Chapter 12 #2
“No.” I turn to the window, processing. I’ve had like three conversations with Rhodes—total.
And only one in person. He’s at least ten years older than me.
I never saw him that way. “He’s an information source.
” But with another deep breath, I connect the dots.
“My father invested in ARGUS years ago. He probably hired Rhodes to... What? Keep tabs on me?”
“I don’t think you can just hire Rhodes,” Gabe says carefully.
“My father can hire anyone.”
“Maybe.” His hand squeezes gently. “But I came because I wanted to. Not because anyone told me to.”
I chew on my lip, trying to think back over my conversations with Rhodes. He seemed to admire that I chose a career as a public servant. He first met with me as a favor to my dad.
“Hey,” Gabe’s low rumble once again reminds me he’s by far the most appealing man I’ve spent time with, and he’s also the only one who unnerves me by simply being. “I need you to believe me. I would’ve come no matter what.”
“Because of Scott,” I say with a slight nod.
“No.” He reaches for my hand again, and again, I don’t pull away. His palm is warm, calloused—rougher than I expected for someone who spends time at a desk. “You’re my friend too, you know.”
Friend.
“And I share Scott’s concern for you. I admire the hell out of you. You’re hunting the worst of the worst. Determined. Your career… I mean hell, you were done with law school when most of your class was graduating from undergrad. I’ve never known anyone as focused and determined as you.”
That’s not as big of a deal as he thinks. “I took all AP classes,” I say, leaving it at that, assuming he’s familiar with how those credits work if you go to an undergrad that accepts them.
“Stop it. What you’ve done is impressive.”
“And therefore you want to protect me?” It still doesn’t add up.
“Evie Thompson, you’re one of my favorites.”
Again, the prosecutor in me bares her teeth. “Please—”
“I’ve known you a long time, Evie. Growing up I spent a ton of time at your house. I probably spent as much time with you as with Scott.”
“Now, that’s definitely not true.”
“Had the most meaningful conversations,” he counters. “Your brother, we had similar taste in movies. Hung out with the same crowd. But the deepest discussions I ever had with your brother revolved around the merit of a rotten tomato rating.”
I bite back a grin. He’s on the money with Scott. I love my brother, but depth isn’t his strength.
“But you. You’re the only one who ever compared The Matrix to Russia, to authoritarian governments.”
“That’s not true. There are entire blog sites dedicated to analyzing The Matrix.”
“Nope.” He snaps his fingers. “You asked why criminals always want systems? Like chains and hierarchies. Shouldn’t chaos be easier? Those were your questions.” He points at me. “We sat there debating authoritarian structures through history….or really, you gave me a history lesson.”
I have to look away, because it’s true, I am a huge nerd. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Of course I do.”
The cab pulls up in front of The Four Seasons. Across the way there’s an expansive view of Lake Geneva. It’s breathtaking.
Valets open both our doors and we step out.
Gabe takes in the view—of the hotel entrance and the lake across the street. “You have great taste in hotels.”
“Dad’s taste,” I correct.
“He brought you to Geneva as a kid?”
“When he had business, he’d bring me along. Especially in the years when he was fighting mom for custody.”
Gabe wisely lets that point drop. Or maybe it’s just the whir of activity as we check in and are led up to our suite. I hadn’t meant to say that much.
The suite meets the high standards associated with The Four Seasons, but it’s noticeably smaller than the suites my father booked on prior visits. Glass doors open onto slight balconies with views of the lake.
Gabe strides to the balcony doors, taking in the scenery while I tip the hotel representative.
I don’t see our bags in the living area, so I assume they are in one of the bedrooms. I’d like to change clothes, so scan the living room and spot two double doors that open into a bedroom with a king-size bed.
When I enter the room, I see both suitcases have been set in the walk-in closet. It’s an understandable assumption, but I exit what is clearly the master bedroom and search for another bedroom door.
Then understanding dawns. I bet the sofa folds out.
I wasn’t specific enough with Marvin.
There’s a gold-rimmed glass desk with a phone. I pick up the handset and click the button labeled FRONT DESK.
I’m greeted with a warm, upbeat, “How can we help you?”
Of course, they noted when we checked in that we are English-speaking guests.
“Yes, umm, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I need a suite with two bedrooms.”
“Oh, ah, yes, let’s see. We don’t currently have any larger suites available. I can put you on priority for an upgrade if anything opens.”
“Or an extra room is fine too?” Gabe has turned, watching me, and I offer a tight smile. “I can take a smaller room.”
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m afraid we don’t have…the suite you are in does include a sofa bed which I can assure you is extremely comfortable. During turn down service the bed will be set up. If you’d like, we can send someone up now. I know you just arrived—”
“That’s okay. You can send them up in the evening. Thank you.”
When I hang up, Gabe’s closer than before—close enough that I catch the scent of whatever shaving cream he used earlier, something clean and faintly spiced. Close enough to see the question in his eyes before he speaks.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just…I’ll take the sofa.”
“Absolutely not.” He shoves both hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, the corners of his lips curved slightly upwards.
This isn’t amusing.
“No. Seriously. You wanted to book your own room and I insisted on a suite. I screwed this up.”
Actually, now that I think about it, there are other hotels. I can leave him this suite and I’ll move to a different one. I pull out my phone, scrolling.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just going to see—”
“Is staying in the room with me that unappealing?” The question catches me off-guard.
“No. It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?”
I meet his eyes—a foggy blue that nearly matches today’s skyline.
“I dragged you here. I’m not making you sleep on a couch too.”
“I’ll take the sofa. I promise you, I’ve slept in far more uncomfortable places than a suite in the Four Seasons.”
My brow furrows. “Are you sure?” Because I’m not.
“Evie, this is the nicest hotel room I’ve ever been in in my life. I promise; you can close the bedroom door and you can trust me. I’ll behave.”
“Well, of course you’ll behave. I’m not saying you won’t.”
I’m not sure how to read his expression, but he steps past me to the desk and picks up a leather-bound folder. “I’m starving. Should we order?”
“It’s midafternoon.”
“You don’t want anything?”
Outside the daylight is fading, and if we eat now, my internal clock will register it as evening and nightfall, which isn’t the worst way to adjust to the new time zone.
“No, actually I do.” For some reason, it feels like I’m giving him something, but I’m not, at all. If anything, I’m giving me something—food.
After we order, I shower quickly and change into a silk pajama pants set and fuzzy socks—comfortable and acceptable in the presence of company. When I return to the living room, Gabe’s on the sofa with a book.
“Shower’s yours if you want it.”
“I’ll wait.” His gaze scans from my face to my feet and back up again.
The set is modest—long sleeves, pants that brush the floor—but the way his gaze tracks my body makes me acutely aware I’m not wearing a bra.
As if reading my mind, his gaze returns, just for a second, to where the silk drapes across my chest. My skin prickles, like the silk is suddenly too thin beneath his laser-like gaze. He refocuses on the French doors.
I reach for a throw that’s on the back of the sofa and pull it over my lap.
“What’re you reading?”
“A book on Geneva. Was on the shelf back there.”
“Ah. Planning on sightseeing?”
“No. Studying the maps.”
Right. That makes sense.
“Do you remember the Irish girl? The one who went missing? You were thirteen, maybe fourteen–”