Chapter 19 Ghost
GHOST
TELFORD IS CAREFUL.
He sticks to a routine but constantly changes up his routes. The way he moves tells me that he’s not running from anyone. He’s not hiding. He’s just making sure that if someone were watching him—and someone is—they wouldn’t get an easy read.
Too bad for him, I’m not just someone.
The problem is that I don’t have the luxury of time. Geneva’s still in danger and every second that passes is a risk to her life. I’ve given myself two days to get what I need. But three are better if I want to err on the side of caution.
Telford’s penthouse is locked down tight and has state-of-the-art security, the kind that would be a pain in the ass to crack.
He’s got muscle, two rotating bodyguards.
One who does most of the driving, and another who keeps a close eye out when he’s on foot.
They’re trained, hired professionals, but not loyalists.
If the price was right, I could probably buy them.
Regardless, Telford’s greatest weakness isn’t his security, his guards, or even himself.
It’s his dick.
According to the staff at The Ruby Club, there’s a woman he meets up with every Thursday night.
She sits at a private table, orders the same overpriced cocktail, and waits for him like clockwork.
He spends a couple of hours with her. Talking.
Laughing. Getting comfortable. Then they leave separately, ten minutes apart.
She’s not his girlfriend. Not a prostitute either. But she means something.
And that makes her useful.
I’ll give myself one more night to confirm the last details, to solidify my intel, but I’m close. By the end of tomorrow, I’ll have a plan for Telford.
I tug my baseball cap lower as I step out of the alley, careful to keep my head down as I make my way back to Geneva’s apartment.
Once there, I take the stairs instead of the elevator, the habit ingrained in me.
A little extra effort is worth the reduced risk of people noticing me.
It’s bad enough I’m coming and going from there, but Benedetto too?
That’s a lot. Anyone watching the lobby would start asking the right questions eventually.
When I reach the door, I unlock it quietly, stepping inside without announcing myself. And what do I find?
Benedetto. On the couch. Watching fucking K-dramas.
I stare at him for a long second, taking in the scene. His legs are resting on the coffee table, arms crossed, his expression as neutral as ever. Except for the occasional furrow of his brow.
“You’re joking,” I mutter, shutting the door behind me.
Benedetto barely glances my way. “You’re just in time. She’s about to find out her fiancé is actually her long-lost twin’s stepbrother.”
I squint at him. “That’s not a thing.”
He shrugs. “It is now.”
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling through my nose. “This is what you’ve been doing while I’m out?”
He gestures lazily toward the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. “No, I’ve also been drinking. And so has the doctor.”
Fucking hell.
I glance toward the hallway leading to Geneva’s bedroom; the tension that gathers in my chest is instinctual. My need to protect her is always front and center.
“How drunk?” I ask, peeling off my jacket and the baseball cap, and tossing them onto the chair.
Benedetto smirks but doesn’t look away from the screen. “On a scale of ‘a little tipsy’ to ‘legally concerning’… let’s just say she’s in the ‘overly honest and mildly philosophical’ stage.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.”
He finally turns his head toward me, expression unreadable. “She asked about you.”
That makes me pause. “What about me?”
Benedetto tilts his glass, swirling the whiskey inside. “Lots of things. But mostly…” His eyes flick toward the hallway before he meets my gaze again. “She asked about your past.”
I don’t respond.
“I told her what I could,” Benedetto continues, finally taking a sip of his drink. “Which wasn’t much. But she’s thinking, Ghost. Hard.”
Of course she is. And now, drunk and loose-lipped, she’s probably spinning her own theories. About me. About Abby. About all the things I’ve buried so deep, I barely acknowledge them myself.
“Who is Abby?” he asks. Benedetto stays me with an upturned hand when I step toward him. “I don’t want to know, but Geneva does. It’s really bothering her.”
I exhale sharply, pushing off the arm of the couch and making my way toward her room.
“She’s fine, by the way,” Benedetto calls after me, amusement lacing his tone. “But if she starts reciting poetry, that’s on you.”
Without responding, I step into the doorway, my gaze falling to the woman curled up in bed, her hair spread across the pillow.
The sheets are tangled around her legs, her breathing slow and even.
She has one arm stretched toward the empty space beside her, and her fingers are curled like she was reaching for someone in her sleep.
It better be me.
I push off the doorframe, exhaling slowly as I walk into the room. The dim light from the streetlamp outside casts a soft glow across her face, highlighting the delicate furrow in her brow even in sleep. Like she’s still thinking, still processing, even now.
I stand at the edge of the bed, staring down at her, my fingers twitching at my sides. I should let her sleep. Should turn around and leave before she wakes up and asks questions I don’t want to answer.
But I don’t. I can’t leave her.
I need her too much.
After shedding my clothes, I lift the blanket and slide in beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight. I want to remind myself that she’s here, that she’s real, and that she’s mine. I want the warmth of something living against me to push away the demons of death clawing at my mind.
Geneva stirs slightly, her breathing changing as I settle in behind her. For a moment, I think she’s going to wake up fully, but she shifts, instinctively pressing back against me, her body molding to mine like she was made for it.
Something inside me eases.
I lean forward and press my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her seeps into my skin, grounding me, quieting the noise in my head. I move my arm without thought, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her closer.
She hums sleepily, her fingers brushing against mine before she stills. “Ghost?” she murmurs.
“Go back to sleep,” I say softly, my lips brushing against her temple.
She sighs, nuzzling deeper into me. “Mmm… okay.”
And just like that, she’s out again, sinking back into the warmth of sleep.
I stay awake.
Holding her. Watching her.
Letting myself breathe… because she’s still breathing.