28. Nash
NASH
Ihead back to my bedroom to grab some clothes, reluctant to leave Eve even for the few minutes it'll take to get dressed.
The sight of her curled up on my couch in my t-shirt, looking perfectly at home in my space, makes something primal and possessive surge through my chest. This is what I want every morning for the rest of my life.
I'm pulling a henley from my dresser when I hear it—the distinct ringtone of my burner phone. Three sharp electronic chirps that cut through the morning quiet like a blade. My stomach drops instantly, that familiar cocktail of adrenaline and dread flooding my system.
The burner sits on my nightstand, innocuous black plastic that represents the darker side of my life. The side Eve doesn't know about, though after last night I'm determined to change that. No more secrets. No more lies by omission.
But first, I need to see what fresh hell has landed in my lap.
I snatch up the phone, thumb swiping across the screen to read the message. The number is blocked, same as always, but the content makes my blood run cold.
Drop off at 1247 Industrial Boulevard. Tonight. $20K.
I stare at the screen, reading the message twice to make sure I'm not hallucinating. This is the same fucking request I ignored two days ago. The one that made my skin crawl because it felt like a trap, because someone wanted Eve specifically and that never happens in my line of work.
No one ever sends the same request twice.
Ever. In the five years I've been taking these anonymous jobs, the rule has been absolute: you either take the job or you don't, but there are no second chances.
The kind of people who pay me to look the other way when their enemies need medical attention aren't known for their patience or their forgiveness.
So why is this different? Why is someone so desperate to get Eve to that address that they're breaking protocol?
The answer hits me like a freight train, and I have to grip the edge of my dresser to keep from putting my fist through the wall. This isn't about money. This isn't about some random job that fell through the cracks. This is personal.
Someone wants Eve dead, and they know I'm the one protecting her.
Morgan's words from yesterday echo in my mind.
Guy's dirty as hell.
Been skimming from his employer and business partner—Charles Turner, Eve's father.
You think maybe Charles found out? Ethan hurt Eve as a message?
I still don't have the answers, and now they're getting desperate. Desperate enough to break their own rules and reach out to me again, probably thinking I'm just another corrupt EMT who can be bought. I'm the guy that brought her in and could find her again.
They have no idea what they're dealing with.
The predator in me, the part that's been dormant for too long, stretches and bares its teeth. Someone hurt my woman. Someone tried to take her away from me before I even had the chance to claim her properly. And now they want to finish the job.
They think I won't protect her. They think I'll take their money and deliver her like a lamb to slaughter.
They're about to learn exactly how wrong they are.
But this also presents an opportunity. Whoever is behind this is getting sloppy, desperate. They're willing to expose themselves by reaching out again, which means I can use this. I can turn their trap into mine.
The thought of Eve walking into danger makes my chest tight with panic, but I force myself to think logically.
She deserves to know what's happening. Deserves to make her own choices about how to handle the threat against her life.
I've spent too many years making decisions for her, thinking I knew what was best. I won't make that mistake again.
I set the phone down and grab the first clothes I can find—jeans, boots, the henley I was already holding. My hands are steady as I dress, muscle memory from years of controlling my reactions in crisis situations. But inside, I'm vibrating with barely contained rage.
Someone tried to kill Eve. Someone wants her dead.
They're going to regret that decision for the rest of their very short lives.
I take a moment to center myself before heading back to the living room.
Eve doesn't need to see me in full predator mode—not yet.
She needs calm, rational Nash who can explain the situation without terrifying her.
There'll be time for the other side of me later, when I'm dealing with whoever sent that text.
But she was right last night. I need to start letting her make her own choices, and I'll be there to back them up.
I find her exactly where I left her, curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her. She's scrolling through something on her phone—probably looking at Christmas tree lots, based on the soft smile playing at her lips. The sight of her looking so peaceful, so trusting, makes my chest ache.
She glances up when I enter the room, and her smile widens. "That was quick. Ready for our tree hunting adventure?"
"Eve." My voice comes out rougher than I intended, and I watch her expression shift from happy anticipation to concern.
"What's wrong?" She sets her phone aside, giving me her full attention. "You look like someone just died."
"We need to talk." I move to the armchair across from her rather than sitting beside her on the couch. I need to be able to see her face clearly for this conversation, need to gauge her reactions. "About your accident."
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "What about it? I told you, I still don't remember everything from the last seven years."
I shake my head. "I don't think it was an accident." The words hang in the air between us, sharp and ugly. I watch the shock flicker across her face, watch understanding dawn in her eyes.
"What do you mean it wasn't an accident?" Her voice is carefully controlled, but I can see her hands trembling where they rest in her lap.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to find the right words to explain without overwhelming her.
"I think someone was trying to hurt you, Eve.
Maybe use you as a message. The hit-and-run, the fact that you were found in the middle of a side street with no skid marks, no evidence of an actual collision—none of it adds up to an accident. "
She's quiet for a long moment, processing. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier than I expected. "Who would want to do that?"
It is going to fucking kill me to say this. "Do you remember Ethan Caldwell?"
She tilts her head. "In my last memories, I remember we were dating."
I take a little bit of joy in knowing she remembers him and didn't want him over me. "You are…engaged to him.:
She blinks. "To Ethan?"
That sets me on edge. Like the idea is crazy to her. "Yes. But Ethan's been embezzling money from your father's company. He hasn't called looking for you, and now that I know he's dirty…I wasn't willing to let him know where you were just in case."
"You think he had something to do with this?" Her voice is hard with anger. "You think he's the reason I was hurt?"
"Yes." I wish I could soften it, make it easier for her to hear, but she deserves the truth. "I don't know what happened, but I do know that someone has been targeting you and I think it is linked to that. And they're not done trying."
That gets her attention. Her head snaps up, brown eyes wide and alert. "What do you mean?"
I pull out the burner phone, holding it so she can see the screen. "I get anonymous texts sometimes. People who want me to... look the other way during medical emergencies. Let certain patients die instead of saving them."
I watch her face carefully as she processes this information. The knowledge that I'm not the clean-cut EMT she thought I was, that there's a darker side to my life. But there's no judgment in her expression, no horror or disgust. Just acceptance and a growing understanding of where this is heading.
"Two days ago, I got a text asking me to drop you off at an address." I continue, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "I ignored it. Today, I got the same request. That never happens, Eve. Ever. Which means someone is desperate to get you to that location."
"Because they want me." It's not a question. She's always been quick to understand the stakes, even when we were kids.
"Because you are important to something neither of us understands.
" I set the phone on the coffee table between us.
"But here's the thing—they think I'm just another corrupt EMT who can be bought.
They have no idea that you mean everything to me, or that I'd burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you. "
Something fierce and warm flickers in her eyes at my words. "What are you proposing?"
"I think we should go." The words feel dangerous leaving my mouth, but I force myself to continue. "We use their setup as our trap. I go in prepared, ready for whatever they have planned. We end this before it gets worse."
"We?" Her voice is sharp with concern. "Nash, if someone wants me?—"
"Then they'll have to go through me first." I lean forward, capturing her hands in mine. "I won't let anything happen to you, sweetheart. But I also won't make this decision for you. You deserve to know what's happening, and you deserve to choose how we handle it."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face. I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing the risks and benefits, considering all the angles. This is the Eve I fell in love with—brave and smart and willing to face hard truths head-on.
"If we do this," she says finally, "if we walk into their trap, what's the plan? How do we make sure we're the ones who walk away?"
The question sends a surge of pride through my chest. Not 'if you do this' or 'you should handle it without me.' We. She's all in, ready to face this threat together.
"I might have someone on our side who never fails.
" I squeeze her hands gently. "We'll make sure we are ready for anything that can happen.
And we won't be going in alone." The certainty in my voice surprises even me, but it's true.
I've been holding back for years, playing by society's rules, being the good guy.
But someone tried to kill the woman I love. The gloves are coming off.
Eve studies my face for another long moment, and I wonder what she sees there. The mild-mannered EMT she thought she knew, or the predator underneath that's finally being given permission to hunt.
"Okay." The word is quiet but firm. "Let's do it."
"Eve—"
"No." She cuts me off, pulling her hands free so she can frame my face with her palms. "Someone hurt me, Nash. They put me in the hospital, gave me a traumatic brain injury, stole years of my memories. And now they want me again for God knows what."
There's steel in her voice, a core of strength that reminds me why I fell for her in the first place. Eve Turner has never been a victim, even when life tried to make her one.
"They picked the wrong woman to fuck with," she continues, and the profanity sounds strange coming from her usually sweet mouth. "And they definitely picked the wrong man to threaten her with."
The fierce protectiveness in her voice, the absolute faith she has in my ability to keep her safe—it's intoxicating. Humbling. Everything I never knew I needed to hear.
"You're sure about this?" I ask one more time, needing to give her an out. "Once we do this, there's no going back. Things are going to get messy."
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." She leans forward and kisses me, hard and desperate and full of determination. "Let's go get our answers."
When she pulls back, I see my own resolve reflected in her eyes. We're in this together, partners in every sense of the word. The way it should have been from the beginning.
"Alright then." I stand up, already mentally cataloging what I'll need for this. "But first, I need to make a call."