Chapter 8
Gabe
Evie’s knees hit the floor and I’m down, scooping her into my arms, scanning for injuries.
What the hell?
Those doe eyes are dazed, her skin pale, the yellowing bruises stark against it...she swung open the door. Was she expecting someone? There’s no blood, she’s not protective of an injured limb.
I kick the front door closed, and carry her to the sofa, kneeling on the ground for a better look.
“What’s going on?”
She swipes a hand over her face, and her brow crinkles, like she’s in pain or maybe trying to wipe away a memory.
“Did something happen?”
“Someone broke in.”
With those words, I’m upright, scanning past her, through the opening below the stairs that leads to the back of the townhouse, then shifting my gaze up the stairs.
“When?”
Behind me is the bay window that overlooks the street. A person dressed in a black overcoat, head down, hurries past on the sidewalk. I’m not armed, but my fingers twitch for my handgun.
I wait a beat until he’s out of sight.
An innocuous passerby.
Evie holds her head in her hands, leaning over her legs.
“Evie. Talk to me.”
“I just got home.”
“Have you cleared the place?”
“No.” Her response is slow, tongue-tied, like she needs a drink of water.
She’s processing it now. Shock giving way to pattern recognition.
“You’re not hurt?” The need to confirm my visual findings is almost as intense as the need to touch her for the same confirmation.
“No.”
“Okay.” I pull out my phone. “Let’s call the cops.”
I need to clear the place, but I’m not sure where to leave her. If the intruder is here, I don’t want to scare them right back to Evie.
“You can’t call the cops.” She tugs my arm, fingers clasped on my wrist. “There’s not… There’s no point.”
She breathes in deeply enough I clock her chest lifting, then, as if she’s snapping back into her collected self, she pushes up from the sofa and heads to the stairs.
“What’re you doing?”
“Do you want to see what I found or not?”
“Yes, but we need to make sure the intruder isn’t still here.”
“He’s not.”
She climbs a step and I clutch her elbow.
“How do you know?”
“I just know, Gabe. They probably came earlier when I was at work. They were careful. Not so careful that they didn’t want me to know they’d been here, but careful enough I’ll look paranoid if I call the cops.”
Given the brake line, it tracks. Still, I step past her, leading the way up the stairs.
“My office,” she says, directing me from behind.
“Have you been in any other rooms?” I ask, frustrated that I know the answer and it’s not the right one.
“No. But I just know.”
“Right. Excellent.”
“Gabe…” She sounds exhausted, maybe even irritated. Tough shit.
I scan the office and pull the door with her tucked inside. “Stay in here until I clear the place. Lock the door. If anyone other than me comes to this door, you dial 911.”
I don’t wait for confirmation but close the door and turn to clear the place.
I find no one. There’s nothing noticeably out of place. My examination of the doors and windows is quick, but long enough for me to be certain whoever broke in knew what they were doing. No trace. No forced entry. No tool marks. No disruption beyond intent.
When I return to her office, I rap against the door. “Evie. It’s me.”
The door opens.
The look she gives me—it’s different. A sadness… No, vulnerability.
It hits a tender spot. I tell myself it’s familiar—that I’ve always looked out for her, wanted to cheer her wins, ensure her safety. That’s true. It’s just not all that’s true.
But this isn’t safe.
Of course, she’s still Evie. She’d never admit fear.
Definitely won’t cave to it.
“All clear,” I say.
“Told you.” And with that, I’m looking at her back, down the curves of her black skirt, smooth except for a long crinkle where she must’ve sat pressed against a desk chair all day.
“What’d they take?”
“Pages from a case file. Specific pages.” She sinks down into her desk chair. “Material is missing from the DOJ server too. I haven’t cross-checked yet, but I’d bet it’s the same.”
“You realize this means someone within the DOJ is behind this, right?”
Her lips purse. “Protecting someone. Because no one I’m investigating…”
She lets the words trail. What she means is no public servant would play a role in human trafficking.
Along one section of a wall three psychological profiles are mapped. Always useful to keep as a reference, but also critical to remember they are guides, not rules. The labels are clearly for private use: Greedy Fucks, Entitled Fucks, and Sick Fucks.
Her head falls back to her chair and she closes her eyes. “I have so few options. Shonda thinks I’m paranoid. Michael probably does too. If I tell Rebecca, she’ll be pissed I didn’t follow her directive and drop it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’ll realize something more is going on.”
Evie opens her eyes and holds out her hands, palms up. “I’ve got no evidence. Nothing. And if someone inside is…” Her lips flat line, gaze distant once again. She tugs at her bottom lip with her thumb and index finger, deep in thought. “I’ve got to see if they missed anything. Track down Lina.”
“Evie.”
She glances up.
I’m controlled. Calm. Patient. I need her to hear me.
“I’m moving in,” I say. Not a suggestion. A decision.
“Wait? What?”
“You’re not dropping this, are you?”
“No.” There’s a touch of how-dare-you-ask-that in her tone, and I let it slide.
“Until we figure out who’s doing this, who’s watching you, who hired someone to cut your brake line—”
“Hired?”
“Let’s be real. The same person with access to the DOJ likely isn’t the same guy who knew how to cut a brake line.”
The slight nod is all I get.
“Until we figure out who’s watching you, I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You have a life, Gabe, a job. That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
I wait until she looks at me. Really looks.
“Evie. I’m going to share something with you.”
Maybe it’s my words, maybe it’s my tone, but I’ve got her full attention.
“I requested this assignment, this transfer if you will, because Scott told me he had concerns. He didn’t ask me to come. He only shared information. And I wanted to be here.”
“Scott doesn’t even—”
“Your father harbors concerns. We’re all concerned.”
She blows air in a slight huff, the movement enough to shift her hair. “Dad hates the division I work in; he’s always worried.”
“Fair,” I agree. “But this case is different, isn’t it?”
She shifts her gaze, refusing to look at me, but she does give me a drawn-out, “Yeah.”
“Right. Then right here is where I’m going to be.”
Whether she likes it or not. I’m trained. I’m capable. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let something happen to her. Not now. Not when I’m right here.
“You’re not moving in. You’ve always jumped to that big brother role.”
Brother. Right.
“And it’s touching, but stifling.” I open my mouth to argue. “And unnecessary.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“You moved here, Gabe.” Her eyes somehow widen another fraction.
The exasperation is noted. And likely deserved. When she says it like that, it sounds ludicrous.
“If you want to come home with me from work, things like that, until you believe it’s safe, I’ll go along with that.”
It’s a start, so I take it.