Chapter 12
Evie
“Please prepare for arrival.”
The words greet me as I exit the bathroom, toiletries bag in hand. I scan the aisle of passengers. My father’s travel agent, Marvin, worked miracles and got us on a flight out of LaGuardia with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.
Gabe at first insisted on buying his own ticket, but after I assured him we’re flying free on my father’s miles, he caved.
It’s rare for me to take advantage of my father’s standing offer to access Marvin.
The corporate plane isn’t an option—it’s wheels up for a shareholder trip to Singapore this week, and even if it weren’t, Dad doesn’t loan it out for personal trips, mine included.
The smaller business plane Scott loves to use for short domestic trips wouldn’t work for an international trip—and I wouldn’t feel right using corporate resources.
My rationalization for using my father’s resources, as in his points, this time around, is that the purpose is important.
And while my instinct might be to hide my travel from my father, I’m not naive enough to believe I could carry it off.
The second I disabled location sharing, he’d get suspicious and have a staff member looking into my whereabouts.
Is it infuriating to have a father like that? Yes.
But accessing a suite at the Four Seasons in Geneva at my father’s pricing, using his points, is an undeniable perk.
Marvin worked his usual miracle, but even miracles have limits—there were two business seats left on the flight, not two together.
Gabe’s several rows back, on the opposite side of the aisle, which means I have an unobstructed view down the aisle of his pod every time I turn my head to look down the aisle.
Not that I spent the flight turning my head, watching him. I spent it attempting to sleep.
Down the aisle, I spot a brunette flight attendant with a bouncy ponytail standing by Gabe’s seat. Her body language shifts—the way women do when they’re interested.
Gabe’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and chats with her.
There’s a casual confidence in how he fills the space that’s undeniably appealing.
That’s the way I remember him. Maybe that’s why this feels like déjà vu.
I used to watch from the sidelines as cheerleaders and classmates gathered around after a game.
As the invisible little sister, no one noticed me lurking.
Seems once again, I’m invisible, and observing from a distance. I spent a lot of time watching Gabriel Martin from the sidelines.
I force my attention forward, watching the plane trace the line plotted on the monitor showing our journey to our final destination.
When we land, I exit first as I’m seated farther up and hang back near the jet bridge until he appears and reaches for my luggage handle.
“Did you get any sleep?” He sounds peppy.
Peppy, and freshly charmed by a woman in a fitted uniform, no doubt. I don’t need help with my wheeled carry-on, so I simply step forward, holding onto it with a clipped, “I’ve got it.”
I hear the edge in my own voice a half-second too late to do anything about it. It’s not really about the suitcase.
“I actually slept. I don’t usually do that. The reclining seat makes a big difference.”
“Yeah. I don’t always…” My words trail as I read the customs signs, telling us which line to access based on country origin.
It’s easy to sleep well, apparently, when there’s a pretty flight attendant refilling your water every twenty minutes. I don’t say that. It’s petty, and worse, it’s not even his fault I didn’t sleep.
He doesn’t ask me to finish my sentence, and since I was basically about to explain myself for no reason, I let it drop.
We fall into the customs line. Conversations hum around us in a myriad of languages. The group in front of us is a family, and a line of business travelers fall into place behind us.
Gabe’s reading something on his phone, as serious as ever, and I’m reminded of the flight attendant’s laughter.
“Did you get her number?”
The question sounds more abrasive out loud than it did in my head.
He looks up from his screen. “What was that?”
Heat creeps up my neck. I shouldn’t have said anything. I swipe my phone screen, bringing it to life. Given I’m on leave, I no longer have access to my work email and have no messages. I gave my personal information to my team; seems they haven’t needed me.
“Number? Whose?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I’m sort of mumbling as I click on the weather forecast icon to see if anything’s changed since yesterday.
The line moves forward and Gabe’s attention returns to his phone.
It was a stupid question and I shouldn’t have asked.
The customs line moves quickly, and it’s not long before we’re standing in the queue for taxis.
I didn’t schedule any meetings for today.
As someone who has experienced one too many flight delays, I like to build travel fiasco time into my schedule.
I did reach out to Daniel Price, asking if he has a contact at the NGO.
Unsurprisingly, he hasn’t responded. If he does, I plan on asking if he’s aware shots were fired outside his nondescript building.
Right as a taxi pulls up, my phone lights up with an incoming call.
Michael Harridan. Department of Justice.
Gabe must read the screen, because he opens the black taxi door and says, “Get in. Take the call. I’ll give the driver our address.” His hand at the small of my back is brief, professional, but I feel the pressure of it through my coat.
“Michael,” I say upon answering.
“Evie. Where are you?”
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. The burn behind my eyelids is a reminder that while I might have slept on the plane, the quality was lacking.
“I’m on a leave of absence. Why does that matter?”
“What if my team has questions? You dropped—”
“My team has answers. Is there something specifically you need?”
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
When I open my eyes, I catch Gabe staring intently at me. The driver is focused on merging into traffic. A horn beeps from an indiscernible direction. It’s the typical chaotic airport exit scene.
“I went by your place.”
“Why?” Michael has never been to my home. I’m sure my address is available to him, somewhere, somehow as we’re colleagues, but I certainly have never shared it with him.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“But I wanted to hear it in a place that we couldn’t be overheard. So you can be honest. Will you be back soon?”
“Are you still at my house?”
“Haven’t driven off yet. If you’ll be home soon—”
“I’m out of town,” I say, in a tone slightly softer than I typically leverage with Michael. It’s kind of touching that he cared enough to stop by to check on me—but ‘touching’ isn’t Michael. He’s as competitive and cut-throat as they come—something I should never forget.
“When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure. It depends.” My shoulder muscles tense, possibly from the long flight, but…. Michael at my door, asking where I am, pushing for details—it doesn’t sit right.
Outside the taxi the sun filters through clouds, and a stunning view of the lake unfolds, a reminder of Switzerland’s beauty.
“Evie. You’re not...” He mumbles something I can’t catch. “You didn’t take a leave of absence to continue working on a closed project, did you?”
“I’m visiting a family friend.” The instantaneous lie has me turning away from the window and catching Gabe’s gaze head on. He doesn’t bother to look away. His expression is unreadable. “I’ll give you a call when I’m back. If you need anything, feel free to message me.”
Normally, I’d tell him to email me, but I no longer have remote access.
It’s not an ideal scenario, given my team will have to message me on a secure messaging app if they have questions, and I won’t have case information readily available, but given I’m no longer in the country, this is no doubt the most secure solution.
When I end the call, Gabe’s still watching me. “Is he your boss?”
“No,” I say. “Colleague.” But he definitely acts like he considers himself my boss. But that’s how he treats everyone. “Did you get everything settled?” He spent a long time on his phone messaging someone.
“Just going back and forth with the team.”
“Did you take time off to come here?” I aim for casual, but this odd sense that a lot hangs on this answer climbs from my gut to my throat.
“No,” he says. “KOAN supports my trip. You insisted on covering the flight, but if you give me a receipt, I can expense it.”
I flatten my hands on my thighs and breathe in deeply. I knew there was a chance he’d been around because he was hired. The wave of emotion ungrounding me is a symptom of a restless night’s sleep. I’ve never handled my emotions well when I’m tired.
“What is it?” His fingers brush the back of my hand, and I jerk it away. “Whoa. Are you mad?”
The driver glances at us in his rearview, and I become aware of the instrumental song playing on the radio, an unfamiliar symphony mix.
Avoiding his gaze, after a calming exhale, I answer with my question. “Who hired KOAN to provide my security?”
“Wait.” He shifts in his seat. “I’m not your protective detail.”
“No?”
“Evie.” His hand settles on my knee, heat instantly seeping through the denim, and I fight the urge to push it off. “I told you I wanted to come before I even briefed the team.”
The prosecutor in me isn’t buying it. “Then why would KOAN pay for a trip to Switzerland?”
“Rhodes MacMillan.”
I blink. “What about him?”
“He’s a KOAN partner. Has been since I joined.”
“Since when does Rhodes care about my welfare?”
Gabe’s thumb moves absently against my knee—I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. “I assumed you two had a past.”
“A past?” My voice climbs. “You thought I dated Rhodes?”
“It was one theory.”