practiced ease, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting up and momentarily dispelling the heavy atmosphere. As she leans over to place my mug before me, I catch a whiff of her perfume—something light and floral—mingling with the scent of coffee and vanilla.
“Everything okay?” Her gentle gaze meets mine with a hint of concern.
I force a smile, not wanting to burden her with our troubles. “Just shop talk. Nothing to worry about.”
Sophia raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but doesn’t push. “If you say so. Enjoy your coffee, boys.”
As she walks away, her hips swaying just enough to distract me, I catch the guys exchanging glances. One of them lets out a loud, exaggerated cough, barely disguising the words, “pussy-whipped,” while another chuckles under his breath. I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches—yeah, I’m not even going to pretend they’re wrong.
“She’s settling in well here.” Ethan leans back, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah, she is. It’s... It’s good to see.” I cross my arms, a hint of pride creeping into my voice.
Gabe opens his mouth to respond when all of our phones buzz simultaneously. I pull mine out to see a message from Mitzy.
Briefing in 15. HQ. Don’t be late.
The tone shifts instantly, the casual banter dissolving as we exchange looks. This can only mean something serious has come up.
“Looks like we might get some answers,” Walt mutters, already standing.
We quickly finish up and head back to Guardian HQ. The tension builds as we walk, each of us mentally preparing for whatever Mitzy has to share.
When we enter the briefing room, Mitzy is already there, along with Stitch and Jeb. The map of the last known movements of Greaves and his yacht is projected on the wall, casting a faint glow over the room. We all take our seats, the air thick with anticipation.
Mitzy doesn’t waste any time. “Here’s what we know. The yacht docked in Bucharest, but there’s no record of Greaves disembarking. Since then, the yacht has been moving erratically, and we’ve lost visual confirmation of his location.”
Stitch jumps in, typing rapidly on her laptop. “We’ve been monitoring all major transportation hubs, but so far, nothing concrete. There’s been a lot of digital chatter, but it’s all noise—nothing we can pin down.”
Jeb crosses his arms, his expression grim. “It’s like he’s gone to ground, or he’s deliberately throwing us off.”
Rigel leans forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Could he have slipped off the yacht unnoticed? Maybe using a smaller craft?”
“It’s possible,” Mitzy acknowledges, “but unlikely without us catching some trace of it. The fact that we haven’t suggests he’s either still on the yacht or he’s found another way to stay hidden.”
Gabe taps his fingers on the table, clearly frustrated. “So, he’s keeping us chasing our tails. Spreading misinformation, throwing us off his trail.”
“Smart move,” Ethan grudgingly admits. “If we don’t know where to focus our efforts, we can’t pin him down.”
“Hell, he could be dead for all we know. That’s one way to disappear.” I take a deep breath, thinking about the problem.
The room falls into a heavy silence as we all absorb the situation. We’re no closer to finding Greaves than we were before, but the determination in the room is palpable.
“Unfortunately, that’s impossible to prove. We have no body.” Mitzy tugs at her ear. “I’m working on the theory he’s still alive and kicking. We’re going to shift our focus, going old school. Watch his known associates. They might be helping him stay hidden.”
Stitch’s fingers pause over the keyboard, her expression thoughtful. “We’ve already started digging into their backgrounds, but these people are careful. They know how to cover their tracks.”
“Someone’s bound to slip up.” Gabe leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gruff tone matching his rugged demeanor.
“It’s not much,” Ethan admits, “but it’s a start.”
For the next hour, we dive into the details, refining our strategy and piecing together what little information we have into a plan. The frustration of the unknown is still there, but now it’s tempered with a clear direction.
As the meeting wraps up, chairs scrape against the floor, and everyone begins to gather their gear. Gabe grunts something about needing a stiff drink, while Walt claps Rigel on the back, muttering about the long hours ahead. Stitch and Mitzy exchange a few last words, their heads bent over the tablet, before heading out with Jeb in tow. The team disperses, each of us heading out into the night, focused on the tasks ahead.
We may not have solved the problem, but we’ve taken a step forward .
The walk back to my apartment is filled with thoughts of our next moves. The cool evening air nips at my face, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke.
It’s fully dark by the time I reach home, the streetlights casting pools of warm light on the sidewalk.
As I open the door, the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and herbs envelops me. Sizzling fills the air, punctuated by the soft clink of utensils. A low hum of jazzy, mellow music sets the scene.
“Sophia?” I call out, shrugging off my jacket.
“In the kitchen.” Her voice rings back, warm and welcoming.
The sight that greets me in the kitchen stops me in my tracks. Immediately, my tension melts away.
Sophia stands at the stove, her hair piled in a messy bun atop her head, wisps escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing one of my old T-shirts, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, and she’s swaying slightly to the music as she stirs something that smells divine.
She looks up as I enter, her face breaking into a radiant smile. “Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”
I cross the room in three strides, wrapping my arms around her from behind and burying my face in the crook of her neck. She smells of garlic and rosemary, underlaid with her unique scent that never fails to center me.
“Missed you,” I murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver slightly.
She leans back into me, her free hand coming up to tangle in my hair. “Missed you more. Tough day?”
I sigh, not wanting to burden her but also craving her understanding. “You could say that.”
Sophia turns in my arms, her eyes searching my face. “Want to talk about it?”
I hesitate, torn between my instinct to protect her and my need for her support. “Let’s eat first, then we’ll talk.”
She nods, stretching up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. “Go set the table. This’ll be ready in five.”
Dinner is a sensory experience that momentarily removes all thoughts of work from my mind. The chicken is perfectly cooked, tender, and infused with herbs. The roasted vegetables provide a satisfying crunch, and Sophia’s chosen wine complements everything beautifully.
As we eat, Sophia regales me with stories from the café—a regular who insists on ordering in rhyme, a dog who’s developed a taste for biscotti, and the ongoing saga of the temperamental espresso machine. Her laughter is infectious, and my shoulders slowly unwind, the knot of tension easing with each of her joyful anecdotes.
But as we finish our meal, the weight of the day settles back over me. Sophia must sense the shift in my mood because she reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine.
“Okay, spill,” she says softly. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “It’s Greaves. We’re… We’re stuck. Every lead we follow turns into a dead end. It’s like he’s just vanished into thin air.”
Sophia’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “But that’s not possible, right? No one can disappear completely.”
I shake my head, frustration creeping back into my voice. “You’d be surprised. With enough money and the right connections, you can come pretty damn close.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand. “What does this mean for... for us?” The question is hesitant, tinged with a fear that makes my heart clench.
I meet her gaze, my expression resolute. “Hey, this changes nothing. You’re safe here. I promise.”
She tightens her grip on her mug, worry still lingering in her eyes. “I know. I trust you. It’s just... sometimes it feels like we’re living in this bubble, you know? Like the rest of the world can’t touch us. And then something like this happens, and it seems I’ll never be free of my past.”
“I know it can feel like that, but what we’re building together is real. And I’ll be damned if I let Greaves or anyone else threaten that.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “My hero,” she says, only half-joking .
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Always.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of our conversation settling around us like a heavy blanket. But it’s not oppressive. Instead, it feels like a shared burden, lighter for being carried together.
Finally, Sophia speaks again. “So what’s the plan? To find Greaves, I mean.”
I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “Back to basics. We’re going to start with his known associates and work our way up. Someone has to know something, and eventually, they’ll slip up.”
Her brow furrows in thought. “That makes sense. And, Blake?” Her voice takes on a determined edge that captures my full attention. “You’ll get him. I know you will.”
The absolute faith in her voice hits me like a physical force. At that moment, looking at her across our dinner table, backlit by the soft glow of our kitchen lights, I’m struck by how far we’ve come. This woman, who’s been through hell and back, is offering me comfort and support.
“Come here,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
Sophia stands, moving around the table to settle into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her scent, letting her presence ground me.
“Thank you,” I murmur into her hair.
She pulls back slightly, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. “For what?”
“For being you. For this.” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. “For giving me something to come home to.”
Sophia’s eyes soften, a smile playing at her lips. “Well, when you put it that way…” She leans in, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens.
As we lose ourselves in each other, the day’s worries fade into the background. There will be time for strategizing, chasing leads, and facing the dangers that lurk in the shadows. But for now, in this moment, there’s just us.
And it’s enough .
The weeks that follow settle into a rhythm that’s both comforting and energizing. I walk Sophia to the café each morning, our hands intertwined, sharing quiet conversations or comfortable silences. The air grows crisper as autumn deepens.
I watch with pride as Sophia blossoms in her new role. Her confidence grows with each passing day, her smile brighter, and her laughter more frequent. She comes home with stories of charming difficult customers, mastering complex orders, and forming friendships with regulars.
One evening, as we’re curled up on the couch, the soft glow of lamplight creating a cozy atmosphere, Sophia looks up at me with a contentment that takes my breath away.
“I never thought I could be this happy.” Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Soph.”
She hums contentedly, nestling further into my embrace. The scent of her shampoo mingles with the aroma of the herbal tea she favors in the evenings, creating a fragrance that I’ve come to associate with home.
These moments of domestic bliss are interspersed with the ongoing challenges of the mission. We make slow but steady progress, each lead bringing us incrementally closer to our goal.
But we’re still grasping at straws. Sooner or later, reality will crash in.
It’s just a matter of time before everything unravels.