Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ELVIS WOKE TANGLED IN Delaney, and not metaphorically.
Literally.
Her leg was draped over his thigh, one arm tucked beneath his shoulder, her cheek pressed into his chest like she was anchoring herself there. Her hair spilled across his collarbone, warm and soft, carrying the faint scent of hotel soap and something uniquely hers that hit him straight in the ribs.
For one quiet, suspended moment, he let himself breathe her in.
Last night flickered through his mind in fragments, the feeling of her hands in his hair, the way she’d kissed him like she was afraid he might vanish if she didn’t hold on hard enough, the way she’d finally fallen asleep with her forehead tucked beneath his chin after they spent the night exploring each other’s body.
It had been too long.
Too many years.
Too many ghosts.
His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along her bare arm, savoring the stillness, the fragile sense of normal that had settled over them sometime after midnight. The two of them drifted to sleep, still holding each other, her head against his chest.
Then his phone started ringing, the sound cutting through the room like a blade, jarring him into motion.
He groaned, shifting slightly, trying not to wake her as he reached for the nightstand, glancing at the clock.
It was nowhere near morning. Hell, he usually went to bed at this time.
His hand brushed the edge of the phone instead of grabbing it, and the device skittered off the table, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
The phone kept ringing.
“Shit,” he muttered, already scrambling.
Delaney stirred beside him, tightening instinctively around him, her body pressing closer like she was afraid he might slip away.
He rolled, half-falling off the bed, grabbing the phone just as it vibrated itself toward the wall.
Hawk’s name filled the screen, which snapped him fully awake. There was no way the man would call him at such a ridiculous hour unless something was seriously wrong.
“Talk to me,” he mumbled, still sluggish.
“Elvis,” Hawk said the second he answered. No greeting or apology for calling so late. Just a powerful sense of urgency in his voice. “Get to room four-twenty-seven. Now. And keep Delaney with you and keep her close.”
Elvis eased Delaney, who was stirring awake, to the side as he sat up, running his hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Whose room is that? Leon’s?”
A pause. Tight and controlled, but Elvis could hear the man’s heavy breath.
“It’s Delaney’s partner.”
His stomach dropped as he closed his eyes, inwardly cursing. “I’m on my way.”
He ended the call and swung his legs off the bed, already pulling on his jeans. Delaney pushed herself upright, blinking sleep from her eyes.
“What—?”
He crossed back to her in two steps, cupping her face gently. “Roman. Something happened. I don’t know what. Hawk wants us in four-twenty-seven like yesterday.”
Her breath caught. “That’s his room.”
She was out of bed instantly, snatching clothes off the floor, slipping into shoes.
Elvis grabbed his jacket and his sidearm, muscle memory taking over, then wrapped a hand around Delaney’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway. “You stick close to me and keep your eyes peeled. I want to feel you at my back at all times.”
They moved fast, keeping to the wall as they eased their way to the elevators. Too fast for questions, which was good because he didn’t have any answers to give.
The hotel corridor felt different at this hour, quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful.
Doors remained closed, even though there were noises coming from behind a few of them, sounds you would expect to hear at that time of night after a night of gambling and drinking.
The carpet muffled their footsteps, and when they slid out of the elevator, somewhere down the hall, voices murmured urgently.
Room 427 was already complete chaos.
Two paramedics stood just inside the doorway, gear open and spread across the floor.
The marshal stood near the wall, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched like he was barely holding his rage inside.
Ray Boudreaux hovered near the doorframe, phone in hand, barking quiet orders into it while scanning the hallway with sharp eyes.
Hawk stood inside the room, one hand braced against the dresser, his face carved from stone.
Delaney tore free of Elvis’s grip the moment she saw the medics.
“Roman! Roman!”
She shoved past everyone, even though the marshal tried to keep her from entering the room. The man glared at Elvis as if everything was his fault.
Elvis followed, heart pounding, the scene slamming into him all at once.
The room looked like a hurricane had passed through, with drawers yanked out and their contents dumped.
The mattress was half-shoved off the frame, and the pillows shredded.
A chair lay overturned near the window, one leg snapped clean off.
Someone had smashed the lamp on the desk, glass glittering across the carpet like ice.
Roman sat on the edge of the bed, shirt soaked through with blood at the collar and shoulder, one eye already swelling shut. His lip was split, and a dark bruise bloomed across his cheekbone while dried blood streaked down his neck.
But he was upright, which was the main thing. He was breathing and alive, even if a little—all right, a lot—banged up.
Delaney dropped to her knees in front of him, hands hovering uselessly over his injuries. “Oh my God, Roman. Roman, look at me.”
Elvis watched her do it, felt it in his chest as he knew what she must be feeling. Not panic or rage. But something slower. Heavier. Fear. Even blame.
He had seen men bleed out in foreign deserts. Had dragged teammates through smoke and rubble. Had held pressure on wounds while rounds cracked overhead.
But watching Delaney collapse in front of Roman like that—small and shaking and trying not to fall apart…
That wrecked him in a way that nothing else had.
“I’m here,” Roman croaked. “Mostly, anyway.”
One paramedic gently nudged Delaney aside, continuing to assess him, checking vitals while another wrapped gauze around his forearm.
Elvis stood frozen in the doorway for half a second too long.
This was his fault.
The thought landed heavily, and with a brutality that sickened him. If he hadn’t asked Blaze to run the search... If he hadn’t reopened Julia Moretti to the world... If he hadn’t dragged ghosts into the present...
She didn’t cry right away. She went still, her hands trembling in the air between them, unsure where to touch her friend, like she was afraid to hurt him even more.
Her shoulders curled inward like she was trying to make herself smaller, like instinct told her this was somehow her fault. But it wasn’t. It was his.
Elvis swallowed hard as he watched her. He’d seen her stand toe-to-toe with marshals and security directors over the past twenty-four hours, commanding rooms full of men twice her size with nothing but her voice and a tablet.
And now here she was on her knees in a ransacked hotel room, staring at her best friend like she was bracing for him to disappear.
Something inside Elvis cracked open at the sight. He stepped forward without thinking, crouching beside her. He was about to say her real name, but stopped himself. “Del,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer.
Her fingers brushed Roman’s sleeve, then pulled back like she’d touched fire.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
That was what finally got him. It wasn’t the blood or the bruises. It was that. The way her voice folded in on itself, that helpless sound in her tone.
He reached out and wrapped one hand gently around her wrist, grounding her. He pressed his thumb against her pulse, steady and warm. “Hey,” he murmured. “He’s breathing. He’s alive and talking. From what Hawk told me, he’s still giving attitude, which means we’re winning.”
Her eyes flicked up to his—wide, glassy, and furious with fear. “I should’ve been here,” she snapped. “I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
He felt his brow arch as he shook his head. “No, Del, this isn’t on you. No one could’ve foreseen that this guy would’ve gone after your partner. Even the marshal didn’t think about it.”
He leaned closer so that only she could hear him.
“This is on me. It happened because I asked Blaze to run a search on you. I pushed for answers, which put eyes back on your past.” He felt the muscles of his jaw flex as he ground his teeth in frustration.
“Leon didn’t come for Roman because of you. ”
He exhaled slowly.
“He came because of me.”
Her lips parted, but Elvis didn’t give her time to argue. “You don’t carry this. You don’t get to. I do.”
Her throat worked, and he could see the war inside her, the instinct screaming to fight him on it, while exhaustion told her she didn’t have the strength.
So he did the only thing he could. He shifted closer and let her lean into him. Just enough without being too possessive when all he wanted was to be possessive.
Her shoulder brushed his chest, and she sagged against him for half a second before catching herself.
But Elvis felt it.
Felt how desperately she needed something steady. And for the first time since he’d walked back into her life, he let himself admit the truth—he would burn the world before he let her kneel like this again, feeling what she felt right then.
“He’s alive,” he said. “We have to be thankful for that.”
Delaney heard nothing after the word alive, he was sure.
Not the paramedic asking Roman his name.
Not the marshal’s low, clipped questions.
Not Hawk murmuring something into his phone.
Elvis was sure all she could see was what he could see, which was the way Roman’s skin had gone gray beneath the bruising, the way his hands trembled even as he tried to joke through the pain, the way blood had soaked into the hotel sheets like the room itself had been wounded.
She reached for him again, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, grounding herself in the undeniable proof that he was still warm.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, the words breaking loose before she could stop them. “Roman, please—just stay with me.”
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, but his voice wavered, and that—that—was what seemed to shatter her.
He chuckled, his eyes closed even though he tried to look at her.
“You think they’ll comp us a room because of this?
I could use a couple of extra nights. Still haven’t played the slots or found a redhead. ”
Her breath stuttered in her lungs, too fast, too shallow as she reached out and placed a hand on his arm.
“If they don’t, then I’ll spring for it.
” For a heartbeat she looked very young, very unguarded, like the woman she’d once been before aliases and protocols and survival instincts had hardened her into something sharper.
“I can’t do this again,” she said, turning to face Elvis, the words spilling out in a rush, tears blurring her vision. “I can’t watch someone get hurt because of me. I can’t—”
Her knees buckled.
Elvis was there before she hit the floor, catching her under the arms and pulling her back against his chest. He felt the way she shook, full-body tremors she couldn’t stop, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.
“She thinks she’s the reason someone came after him,” Hawk whispered from across the room, not unkindly. “Give her room to breathe.”
Delaney twisted in Elvis’s hold, pushing at his chest weakly.
“This is my fault,” she said hoarsely, confirming what Hawk had said.
“I knew something was wrong. I knew he was watching me, and I stayed anyway, even after Deke told me I needed to leave. I stayed because I wanted—” Her voice broke completely.
“Because I wanted to pretend I was normal.”
Roman lifted his head at that, eyes glassy but alert. “Hey, hey. Don’t you dare put this on yourself. Even if you had left, he probably would’ve come after me to see if I knew where you went.”
Elvis stepped forward. “Who came after you? Did you see him?”
Roman swallowed. “That guy we saw on the monitor. What did you say his name was? Leon.”
She rocked her head. “He only went after you to get to me.”
“But he didn’t get to you, did he?” Roman made a weak smile before a coughing fit shook his body.
Every muscle in Elvis’s body locked.
“He was in my room when I came back from grabbing coffee,” Roman continued. “Didn’t even try to hide it. Just… sat there like he owned the place.”
Delaney’s hands curled into fists.
“He wanted information,” Roman continued. “About you. About her.” His gaze flicked to Delaney. “He kept asking if you were Julia Moretti. Said he knew your mother betrayed people. Wanted to know what I knew about who you really were and where you were.”
Elvis felt something cold slide down his spine. “What did you tell him?”
Roman shook his head, still keeping his gaze fixed on Delaney.
“Nothing. I swear. I told him I was just the tech guy. That Delaney was clean. That I knew nothing about her past. That she had always been Delaney Rhodes to me, and he was nuts.” His voice cracked as he barked a painful burst of laughter. “That’s when he got angry.”
Delaney pressed her forehead against Roman’s shoulder, shaking.
Elvis clenched his jaw so hard that it hurt. He dragged a hand down his face, guilt burning hot behind his eyes. This was on him.
Every bruise. Every broken piece of furniture. Every drop of blood.
He’d gone looking for Julia Moretti, and her past had answered. And it answered hard.