Chapter 4
Evie
“Did you get the document I sent over?”
I pause, trying to recall a document from Dad. Nothing comes to mind. “Did you have an assistant send me something?”
Dad huffs his frustration, and I scan the shoes layered on my closet floor, searching for the matching sneaker.
“Salma sent a collection of reviews from Consumer Reports—”
“Oh. The cars. Right. Well, I’m still hoping my car isn’t totaled.”
“Even if it’s not you can’t drive it. The brakes failed.”
“Well, mechanics exist, right?”
Dad’s always hated my car. But I own it free and clear and I’d rather not have an additional monthly payment.
“You know, your birthday’s coming up.”
“Dad.” I spot the shoe and snag it from the pile. “You don’t need to buy me a car. I’m financially independent.”
“I’m well aware. Roberta says you haven’t touched your trust fund in years.”
“You should be proud of that, Dad.”
Shoe tied, I check my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. My hair’s a freaking rat’s nest, so I pull it back. Makeup won’t touch the bruises, so I don’t bother.
I meant to shower before my lunch meeting, but my morning got away from me. Saturdays working from home are the best—except for when I agree to meet someone out.
“I am proud. But sweetheart…I worked hard so you wouldn’t have to struggle.” I pause, staring at the phone that’s sitting on the bed, because he sounds…chagrined. “If you dropped this foolishness and came to work for me, the quality of your life would improve greatly.”
And there it is.
The offer that’s been on the table since I passed the bar—come serve as in-house counsel, manage the legal architecture of the empire he’s spent forty years building while Scott handles the investor relationships and the Middle Eastern contacts.
It’s real legal work. Good money. A title that would impress anyone who didn’t know whose name was on the door.
It would also mean every case I touched belonged to him.
And it’s not what I want to do with my career.
“Hey Dad, tell me something about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
Hair pulled back, smoothed, as good as it’s going to get, I grab my phone and head downstairs.
“I don’t know. What’re you doing this weekend?”
“We have symphony tickets.”
“We?”
An audible sigh crosses the speaker and I roll my eyes at the drama. “Eliza. She’s a lady friend.”
Downstairs, I automatically check the bowl for my keys and remember I don’t have a car to drive.
That’s when I flick the phone screen and see the time.
Shit, I’m late.
“Dad, I’ve got to run.”
“Evie.”
Ugh. “Dad, I’m thrilled you’re seeing someone.
” He’s been single as long as I can remember, and getting any information about his personal life out of him is like cross-examining a witness who’s memorized his Fifth Amendment rights.
Some combination of old-world privacy and the conviction that his children don’t need to know his business—even when his children are adults. “Really. I’ve just gotta go. I’m late.”
I swing open the front door, and scan the street, hoping for a cab.
But four cars down, there’s a Toyota 4Runner. No mud, but could it be…
“Please consider replacing your car. If you won’t let me buy you a replacement—”
“Chances are I’ll have to buy a new one.” In truth, I owe the towing company a call. It’s on my to-do list for today. “Love you, Dad.”
I’ve got my thumb on the Uber app icon as I stride toward the car…and sure enough, it’s Gabe, with his gray-blue eyes and trimmed, orderly brown hair. He lowers the passenger window.
“What’re you doing here?” We’re not meeting for dinner until seven.
“Was in the area. Thought I’d stop by.”
“Really?”
“You going somewhere?”
I glance down at my phone, and back up at him. “Rhodes told you I’m meeting him for lunch, didn’t he?”
I swear, if it turns out Dad hired Gabe for security… My grip on my phone tightens.
“He mentioned it. Thought you might need a ride.”
I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of making it to Georgetown for lunch on my own.
But given the Uber app is showing eight minutes for the nearest driver and I’m already late…
I pull on the door handle and climb in. The interior smells faintly of clean leather and winter—cold air trapped in fabric.
It’s grounding in a way I can’t explain.
Today he’s wearing a crewneck sweater and a sports jacket paired with his slacks. He looks broader somehow. Harder. Maybe it’s the jacket.
After pulling the seat belt on, I shift to face him. “Do you know where I’m going for lunch or should I enter the address into the nav?”
He has the decency—or the discipline—to avoid my gaze, clocking his side and rear views before pulling into traffic. “I’ve got the address.”
Right. And something tells me he didn’t actually need me to enter my home address in his nav after work this week.
“Do you sit on this street watching my place all day?”
That earns an eye crinkle and a side glance.
“No.”
I check the time and shoot Rhodes a text.
On the way. Running late.
Gabe’s jaw flexes. The skin is smooth, likely freshly shaven.
He drives with both hands on the wheel, and his attention constantly shifts between the road, the rear view and his side views.
He’s the most defensive, controlled driver I’ve ever observed.
Gabe always moved quietly and deliberately, even as a kid.
You could mistake him for the laidback type until you realized nothing got past him.
It’s unsettling how much hasn’t changed—and how much I still notice.
“What exactly does military intelligence involve?”
“Signals. Mostly analysis.”
I have no idea what that means. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Mostly headphones and long hours.”
Sounds boring, but more interesting than bodyguard work. “And NSA?”
“Like I told you. I’m in the process.” He turns onto the main thoroughfare. “Nothing guaranteed.”
“Why NSA?”
“I’m good at the work.”
“It’s like your dad, right? Is he still CIA?”
“He died overseas.”
My stomach freefalls. “I’m so sorry. Scott didn’t tell me.”
“I probably didn’t tell him. Had a short leave. Enough time to sit with Mom, get through the service, and get back.”
There’s something in the way he says it—not dismissive, but final, like a door closing quietly rather than being slammed.
I know better than to push. Some losses don’t get announced.
They just become part of a person, visible only in the way they hold themselves and the things they don’t say.
I recognize it because I know something about that too.
“That’s not the reason I’m pursuing NSA.” He passes a car, turns into the left lane, and his gaze steadies on me briefly. “What about you? How’d you end up in human trafficking?”
“Chance, I guess. Internship. I met with some of the women.” I fiddle with a hang nail on my thumb. “Couldn’t get them out of my head—still can’t.”
“It’s got to be emotionally draining.”
“Yes. But when we put someone away—”
“Someone else takes his place.”
That’s correct, but that’s not where I was going. “Mother Teresa said that you can’t worry about all the problems. You look at the problem you’re facing, and handle that one.”
“I’m not familiar with that quote.”
“I’m paraphrasing.” I shrug, watching the cityscape pass by beyond the expressway. “Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was someone else. But the idea holds merit.”
“Scott says you’re obsessed.”
I shift in the seat. “That’s what he told you?”
“Said you don’t have a life.”
“I suppose compared to him.”
“He’s just concerned about you. My question is, should he be?”
A month ago my answer would have been an easy no. “I spend my days in a secure office. Of course, so does Scott. The difference is, I didn’t want to work for Dad.”
“Fair.”
Silence falls between us as he navigates the streets, taking us to the hotel where Rhodes is staying.
He may have more to say on the subject, but he’s chosen to let it drop, and I appreciate that. If Dad were in the car, we’d be talking in circles. And if Scott were in the car, the conversation would be about Scott.
He flicks his signal. We’ve arrived more quickly than I estimated—I might not be late.
“Well, Scott’s doing well,” Gabe says, as if he too has been thinking about my family. “A big wig now. Like you.”
I’ve done well, but there are days it doesn’t feel like it. If you compared what I make to my classmates that went into the private sector or to one of the law firms…
We pull up next to a valet stand.
“You want to join us for lunch?” We’re going to dinner, so he may not. But, if his plan is to hang out in the lobby while we have lunch, he might as well join us.
“I’d love to.”
He so easily accepts that I halfway wonder if he planned all along to join us—which would mean he knew where I was going, which would mean he’s been keeping closer tabs on me than a coincidental reunion explains.
I file that away. There’s no point making an issue of it here, in a hotel parking lot, when I haven’t decided yet what I think about it.
I didn’t survive my father’s brand of concern by fighting every instance of it. I learned to choose my moments.
We find Rhodes in the hotel restaurant, already seated at a booth. He gets up as I approach and offers me his hand.
“Evie. Good to see you again.”
Rhodes MacMillan only agreed to see me last summer because my father gave him his seed money to start his first venture many years ago. But he appreciates the work I’m doing, and technically he has plenty of contracts with the government. I’m not officially a client, but I might as well be.
He does a double-take at my bruises, which, I concede, are gnarly, but he still proceeds to offer a hand to Gabe.
“Gabriel.”
The fact they are comfortable with each other seems odd.
“Do you two work closely together?”
“My company, ARGUS, works closely with KOAN,” Rhodes answers.
“KOAN’s the company I work for,” Gabe says offhandedly, repeating the name he gave me in the car Thursday night, but it carries more weight with Rhodes in the room.