29. Eve
EVE
Nash pulls out his regular phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Morgan's number. The sight of him switching between phones—one legitimate, one definitely not—sends a little thrill through me that I probably shouldn't enjoy as much as I do.
"Morgan? It's Nash." His voice is all business now, the gentle lover from this morning replaced by someone harder, more focused. "I need you and Antonio to come over. We have a situation."
I can hear Morgan's voice through the speaker, rapid-fire questions that Nash answers with clipped responses. When he hangs up, there's something almost apologetic in his expression.
"They'll be here in twenty minutes." He runs a hand through his sandy hair. "Eve, there's something else you need to know before they get here. About Morgan and Antonio."
The way he says it makes my stomach flutter with anticipation rather than dread.
After everything that's happened, after learning about Nash's burner phone and his willingness to let certain people die, I'm finding that the darker revelations don't shock me the way they should.
Maybe it's the head injury scrambling my moral compass, or maybe it's just that I'm tired of living in a world where everyone pretends to be something they're not.
"What about them?"
Nash sits back down across from me, his blue eyes searching my face. "They're contract killers, Eve. Professional ones. That's how they met, through their work. I would look the other way, but I never would outright kill anyone. But Morgan…she does."
I blink at him, processing this information. Morgan—sweet Morgan who brought me clothes and helped decorate the apartment with Christmas lights—is a contract killer. The thought should horrify me, but instead I find myself oddly impressed.
"That's actually kind of badass," I say, and Nash's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"Badass?"
"Think about it." I tuck my legs under me, warming to the subject.
"I can see it. She's graceful but can be kind of scary.
Way too smart. Good at reading body language.
I'm really impressed." My lips curve into a frown.
"And a little pissed she never told me. She could have told me so many cool stories! "
Nash stares at me for a long moment, and then he starts laughing. Really laughing, the kind that makes his whole body shake and brings tears to his eyes.
"What's so funny?"
"Most people would be running for the door right now," he says, wiping his eyes. "I tell you that your new friend murders people for money, and you think it's cool."
"Well, when you put it like that..." I grin at him. "But seriously, Nash. After everything I've learned about my life, about Ethan, about the fact that someone is coming after me—knowing that we have people on our side who are actually good at violence feels reassuring, not scary."
The look he gives me is so full of love and admiration that it makes my chest tight. "Have I mentioned lately that I'm crazy about you?"
"Not in the last ten minutes," I tease. "You're slipping."
Before he can respond, there's a sharp knock at the door. Nash goes to answer it, and I hear Morgan's voice immediately, followed by a deeper male voice with just a hint of an accent.
"—told you this would happen eventually. Nash never could leave well enough alone."
"Shut up, Antonio. Like you're one to talk about leaving things alone."
They appear in the living room, and I get my first real look at the infamous Antonio.
He's exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined all at once.
Tall and dark and dangerous-looking, with ink covering his arms and that kind of swagger that says he's never met a situation he couldn't handle.
But there's also something almost boyish about his grin when he spots me on the couch.
He looks like a playboy and a mafia man all rolled in one. A deadly good time.
And perfect for Morgan.
"So you're the famous Eve." He doesn't wait for an invitation before dropping into Nash's armchair, making himself completely at home. "Morgan's been singing your praises for days. I was starting to get jealous."
Morgan rolls her eyes as she settles next to me on the couch. "Ignore him. He's just trying to push Nash's buttons by flashing his pretty smile at you." She leans closer. "He thinks Nash doesn't like him."
"I don't like him," Nash says flatly, remaining standing with his arms crossed. "He's reckless and loud and he has no concept of subtlety."
"And yet here you are, calling me for help." Antonio's grin widens. "Funny how that works."
The tension between them is obvious, but not hostile exactly. More like two alpha males who respect each other's abilities while finding each other fundamentally irritating. I can see why Morgan mentioned they don't get along.
"Can we focus?" Morgan interrupts before the verbal sparring can continue. "Nash said there's a situation."
Nash fills them in quickly, showing them the text messages and explaining his theory about my accident. I watch Morgan's expression grow steadily more serious as she listens, while Antonio just looks intrigued.
"Industrial Boulevard," Antonio muses when Nash finishes. "That's the warehouse district. Lots of empty buildings, minimal foot traffic after business hours. Good place for someone to disappear."
"Or for someone to get ambushed," Morgan adds. "How do you want to play this?"
Nash looks at me, and I realize he's still giving me the chance to back out. The knowledge that he's willing to let me make this choice, even when every protective instinct he has must be screaming at him to lock me away somewhere safe, makes me love him even more.
"We go," I say firmly. "But we go smart."
Antonio claps his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. "Now we're talking. I like her already."
"The way I see it," Morgan says, shifting into planning mode, "we make it look like Nash is following orders. He drops you off, walks away, and whoever they've hired to grab you shows themselves. Then we move in."
"What about restraints?" Nash asks. "They're expecting me to deliver her helpless."
"Zip ties," Antonio suggests. "Loose enough that she can get out of them if she needs to, tight enough to look convincing from a distance."
The casual way they're discussing tying me up should probably bother me more than it does.
Instead, I find myself impressed by their professionalism.
These aren't sadists who enjoy violence for its own sake—they're skilled operators who understand how to use controlled aggression to achieve specific goals.
"What if it's not just one person?" I ask. "What if they send a whole team?"
Morgan and Antonio exchange a look that's part amusement, part anticipation.
"Then it'll be more fun," Antonio says with that dangerous grin.
"He's not wrong," Morgan adds. "Two or three amateurs with guns are actually easier to handle than one professional who knows what they're doing. Most hired muscle is exactly that—muscle. They're not trained for real combat."
Nash runs a hand over his face. "This is insane. We're walking into a trap with no backup and no idea what we're really facing."
"We're walking into a trap with me and Morgan as backup," Antonio corrects. "Trust me, that's better odds than most people get."
I study Nash's face, seeing the conflict there. He wants to protect me, but he also knows this is our best chance to end the threat permanently. And despite his reservations about Antonio, he trusts Morgan's judgment.
"I can do this," I tell him quietly. "I know it's scary, but I can't live looking over my shoulder forever. If someone wants me dead, I'd rather face them on our terms than wait for them to try again."
Nash is quiet for a long moment, those blue eyes searching mine. Finally, he nods.
"Alright. But we do this right. No unnecessary risks, no heroics. We get our answers and we get out."
"Agreed," Morgan says. "Antonio, you'll take the north side of the building. I'll come in from the south. Nash, how long after you drop her off before you can circle back?"
"Five minutes, maybe less if I push it."
"Make it three," Antonio suggests. "Long enough for them to think you're really gone, not long enough for them to get her out of the building."
They spend the next hour going over details, mapping out the warehouse district on Nash's laptop and identifying entry points, escape routes, and potential complications. I listen to them work, amazed by their thoroughness and the easy way they anticipate problems I would never think of.
It's almost noon when we finally head out. Nash drives a car Morgan brought with me in the passenger seat, while Morgan and Antonio follow in a sleek black car that looks like it could outrun anything the police department owns. My hands are shaking slightly, but it's more anticipation than fear.
The warehouse district is exactly as bleak as Antonio described.
Block after block of concrete and steel, most of the buildings showing signs of age and abandonment.
Nash turns down Industrial Boulevard, and I can see our destination ahead—a squat, ugly building with broken windows and graffiti covering the lower walls.
"You sure about this?" Nash asks one more time as he pulls up to the loading dock.
"I'm sure." I lean over and kiss him, tasting his worry and determination. "I love you, Nash Callahan. Now let's go get some answers."
He produces a set of zip ties from his jacket pocket, his hands gentle as he positions them around my wrists. They're loose enough that I can slip out with minimal effort, but they look convincing enough to fool someone watching from a distance.
"Remember," he says quietly, "if something goes wrong, if this feels off in any way, you run. Don't wait for us, don't try to be a hero. Just run."
"I will." The lie comes easily. We both know I won't abandon him if things go sideways, just like he wouldn't abandon me.
Nash gets out of the car and comes around to open my door, his movements deliberately casual. To anyone watching, it looks like a routine transaction—corrupt EMT delivering a package as requested. He helps me out of the car, one hand on my elbow in a way that could be restraint or assistance.
The warehouse looms above us, dark windows like dead eyes staring down. Nash walks me to the loading dock, our footsteps echoing off the concrete. There's a door marked with the number 1247, exactly as specified in the text.
"This is it," Nash says, loud enough for anyone listening to hear. "Someone will be along to collect you."
He doesn't look at me as he turns and walks away, but I can feel the effort it takes him to leave me there. Every step probably feels like a betrayal, even though we both know it's necessary.
I watch his car disappear around the corner, and then I'm alone on the loading dock with my hands zip-tied behind my back and no idea what's waiting for me inside that warehouse.
The silence stretches out, broken only by the distant sound of traffic and the whistle of wind through broken glass. I count the seconds, knowing that somewhere nearby, Morgan and Antonio are moving into position. Knowing that Nash is probably losing his mind with worry as he circles the block.
Then I hear it—the sound of footsteps inside the warehouse, moving toward the door.
Time's up.