15. Fleeting Dreams #2
The SUV behind me turns when I turn, maintaining a steady distance. I should feel safer knowing someone’s watching my back, but the sender’s words echo in my head. I can’t seem to get it to stop no matter how hard I try.
A horn blares, and I realize I’ve drifted too close to the center line. I jerk the wheel, correcting my path, heart pounding.
Focus, Evelyn .
I check the mirror again. The SUV is still there, a silent guardian I never wanted but now can’t live without. Just like Zeke. Just like this whole mess I’m tangled in.
I pull into the driveway, still rattled by the day’s events. The black SUV cruises past, continuing down the street to take up their designated surveillance position. Shaking my head, I grab my purse and badge from the passenger seat.
I pause at the front door, keys in hand, hearing laughter from inside. Leo’s high-pitched giggle mingles with Zeke’s deeper chuckle. The sound wraps around me like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension from my shoulders.
When I step inside, the aroma of garlic and herbs drifts through the evening air. My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t eat much of my lunch. But this? This smells like actual cooking, not takeout.
As I make my way to the kitchen, the scents grow stronger—garlic, basil, tomatoes.
Steam rises from pots on the stove where Zeke stands, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stirring something that smells divine.
Leo’s perched on a stool at the counter, face smeared with what looks like tomato sauce, enthusiastically wielding a wooden spoon.
“Aunt Evie!” Leo’s face lights up. “We’re making ‘sketti. Uncle Zeke showed me how to crush the garlic!”
My heart lurches at the new name he’s calling Zeke.
Uncle . He’s also been spending a lot of time with Seb and he’s also earned the same title.
It both pleases and terrifies me. What if this relationship with Zeke doesn’t last?
What if it’s temporary? Will it end when I no longer need his protection?
Zeke turns, and something in his dark eyes softens when they meet mine. “You’re home early.” His voice is a low rumble that sends warmth spreading through my chest.
I lean against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before me.
Zeke’s gourmet kitchen, usually so quiet and sparkling clean, has transformed into something from a different life.
Ingredients scatter across the counter, a light dusting of flour covers Leo’s shirt, and the whole space feels alive with domestic energy.
For a moment, just a brief moment, I forget about the text message, about the victim, about all the darkness lurking outside these walls. Here, in this kitchen, with Leo’s sauce-stained grin and Zeke’s quiet presence, I can almost believe in something different. Something safer. Something whole.
I watch as Zeke guides Leo’s small hands, showing him how to tear the fresh basil leaves. “Not too small,” he instructs, his voice gentle in a way I rarely hear. “We want people to taste the herbs in their bites.”
Leo’s tongue pokes out in concentration as he carefully follows Zeke’s demonstration. There’s something about seeing them together like this—Zeke’s large frame bent protectively over my nephew, his usual intimidating presence softened into something almost tender—that makes my chest ache.
“Like this?” Leo holds up a leaf, and Zeke’s face breaks into a genuine smile—not his usual calculated smirk, but something real and warm that reaches his eyes.
“Perfect, kid. You’re a natural.”
The simple praise makes Leo beam, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. This could have been us . If things had been different, if he hadn’t ghosted me, if we’d had a real chance.
Zeke looks up, catching my gaze, and for a moment, I see a flash of the same longing in his dark eyes. The reality of what we lost—what we could have been—hangs between us like a tangible thing.
“Aunt Evie!” Leo’s voice breaks the moment. “Come see what we made.”
I push off from the doorframe, drawn into their bubble of warmth and normalcy despite myself. As I approach, Zeke’s hand brushes mine when he passes me a spoon to taste the sauce, and the simple contact sends electricity shooting up my arm.
This version of him—cooking, teaching my nephew, looking at me with unguarded affection—is more dangerous than any mafia boss could ever be. Because this Zeke? This one makes me want impossible things.
My stomach clenches. God, what am I doing?
This man is dangerous—not just because of his connections or his past, but because of how easily he’s slipping past my defenses.
The way he looks at me, like I’m something precious to protect.
The gentle authority in his voice as he instructs Leo.
The casual intimacy of sharing his kitchen, his space, his life.
This isn’t just physical attraction anymore. This isn’t just convenience or protection. I’m falling in love with him. Again. Or maybe I never stopped.
Leo’s laughter pulls me from my thoughts as Zeke dabs sauce on his nose. This could be real. This could be ours.
But loving Zeke means accepting everything that comes with him—the violence, the danger, the constant shadow of his other life. It means putting not just myself but Leo at risk.
The warmth of his hand brushes mine again, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me. His touch is both comfort and warning, promise and threat. Opening my heart to him could destroy everything I’ve built, everything I’ve sworn to protect.
Yet watching him with Leo, seeing this glimpse of what could be, makes me wonder if maybe the greater danger lies in denying what’s growing between us.
After Leo is tucked into bed, I slump onto the couch, my body heavy with exhaustion. The day’s events weigh on me like a physical burden—the victim’s lifeless body, that threatening text message, the constant shadow of danger.
“You’re carrying too much tension.” Zeke’s deep voice rumbles behind me. His strong hands settle on my shoulders, and I nearly moan at the first press of his thumbs into my knotted muscles.
“I’m fine,” I protest weakly, but my body betrays me, melting under his touch as he works the knots loose with practiced skill.
“Bullshit,” he says softly, his fingers finding a particularly tender spot that makes me wince. “Your shoulders are like concrete.” His thumbs work in slow, firm circles, and I let my head fall forward with a sigh.
“Let me fix you a drink,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. Before I can object, he’s moving to the kitchen, returning moments later with a gin martini—my favorite.
The first sip burns pleasantly, the familiar bite of gin mixing with the gentle warmth spreading from where his hands have resumed their work. His touch is different now—less clinical, more intimate. Each stroke of his fingers sends little sparks of pleasure down my spine.
“Stop thinking so hard,” he says softly, working his way up to the base of my neck. “Just feel.”
I close my eyes, letting the combination of alcohol and his skilled hands quiet the chaos in my mind. For these few precious moments, I don’t have to be Detective Landry. I don’t have to carry the weight of unsolved cases or worry about threats. Under Zeke’s touch, I can just be Eve.
The tension slowly eases out my muscles, replaced by a pleasant comfort. I take another sip of my martini, savoring the way it complements the peaceful sensation spreading through my body. For now, at least, the darkness can wait outside.
“When’s the last time you saw your friends?” he asks.
I have to think about it. Between the case, the wedding, and everything else, I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone socialize. “Too long,” I admit. “We usually do Friday night dinners, but—”
“But life got complicated.” His thumbs find a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck, and I can’t hold back a small moan. “What if we hosted them at the club?”
I twist to look at him, surprised. “The club?”
His dark eyes are warm, intimate. “There’s a private room. Good food, better drinks, complete privacy. No one would even know you were there.” His fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You need a night to just be with your friends, Eve. To laugh, to relax.”
The offer is tempting. God, how long has it been since I’ve really laughed with Lydia and Olivia? Since we’ve shared a meal without worry creasing our foreheads?
“They’d be safe there,” he adds, reading my hesitation. “My security, my rules. No one gets near that room without my say-so.”
I lean back against him, letting the warmth of his body support me. “You’d do that? Host my friends?”
His chuckle vibrates through my back. “Love, I’ll do anything for you. Besides, they’re good for you. You light up around them.” His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer. “I want to see more of that.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight. This is a side of Zeke I never expected—thoughtful, observant, wanting to nurture the connections that make me happy. It’s dangerous how sweet he can be, how easily he can make me forget who he is, what he does.
Then my captain’s orders cross my mind. He made it clear he didn’t want me returning to the club. But Zeke said it’s a private room. No one has to know we’re there.
Maybe, just for one night, I can let myself have this. Let myself believe in the possibility of blending our worlds, of finding joy in the midst of chaos.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s do it.”