Chapter 13 — None of This Is Safe #2
“I’m not a good man, Elena,” he said, thrusting deep, hitting that spot inside me that made my mind go blank. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to use you. I’m going to put the firm before you every single time.”
“I know,” I moaned, digging my nails into his back, accepting the confession, accepting the unwritten contract. “I know.”
“And still...” He picked up the pace, his breathing growing ragged. “Still, you stay.”
“I have nowhere else to go, Gabriel. You’re the only place I have left.”
That broke him.
He let out a broken sound and kissed me, a desperate kiss, salty with desire. He moved faster, harder, the wall scraping my back, the water drowning us.
We came together. It wasn’t an explosion; it was an implosion. The world collapsed inward, sucking away everything that wasn’t the two of us, leaving only the frantic pulse and shared heat in the middle of the artificial deluge.
When it was over, he didn’t let me go. He stayed with his forehead pressed against mine, breathing my air, holding me against the wall as though I might dissolve and drain away with the water if he released me.
We got out of the shower in silence.
He dried me with a large, soft towel, passing the fabric over my skin with a reverence that contradicted his cruel words. He dried my hair. He gave me one of his shirts to wear—clean, dry, carrying his scent, but without the blood.
We went to bed.
The master bedroom was a cave of shadows and gray Egyptian cotton sheets. The rain still beat against the window, but now the sound was distant, muffled by the double glazing.
We lay down.
Gabriel pulled me to his chest. I rested my head on his shoulder, my hand over his heart. The bandage on his right hand brushed against my arm, a rough reminder of reality.
“Gabriel?” I called, my voice sleepy, my body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction.
“Hmm.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
He was silent for a moment. I felt the tension return to his muscles, subtle but present.
“Tomorrow we deal with the world,” he said, running his hand through my hair. “Tomorrow we find out if Richard accepted defeat or if he’s going to try to burn the ship down as it sinks.”
“And us?”
“We survive. It’s what we do.”
I closed my eyes.
It was an evasive answer. It was the lawyer’s answer, not the lover’s.
But as I fell asleep in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body envelop me, I realized I didn’t care.
I had the device in my purse, in the living room. I had the confession.
But here, in this bed, I had something more dangerous. I had the illusion that we were safe.
And that illusion was so sweet, so addictive, that I allowed myself to believe it. Just for tonight. Just for a few hours.
I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in my ear, a metronome counting down the time we had left before the world outside knocked down the door that, this time, we had both forgotten to lock.
I woke to the gray light of morning filtering through the half-open curtains.
The side of the bed next to me was cold.
I sat up suddenly, morning panic shooting through my chest. Gabriel wasn’t in the room.
I got up, wearing his shirt that covered my thighs, and walked barefoot to the living room.
The apartment was silent. The rain had stopped, leaving Ashford’s sky the color of a healed bruise, yellow and purple.
I found Gabriel on the balcony.
He was leaning against the glass railing, looking out at the city. He was already dressed. Impeccable black suit, starched white shirt. The armor was back.
But he wasn’t alone.
There was a man standing next to him. A man I didn’t know, wearing a beige overcoat and holding a leather briefcase.
They weren’t talking. They were just... waiting.
Gabriel sensed my presence and turned.
His face was closed. Impenetrable. The vulnerability from last night had been locked in the vault, and the combination had been changed.
“Elena,” he said. The tone was professional. Distant.
The man in the overcoat turned as well. He had cold, gray eyes, and a silver badge hanging from his belt, visible under the open coat.
“Miss Walsh,” the man said, with a smile that wasn’t a smile. “Good morning. I’m Special Agent Miller, Department of Justice.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. My hand went instinctively to the imaginary pocket where the device would be, but I was wearing only his shirt. The device was in my purse, out of reach.
“What’s happening?” I asked, looking at Gabriel.
Gabriel didn’t look at me. He looked at the agent.
“Miss Walsh will not answer any questions without the presence of retained counsel,” Gabriel said, his voice cutting.
“She doesn’t need to answer questions right now, Mr. Moretti,” Agent Miller replied smoothly, pulling a folded paper from his overcoat pocket. “I just came to deliver this.”
He held the paper out to me.
I didn’t move.
Miller placed the paper on the glass coffee table on the balcony.
“It’s a formal subpoena for a Federal Grand Jury,” the agent explained with unnerving politeness. “The subject is Vanguard Logistics. And specifically, Mr. Thomas Walsh’s participation in a conspiracy to export restricted military equipment.”
He paused, his eyes fixed on mine.
“And since Miss Walsh is his sister and, according to our sources, the primary financier of his recent activities... we thought you’d have a lot to tell us.”
I looked at Gabriel. He was motionless, a statue of marble and barely contained fury.
“Get out of my house,” Gabriel said, his voice low.
“We’re leaving.” Miller tipped an imaginary hat. “The hearing is in 48 hours, Miss Walsh. If you don’t show up, a bench warrant will be issued. And I guarantee federal transport is much less comfortable than this penthouse.”
The agent left, his footsteps echoing in the deathly silence of the apartment.
I stood frozen in the balcony doorway, trembling in Gabriel’s t-shirt.
The illusion of safety had lasted exactly seven hours.
Gabriel walked over to me. He didn’t touch me. He stopped a step away, looking at the paper on the table.
“They don’t know about us,” he said, calculating. “They’re fishing. They want to use you to get to Thomas, and use Thomas to get to Vanguard.”
“They know I finance him,” I whispered. “They know about the money.”
“They know what the bank records show.” Gabriel raised his eyes to me. The darkness was there, but now it was cold, strategic. “Elena, listen carefully. Richard Hale may have left, but he left a parting gift. He leaked the money trail to the feds before he got on the plane.”
“What?”
“He scorched the earth.” Gabriel ran his hand over his face, a rare gesture of frustration. “We’re not dealing with an internal investigation anymore. We’re dealing with a federal manhunt.”
He finally reached out and touched my arm. The touch was warm, real, the only solid thing in a world that was crumbling.
“The device,” he said. “The recording you have.”
I stepped back, fear surging through me again.
“No.”
“Elena, it’s not for me.” Gabriel gripped my arm, his eyes intense. “If Richard leaked the money trail, he violated the confidentiality agreement I forced him to sign. But that’s not enough to stop the FBI. The only thing that can stop this now... is proving Richard was blackmailing you.”
He looked at my purse, thrown on the living room sofa.
“That recording is no longer your weapon against me,” he said, his voice grave. “It’s the only thing that can keep you out of prison for complicity in terrorism.”
I looked at him. At the man who washed me in the shower hours ago. At the man who said he would use me, hurt me.
He was asking me to hand over my only advantage. He was asking me to trust him when everything, absolutely everything, told me I should run.
The subpoena gleamed white on the table. Agent Miller had said 48 hours.
“You said we would survive,” I said, my voice breaking.
“And we will.” Gabriel held out his hand, palm open, waiting. “But to survive this, you need to make the choice now. Are you my accomplice? Or are you my victim?”
The silence stretched to the breaking point.
The “after” had arrived. And it didn’t bring peace. It brought war.
I walked to the purse. My fingers brushed the cold leather.
I could grab the device and run. I could hand it to Agent Miller and try for an immunity deal.
Or I could hand it to Gabriel and seal my fate to his, forever.
I picked up the small black button.
I turned and placed it in Gabriel’s hand.
He closed his fingers over the device, hiding it.
“Accomplice,” I whispered.
Gabriel didn’t smile. He just nodded, tucking the recording into his suit pocket, next to his heart.
“Then go get dressed, Elena.” He turned to the rainy city, assuming his position as general on the battlefield. “We have a war to start.”