Chapter 8 #2
Gabriel rings the doorbell, and chimes echo inside the house.
My hand slips into my pocket, fingers brushing the small electronic device Gabriel had given me when we first got into the car.
The small microphone disguised as a button was one of many gadgets to choose from, and it should go unnoticed once placed.
I’m used to being the muscle, not the one hiding bugs in people’s houses, and the role sits wrong.
Footsteps approach from inside, and the door swings open to reveal Hector Diaz. Medium height, a body he’s let go over the years, and a thin mustache. He freezes when he registers who stands on his porch.
“Mr. Rockford,” Diaz squeaks, momentarily distracted by my presence before turning back to Gabriel. “This is unexpected.”
“Hector.” Gabriel sounds pleasant enough to fool someone who doesn’t know better. “May we come in? We have some matters to discuss.”
Diaz steps back, his throat working as he swallows. “Of course, of course. Please come inside.”
We enter a foyer with marble floors, sunlight streaming through tall windows and glinting off a crystal chandelier. Vacation photos of Diaz with a beautiful woman on the beach and on the ski slopes line the walls. More proof he’s living far above his means.
“Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Water?” Diaz leads us into a living room where leather furniture surrounds a glass coffee table.
Gabriel shakes his head. “This won’t take long.”
Diaz perches on the edge of an armchair, hands clasped between his knees. His expensive jeans and designer polo look out of place with his rigid posture.
“It’s an honor to have you in my home,” Diaz begins, fingers twisting between his knees. “If there’s anything I can do for the family—”
“There is.” Gabriel sits on the couch, his knees spread in a relaxed pose. “We’re increasing security protocols at the docks. Effective immediately.”
Diaz blinks rapidly. “I’m always happy to implement new procedures.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Gabriel leans forward, elbows on his knees. “There’s been an uptick in off-manifest arrivals. Small boats coming in alongside scheduled shipments, transfers happening during shift changes.”
The color drains from Diaz’s face. “I haven’t—I mean, I would have reported—”
“Of course you would have. You’re loyal to the family,” Gabriel soothes. “That’s why I’m here in person. To make sure you have the resources to identify these irregularities.”
I circle the living room, examining framed photos and art pieces while keeping Diaz in my peripheral vision. His attention remains fixed on Gabriel, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cool air pumping through the vents above us.
“The Rockfords are concerned about unauthorized personnel accessing the container yard.” Gabriel taps his finger on the coffee table. “We can’t risk drawing the wrong type of attention to our investments.”
Diaz nods too eagerly. “I can increase patrols. Add verification checkpoints. Whatever you need.”
“Excellent.” Gabriel slides a paper across the table. “This lists specific areas requiring additional surveillance. We’ll expect daily reports.”
My hand brushes a bookshelf as I pass behind Diaz’s chair, dropping the button-sized microphone behind a row of books, and the adhesive backing sticks to the wooden surface.
As Gabriel continues outlining new security measures, the port guard’s shoulders rise toward his ears, his head bobbing in agreement to each new demand.
“We can start tonight,” Diaz says, throat tight with forced confidence. “I’ll rearrange the schedule and put our most trusted people in these areas.”
Gabriel stands, signaling the end of our visit. “I appreciate your cooperation, Hector. The family values loyalty above all else.”
The threat beneath the praise hangs in the air, and Diaz rises, too, stumbling in his haste to match Gabriel’s movement.
“My loyalty has never wavered,” Diaz insists, leading us toward the door. “The Rockfords have always been good to me. I wouldn’t jeopardize our relationship.”
Gabriel pauses at the threshold, turning back with an easy smile. “I believe you. But in case anyone else’s priorities ever become…confused, perhaps you should remind them that our family keeps detailed records of every payment made to every employee.”
Diaz’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Of course. I’ll deliver the message.”
The door closes behind us with a click, followed by the snap of the dead bolt.
We walk toward our vehicles in silence. Only when we’re out of earshot does Gabriel check his phone, tapping the screen to activate the microphone feed.
“He’ll make the call within the hour,” Gabriel says, sliding into his car. “We need somewhere quiet to listen.”
I settle into the butter-soft leather passenger seat, and the engine growls to life. As we pull away from the curb, I cast a final look at Diaz’s house. Through the front window, I catch a glimpse of him pacing, hand pressed to his forehead, the mask of confidence already crumbling.
Gabriel drives down the street to a neighborhood playground and leaves the car idling with the air conditioner on.
Between us on the console, his phone displays an audio wavelength, spiking and falling with each sound captured by the microphone.
Static crackles through the speakers, then footsteps as Diaz moves through his house, his irregular breathing audible.
“How good is this thing?” I ask, gesturing toward the phone.
“Good.” Gabriel adjusts the volume as Diaz’s pacing accelerates, the rhythm of his footsteps growing more frantic. “Sebastian designed it himself.”
A door slams through the speakers, followed by the sound of running water and the clink of ice in a glass. Diaz mutters to himself as the microphone picks up cabinet doors opening and closing, drawers sliding, and objects being moved.
“He’s searching for bugs,” Gabriel explains, unbothered. “Standard paranoia after a surprise visit.”
My mouth twitches with grim amusement.
The water stops, and the footsteps resume, then pause. A long silence follows, broken by the faint ring of a phone.
“Here we go.” Gabriel leans forward, attention fixed on the phone.
The call connects with a click. “Darrow here.”
Diaz speaks without preamble. “We have a problem. Gabriel Rockford was at my house twenty minutes ago.”
“What did he want?” Darrow demands.
“New security protocols at the docks. Focusing on unofficial boats, shift change transfers…everything we’ve been doing.” Diaz doesn’t pause for breath in his panic. “He knows, man. All the areas he targeted are the ones we’ve been setting up for Tony’s operation.”
“Was he alone?”
“No. Had another Alpha with him. Big guy, quiet.” Ice clinks as Diaz takes a drink. “Looked dangerous.”
“Describe him.”
My spine stiffens at becoming the subject of their conversation. Gabriel stiffens with me, then locks it down just as fast.
“Dark hair, muscular, maybe mid-twenties.” Diaz hesitates. “Lots of scars on his hands. The kind that comes from fighting.”
So much detail catches me off guard. Diaz barely looked at me during our brief encounter, all of his focus on Gabriel.
“Did Rockford introduce him?”
“No. Guy didn’t speak at all. I think he was there as Rockford’s bodyguard. You know how those assholes are. Always flaunting their wealth.”
I snort. “He’s one to talk.”
Gabriel’s lips twitch in response.
“This isn’t good,” Darrow snaps. “If the Rockfords are monitoring those areas, we need to pause operations.”
“For how long?” Diaz asks, panic edging in. “Tony won’t like delays. He’s got buyers waiting. He’s already pissed he lost the cam boy Travis promised to bring in.”
A chill goes through me at the casual reference to Micah’s stalker. Did Diaz or this Darrow guy have a hand in his kidnapping? There had been two people involved in the smash and grab that almost killed his mate and cost my best friend his freedom.
“Tony has bigger concerns than impatient buyers,” Darrow says dismissively. “Gabriel Rockford is the problem. If they’re sending one of their own to investigate port security, we’re already fucked.”
Glass clinks onto a hard surface. “What about my shift tonight?”
“Keep to your usual routine. Do nothing that will appear suspicious.”
“And Gabriel?” Diaz asks.
“I’ll handle Gabriel Rockford.” His confidence raises the hair on my arms. “Tony has a plan for them.”
The call ends, leaving only the sound of Diaz’s heavy breathing through the speakers. Gabriel taps the phone screen, saving the recording before silencing the feed.
He leans back in his seat with satisfaction, as if everything went according to plan. A plan that now has him marked as a problem to be handled.
“You planned for this.” The accusation bursts from me before I can contain it.
Gabriel turns toward me, one eyebrow raised. “I suspected Diaz would contact his handler, yes.”
I stare at the windshield, the quiet playground leaving us too exposed. “You walked into his house knowing he’d panic.”
“I walked into his house knowing he’d choose self-preservation,” Gabriel corrects, as if that settles anything.
It doesn’t.
My fingers curl on my thighs. “So you made yourself bait.”
Gabriel studies me. “That’s one way to put it.”
Anger and frustration twist inside me. “Why?”
“Because now we have confirmation,” Gabriel says, counting each point on his fingers. “Tony Rossi is operational. Darrow is bribing our people at the docks. And they have a plan to handle us.”
The casual way he discusses becoming a marked man sparks anger, hotter than it should be. This isn’t about Micah anymore. It’s about Gabriel deliberately putting himself in danger.
“That’s fucking stupid!” I slam my palm against the dashboard. “You didn’t have to turn yourself into a target!”
Gabriel studies me. “Why do you care?”
The question catches me off guard. Why do I care? I shouldn’t. Gabriel is just a rich Alpha who forced his way into my life. He can’t be anything more.
“I don’t want Micah’s brother-in-law getting himself killed,” I deflect, staring out the window. “Micah doesn’t need that.”
“Right.” Gabriel starts the engine. “It’s all about Micah.”
He pulls away from the curb, the car sliding into traffic with the same smoothness that defines everything he does.
“What happens next?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge the concern picking at my senses.
Gabriel checks his mirrors before answering. “We find out everything we can about this Darrow guy.”
“And when Tony sends his people after you?”
He smiles like he’s already planned the outcome. “Then we’ll be waiting for them.”
The plural catches in my ear.
Not I.
We.
I turn toward the window, watching buildings blur past, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens at the thought of Tony sending someone after Gabriel.
Trying even harder to ignore the reason why I care.