Chapter 25
Gabe
My phone vibrates while I’m in the middle of reviewing Dahlia Evans’s file.
Evie.
I answer on the first ring.
“Hey—”
“Gabe.” Her voice is low. Tight. Controlled in a way that tells me she isn’t. “I think someone’s following me.”
Everything inside goes cold.
“Where are you?” My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand.
“Several blocks east of Constitution. I walked. My Uber changed from three minutes to eight and I—” Her breath hitches slightly. “He turned when I turned.”
“Okay. Listen to me.” I’m already moving, grabbing my keys. “Do not run. Don’t look back again. Tell me what’s around you.”
“Rowhouses. A small park behind iron fencing. There’s a café ahead. Lights on.”
“Go there. Go inside. Stay on the phone with me.”
Her heels click faster against the pavement.
“He sped up when I sped up.”
My jaw locks. “Evie. Breathe. Is he closing distance?”
“I don’t know. I’m not looking.”
“Good. Keep walking. Cross the street again. Make him commit.”
A pause.
“He crossed.”
That’s not paranoia.
“Okay. Café. Now.”
“I’m almost there.”
I hear the door chime in the background. Voices. Espresso machine steam.
“I’m inside.”
My lungs finally pull air again.
“Good. Where is he?”
“I don’t see him.” Her voice wavers. “Maybe he kept walking.”
“Stay inside. Sit near the window but not directly against it. Text your Uber and ask the driver to confirm the make and plate again.”
“I already am. He just responded.”
“Good. I want you to walk out only when the car pulls up and you confirm plate and driver.”
“Gabe—” Her voice cracks then steadies. “It could’ve been in my head.”
“It wasn’t.” I aim for calm and even, although that isn’t at all what I’m feeling. “You don’t spook easy.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to call you.”
That slices deep.
“I want you to call me,” I say quietly. “Every time. Where the hell is Brie?”
“Don’t be mad at her. She left me in a public place. I kept walking.”
I grit my teeth. Bite back the not smart criticism that is pointless now.
The Uber notification pings faintly through the line.
“It’s here.”
“Describe it.”
“Black Camry. Plate matches.”
“Driver?”
“Older woman. Gray hair. Looks bored.”
“Good. Walk directly. Don’t hesitate. Get in and lock the door.”
I hear the café door open again. Wind. Footsteps. Car door.
The thunk of it closing.
“I’m in.”
“Lock it.”
“I did.”
I exhale and flex the fingers on my left hand that were balled around the keys.
“Stay on with me.”
Radio music filters through in the background.
“I don’t see him,” she says after a moment.
“You might not.”
She’s quiet the rest of the drive. I can hear the subtle tremor she’s trying to hide in her breathing.
This shook her.
What the fuck, Brie?
I’m outside her townhome when the Camry turns onto her street.
I’ve scanned the block twice. Checked blind spots. Noticed a delivery van with a logo I don’t recognize.
The Uber pulls to the curb.
I’m moving before it’s fully stopped.
She opens the door and steps out, and the sight of her—alive, intact, together and standing—tightens my throat and gives rise to an unexpected surge of emotion I can’t quite name.
I reach her in three strides.
My hands land on her shoulders first.
Solid. Real.
Skin unscathed.
No sign of trauma.
“You okay?” My voice sounds rough.
“Yes.”
I search her face. Those brown eyes of hers are wide, alert. Cheeks flushed from cold and adrenaline.
Without thinking, I pull her into me and crush my mouth to hers.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not slow.
It’s relief and anger and fear and everything I swallowed down on the phone.
She makes a small sound against my mouth—surprised but not resisting.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
“You’re okay,” I say again, like I need to convince myself.
“I told you. It could’ve been nothing.”
I don’t argue.
But it wasn’t.
I just take her hand and guide her toward the door.
As I close the door behind us, taking care to lock the new deadbolt, the warmth of the house wraps around us, but my pulse hasn’t slowed.
She shrugs off her coat and drops her bag onto the sofa.
“I feel stupid,” she mutters, heading through the hallway into the kitchen.
“You’re not.”
Although what she did was stupid.
She opens the refrigerator, staring into it without seeing anything.
I follow. Close enough that I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her blouse.
“I was so pissed at you this morning,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
She closes the fridge and turns, nearly colliding with me.
“I thought you were trying to control me.”
“I wasn’t.”
Her chin lifts. Defensive reflex.
“I was trying to protect you,” I say more gently. “But I should’ve asked. I fucked up.”
That registers.
She studies my face like she’s looking for something.
“I don’t ever want to be compared to your father,” I add, the words sitting heavy in my throat. “If I’m honest? I don’t even really like him.”
Her brows lift.
“And I definitely don’t want to be him.”
“That’s—” She stops. Starts again. “That’s the right thing to say.”
“It’s also true.”
I reach for her, touching her shoulder.
“I admire the hell out of you, Evie. Your brain. Your stubbornness. The way you don’t back down even when the world tells you to. I would never want to stifle that. I just…” My voice is rough. “I don’t know how to stand beside you without wanting to shield you from everything.”
Her expression softens. “I know.”
I slide a hand to her waist.
“I don’t need shielding.”
“I'm working on the difference.”
Something shifts between us.
The adrenaline hasn’t burned off. It’s just changed shape.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt.
“I was scared,” she admits.
The confession hits nearly as hard as the call.
“So was I,” I share. “More than you know.”
She tilts her head. Runs a finger along my jaw.
“If someone had gotten to you…there would’ve been nothing I could’ve done.”
Helpless.
The word hangs unspoken.
Her hand slides up my chest to my neck.
“I’m here.”
“Yeah.” My thumb brushes her jaw. “You are.”
The kiss this time is slower.
Intentional.
Her back meets the edge of the kitchen counter. My hands find her waist, then her hips. She pulls me closer.
The heat spikes fast.
Her fingers slip under the hem of my shirt.
My breath turns uneven.
“Gabe…,” she murmurs.
I lift her slightly onto the counter without breaking the kiss.
Her legs part instinctively.
Adrenaline. Fear. Relief. Want.
It’s all tangled.
My hand slides from her waist up the curve of her back, fingers splaying wide as if I need to confirm she’s still mine. Warm. Real.
Her palms flatten against my chest.
“Your heart’s pounding,” she says quietly, feeling it.
“If something had happened to you, god….I’d kill Brie.”
“Don’t be mad at her. I didn’t give her a choice.”
I don’t argue—although I could. I just bend and kiss her again.
Slow enough to taste the faint trace of coffee on her tongue. Slow enough to feel the tremor she hasn’t quite shaken. My hand cups the back of her neck, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear, fingers tangling in her hair.
She exhales into my mouth.
Her fingers curl into my shirt and tug.
The fabric stretches between us before she breaks the kiss just long enough to drag it over my head and toss it somewhere behind me.
Her eyes darken when she looks at me.
“You were scared for me,” she says.
“Terrified.”
It’s brutal honesty. And something she needs to comprehend.
Her hands move over my chest, down my ribs, fingertips exploring like she’s mapping reassurance.
“You don’t get to scare me like that,” I say quietly, mouth trailing to the line of her jaw.
“I didn’t plan on it.”
My mouth finds her neck; just beneath her pulse.
She gasps—and her thighs tighten around my waist.
I feel the vibration of her hum against my lips.
And a shiver.
Not from cold.
She draws me closer.
Her skin hot through layers of fabric.
My breath turns uneven.
“Gabe…” It’s a plea that I feel because I want her just as desperately.
I drag my mouth back to hers, deeper now. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that steals air and thought.
Her fingers dive into my hair, holding me there.
There’s no finesse to it. No teasing build.
It’s adrenaline transmuted into want.
My hands skim under the hem of her blouse, palms flattening against warm skin. She arches into the touch like she’s been waiting for it.
And fuck, so have I.
“I was so angry with you,” she murmurs against my mouth.
“I know.”
My thumb traces the line of her waist.
“I thought you didn’t trust me.”
“I trust you,” I say roughly. “I don’t trust anyone else.”
Her breath hitches.
The edge in her melts a fraction.
Her hands slide down my back, nails grazing lightly, and I feel it everywhere.
The kiss turns deeper. Slower. Consuming.
The world narrows to her hands, her breath, the press of her body against mine.
My forehead rests against hers for a second.
“You have no idea what that call did to me.”
Her eyes search mine. “Tell me.”
“It made me realize I don’t know how to breathe when I can’t get to you.”
Something in her expression breaks open at that.
She pulls me back down to her mouth.
The kiss shifts again—softer, but no less intense. Her fingers trace the line of my shoulder, down my arm, gripping like she’s grounding herself.
My hand slides higher along her thigh, skirt riding up under my palm, until I reach her damp panties, until the line between want and possession blurs.
The counter edge presses into my thighs. Her heels hook lightly behind my calves.
Every small movement sparks something hotter.
“Gabe,” she breathes again, and this time there’s no warning in it at all.
My mouth trails down her throat, to the hollow at the base, pausing long enough to feel her pulse racing beneath my lips.
Her head tips back.
I slide her panties to the side.
Fuck. So fucking ready.
She cups my erection, rubs the hard ridge.
And I almost lose control.
The doorbell rings.
The sound slices through the room like cold water.
We both freeze.
She exhales a frustrated sound against my shoulder. “Ignore it.”
I close my eyes briefly.
Withdraw my finger.
Smooth her panties back in place.
“I can’t.”
Her mouth opens, confused.
“I had Jake come by,” I admit. “Extra security.”
She pulls back. “Gabe.”
This time, my name carries a warning.
“I know,” I say, before she can finish forming the objection. “I didn’t ask, and I should have. But I have a meeting I can’t reschedule, and after today…” My jaw tightens. “I don’t want you here alone. Can he stay? Just until I’m back.”
The warning in her expression softens, fractionally.
The bell rings again.
“Until you’re back,” she confirms.
“Thank you,” I say, pressing one last kiss to her lips before stepping away.
When I open the door, Jake stands there, hands in his coat pockets, assessing the perimeter.
He looks me up and down.
Probably noticed me smoothing my shirt, maybe saw me wipe my hand on my pants, might even pick up on my obvious erection.
“Timing suck?” he asks dryly.
“You have no idea.”
He steps inside.
Behind me, Evie enters the living room, smoothing her blouse, trying to look unaffected, but her hair is ruffled, giving her away.
Mine probably is too.
But I can still see those alert eyes, sense the fear.
And the memory of how close this day came to ending differently sits heavy in my chest.
I am not losing her.
Not to bureaucracy.
Not to corruption.
And not to some shadow on the sidewalk.