Chapter 24
Harrison
By the time I slide into the back seat, Travis has been waiting a while.
I know because when he picked me up earlier, he was on today’s New York Times crossword. Nine across.
He’s now on forty-two down.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “I thought you were checking on her.”
He pulls away from the curb, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I did. She’d already left. Took an Uber.” He glances at me in the rearview. “You said not to bother you unless shit blew up.”
The woman is in my house.
If that isn’t shit going nuclear, I don’t know what is.
But he clearly has no idea, so I’m not about to feed that dumpster fire.
Traffic crawls. Normally, that would irritate me on a Saturday. But not today.
By the time we hit Manhattan, I’ve followed Ava Alvarez’s digital footprints so far that they’ve circled the globe and doubled back on themselves.
The ascent.
The climb.
The parts she learned to sand down and polish for public consumption.
Each appearance is more refined than the last. More polished. More controlled. Armored to the hilt and traced with a sadness that wasn’t always there.
Her ex doesn’t help.
As it happens, she was telling the truth. Dipshit really is her ex. A small shot of glee filled me when I read her official statement to that effect.
Though, by the looks of it, he doesn’t appear inclined to accept that. Just before she barged into my dressing room, the weasel was forcing her hand with the paps.
I crack my neck. Pierce Maddox has moved to the very top of my shit list.
The rich prick’s had one too many lapses in judgment. And if he puts a hand on Pix again, so help me…
Why Pix isn’t kicking him to the curb is beyond me.
Instead, her manager confirmed that she and Pierce Maddox will be working together. Closely. For six fucking months.
She literally winked when she said it.
It’s become a gif.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The thought swims through my chest like an eel. I hate it almost as much as I hate the truth underneath it.
She isn’t mine. So why am I getting so worked up about it?
On autopilot, I flip over to Instagram. At least her fans are relentless. Loud in her defense. They’ve got her back.
They were the driving force behind #GiveUsAva. A campaign to solidify her place as Princess Luna.
They’re calling it the next big thing. A cultural moment.
Princess Leia for a new generation.
Which drives the stake a little deeper.
Ava Alvarez doesn’t just live in another world.
She lives so far outside my orbit, we’re barely in the same universe.
It’s not a gap I can close.
And by tomorrow, I’ll have to let her go.
Travis pulls to the curb, and I get out. “Thanks.”
Inside, the lobby is empty, save for the woman behind the desk. Silver hair swept into a perfect twist. Pearl studs. Spine straight as a ruler.
“Good morning, Mr. Evans,” she says cheerfully. She slides a small plate across the counter. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
On it sits a single chocolate chip cookie.
I eye it suspiciously. “Is it poisoned?” I ask.
Lydia’s smile never shifts. “There’s only one way to find out.”
I pause, then take it. “Thanks, Lydia.”
For an ex-CIA operative who’s neutralized more enemies than I care to count, she makes one hell of a cookie. Crispy edge. Soft center.
Possibly poisoned.
Mark’s already seated, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Zac’s on one side of him, fiddling with the video screen. Brian’s on the other side, scanning my clothes.
I take the empty chair beside him and sit. “Sorry I’m late. Something came up.”
Brian snorts. “Rough morning, or did you just commit to the look?”
I hand him the plate. “Lydia made you a cookie.”
Mark glances between Brian and me and shakes his head. “If the two of you are done…”
We nod, and I split the cookie with Brian in a truce.
“We’ve got a new client,” Mark says, clasping his hands. “And I want you to know we haven’t said anything to him.”
The pause stretches. That is when it hits me. He is looking straight at me.
“Okay,” I say slowly, having no idea where this is headed.
Mark turns to Zac.
Zac taps the tablet, and the wall screen flickers to life as the video call connects.
And then Gabe appears.
For half a second, I start to sweat. My mind spirals, cataloging sins. How much does he know about all the very wrong things I’ve done with Pix?
Then he lifts a hand, and the tired wave registers.
“Hey, guys.”
He hasn’t slept. Maybe not in days.
Gabe looks like he’s been to hell and back, which is saying something, since we’ve served multiple tours together. I’ve seen him exhausted. Bloody. Beaten. But I’ve never seen him look like this.
Defeated.
Whatever this is, it isn’t about me.
“Gabe’s our client?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” Mark says.
He slides a stack of packets across the table. One to each of us.
“She is.”
I open the folder.
Doe-eyed Pix looks back at me.
My chest tightens, sharp, like a rib caught in a vise.
Gabe exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “If Ava knew I was talking to anyone about this, she’d kill me. She’s stubborn like that.”
Who’s he telling?
“I thought I could handle it. Just an overeager fan. How tough can that be, right?” Gabe blows out a breath, short and bitter. “But this guy’s slick.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Ava’s stalker.”
The word hits like an ax to the chest.
We don’t do small-time threats. We do global recon. Multi-million-dollar clients. Problems that require clearance levels and private airstrips. Suddenly, this room makes sense.
Gabe is one of us.
So is his family.
And nobody fucks with us.
“He’s been smart enough to get in and out of…” Gabe trails off, frustration strangling the sentence.
“Out of where?” Brian asks, leaning forward.
“Fucking everywhere.” His voice roughens. “Her secure trailer. Her gym locker. Her goddamned car. Taking trophies. Leaving messages.”
“What messages?” Zac asks.
Gabe hesitates.
Mark doesn’t. “It’s all in the file.”
I flip through it.
The words hit in pulses, emotion surging like adrenaline.
I’m watching you.
I like the smell of your shampoo.
You should be nicer to me. I’d hate to get rough with you.
Your panties make me hard.
I stop breathing for a second.
“I tried setting up cameras,” Gabe insists. “Heat sensors. Everything I could think of. But the fucker has gone dark. It’s been over a day now. Not a peep. Like he’s a ghost. Or, he’s playing with me.”
Something clicks.
I sit straighter.
“That’s because he’s not in LA,” I say. “He’s close to her. Right here in New York.”
Silence settles over the room.
Mark studies me, eyes narrowing just a fraction. Less surprised and more intrigued. “How do you know?” he asks.
“Because if I were a psychotic stalker with boundary issues, that’s where I’d be.” I close the file and blow out a slow, measured breath. “Close enough to touch.”