17. Clara
CLARA
HOLD ME UP
“I want a unit at Clara’s apartment ASAP …
I don’t care. Someone was in her apartment while she was in the shower.
I didn’t see anything out of place when I picked her up …
Yes, I picked her up. She’s staying with me …
Don’t give a fuck, Cruz. It’s the safest place for her …
It’s not up for debate … Talk to her protective detail …
Yeah, the bastard slipped past them … No, she won’t need them anymore. I’ll be her damned protective detail.”
I lean my head against the car window and listen as Maverick speaks. He’s positioned the phone between his ear and shoulder, muffling the sound of Cruz’s responses. I don’t think the good detective is particularly happy with Maverick at the moment, if his raised voice is any indication.
“I’m going to text Evie and Jesse, too. They’ll meet your guys there.” Some caveman grunt of acknowledgement is all Maverick supplies before hanging up and tossing his phone in the cup holder. He glances at me quickly, then averts his attention back to the road. “You okay, sunshine?”
“I’m tired.” My whispered response intentionally avoids his question. If he notices, he’s wise enough to not to comment.
“We’re almost there, then you can get some sleep.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. I know I need the rest—my aching body and hollow eyes tell me so—but I mentally recoil at the thought of going to sleep. It’s in the quiet hours when I spiral the farthest.
When we arrive at Maverick’s modest, single story house, he leads me into the mudroom directly off of the garage. He refused to let me out of the SUV until he opened the door for me, and every time I tried to carry my own suitcase, he shot me a scorching look.
He’s insufferable.
“How about I show you your room and put this down,” he says over his shoulder as he lifts my belongings effortlessly and rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Then, I’ll give you a tour. Want you to make yourself at home.”
I follow Maverick without responding because, really, do I have a choice?
I’m eternally grateful for him, and I can’t deny the sense of safety that washes over me whenever I’m in his presence…
I’m just frustrated. Not at him, but at the situation—at the fact that my choices have been taken from me.
Again. Unfortunately for Maverick, I tend to lack a filter when my emotions run high.
It’s a good thing he can’t see my face because, while I’m doing my best to keep the snarky comments to myself, the subtitles in my expression are crystal clear .
Before I can drown further in an ocean of self-pity, a bump against my thigh has me coming to a full stop next to the kitchen island. I let out a surprised squeak that draws Maverick’s attention. He walks back toward me immediately, leaving my suitcase in the middle of the hallway.
“Juno! Here, boy.”
I drop my gaze until I’m met with the sweetest face I’ve ever seen: deep, intelligent brown eyes framed by tall, alert ears, and a black-and-tan muzzle that’s currently pressed against my thigh.
His tail gives a hopeful wag as he astutely ignores his owner.
Without a second thought, I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close.
This sweet dog. He saved my life. I mean, Maverick helped—of course—but if it weren’t for Juno, I wouldn’t be here.
My fingers sink into Juno’s thick coat, warm and slightly coarse beneath my touch.
Juno’s body is solid and steady—an anchor against the chaos in my mind.
I press my face into his fur as he stills for a moment, then lets out a soft, contented huff.
Juno leans into the embrace, his breath fanning softly against my shoulder as he nudges closer, a low, happy rumble vibrating in his chest. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he licks my cheek, his weight pressed against me like he understands exactly what I need.
Distantly, I hear Maverick call for Juno again, though it goes unanswered.
“He’s fine,” I whisper into Juno’s fur, still unwilling to let go. “Aren’t you, sweet boy?” I sit back on my haunches and gently maneuver his head to mine, pressing our foreheads together momentarily before delivering a kiss between his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”
I’m distracted by another lick to my face, but I don’t miss the way Maverick mutters under his breath—something about the “thank you” he got versus the one Juno just received.
“You’ve done it now, sunshine. He’s going to follow you everywhere.” Maverick shakes his head in amusement before waving me to follow him down the hall. “Come on, let me show you your room.”
Placing one more kiss to my favorite canine’s head, I stand and trail behind Maverick.
Sure enough, Juno sticks by my side the entire way to my temporary bedroom.
I pause at the door and take in the space that’s a stark contrast from mine back at the apartment.
It’s nice and spacious, but it’s cold and impersonal—like everything else I’ve seen so far in this house.
A queen-sized bed rests against the far wall, centered in the middle of the room, covered in dark navy bedding.
On either side, a bedside table holds a lamp and phone charger.
Windows, draped in matching navy curtains, frame the desk along the left wall, letting in the soft glow of the streetlights outside.
“Don’t mind all the blue—the FBI owns this house, and I’m guessing they didn’t put much thought into interior decorating.
” Maverick has set my suitcase next to a door on the opposite side of the room.
“This one’s the closet,” he points to the door beside him, “Feel free to put your things away. And this is the bathroom.” He opens the bathroom door, revealing a standard shower stall with sliding glass doors, a vanity sink, and a toilet.
“It has the basics. I know it’s not much, but we can get you anything you need later today. ”
“I really appreciate it, Maverick. Thank you.” I step further into the room, wishing there was something I could do that reflects just how grateful I am for him and everything he’s done for me.
He doesn’t even know me, and he’s invited me into his home.
Well, his temporary home. I suppose the lack of personal items makes a lot more sense now.
“You don’t have to thank me, sunshine. Are you hungry? It’s late, but I can still give you that tour.”
“Oh, I think I’m okay. I’ll take a raincheck on the tour for now, if that’s alright with you?”
“Of course. Sleep well. Let me know if you need anything.” Maverick pauses at the threshold, holding the door open and signaling to his dog, who’s still leaning against me. With a soft whine, Juno trots into the hall, then pauses to peek his head back inside before the door clicks shut.
By the time I finally managed to close my eyes—with every light on in the room—it was well after four in the morning. The time on my phone taunts me when I wake up, confirming what I already know: I’ve only gotten an additional two hours of sleep.
It takes several attempts to untangle my legs from the bedsheets before I stumble into the bathroom.
This time, I don’t avoid my reflection. I haven’t wanted to see the physical evidence of what he’s done to me—the things he’s taken from me—but it’s time to put my big-girl panties on.
I can’t hide from myself forever. And, quite frankly, I don’t want to.
Pressing my palms down on the cold Formica countertop, I lean closer to the mirror, studying the stranger who looks back at me.
The bruises on my face—the ones I earned through defiance—are nearly gone, fading into nothing.
Soon, there won’t be any evidence that I displeased him at all.
My gaze drops to my wrists; the skin pink and tender where the coarse rope cut into me.
I wonder if it’ll scar, leaving me with a permanent reminder of my torment.
I shift my focus back to the mirror and cringe at the dark puffy circles beneath my brown eyes.
The shadows seem deeper, and with the weight I’ve lost, they exaggerate the hollow, lifeless look in my face.
I look as though the life’s been drained out of me—as though I’m just a shell of who I used to be.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to center myself the way Tamara taught me.
When I feel a little steadier, I push off the counter and head out of the bathroom.
I grab my phone on the way out, only to freeze when I open the door and spot a black-and-tan bundle lying in front of my room.
“Juno? What are you doing here, sweet boy?”
At the sound of my voice, the bundle rises and bumps against me.
“Well, good morning to you, too. Let’s go find your dad, because I smell bacon, and I hope he has some for me.
” Because if he doesn’t… Well, Maverick will get a front-row seat to an exhausted and hangry Clara. Spoiler alert: it’s not pretty .
Juno and I follow the sound of clanking pans and sizzling bacon into the kitchen.
The sight that greets me sends a jolt to my heart: Maverick stands at the stove, wearing running shorts and a t-shirt, somehow managing to fry the bacon in one pan while scrambling eggs in the other.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch, sunshine?”
Oops. Busted.
I clear my throat and slide onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Morning, Mav. It smells good. How can I help?” It’s the polite thing to do, right? To ask how I can help? But, if I’m being honest, I just want to stay where I’m at and watch this man make breakfast. I don’t really want to help.
“Good morning. It’s about done, so you just stay right there.” He glances at me over his shoulder with a smirk, like he knew I only offered to be nice. “You’re up early. I figured you’d still be asleep.”
“I, uh, I haven’t been sleeping well.”