26. Dani #2
“Hey,” I say, approaching with my best attempt at a reassuring smile.
“Oh my God, Dani!” He jumps up and closes the distance between us in an instant, pulling me into him so there’s no space left.
I wrap my arms around his middle, pressing my head against his solid chest.
He rests his cheek on the top of my head. “Are you alright? No one would tell me anything.”
I hold on tighter, refusing to let go. “I will be,” I whisper, letting the warmth of him ground me.
Agent Russo clears his throat, and Gavin and I slowly separate.
“Danielle, the team will be at your place in a few hours. We ask that you not return until you hear from me. Do you have somewhere to stay in the meantime?”
For a split second, the weight of that hits me. Don’t return. Like my home isn’t mine anymore. Like it’s already a crime scene.
I glance up at Gavin, then back at Agent Russo. “Uh, yeah. I have a few places I can go.” I sound steadier than I feel.
He hands me a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”
I nod as he turns and walks down the hall, his footsteps echoing longer than they should.
The moment he’s out of sight, Gavin whispers in my ear, “What the fuck is going on, Dani?”
I wish I had an answer. I wish any of this made sense. Instead, all I can see is Sam’s face, replaying every memory like it’s been edited with a darker filter.
“Let’s just get back to your place,” I say quietly. My chest feels tight, my thoughts loud and chaotic. “Please? I need a drink.”
Once we’re inside Gavin’s house, I head straight for the couch and collapse into the corner of the sectional that’s unofficially become my spot. The familiarity of it should comfort me. Instead, everything feels slightly off.
I’d planned to tell him everything on the drive home. I’d even started rehearsing it in my head. But exhaustion knocked me out within minutes. The next thing I remember is Gavin gently nudging me awake in the driveway.
He walks into the living room now with two beers and hands one to me before sitting beside me. The couch dips under his weight.
“What’s going on?” he asks, watching me closely. “Do we need to call a lawyer?”
His question barely registers. My brain is still stuck somewhere between Tate’s muscle and military manipulation.
“Where are Emmett and Alexa?” I ask instead.
“They’re still at Alexa’s place. She wanted to come here, but Em convinced her to give us space.” He watches me carefully. “I texted her when you left with the detectives and again when we left headquarters. They’ll come by later if you’re up for it.”
“Yeah… maybe.” My voice sounds distant, even to me. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.” That’s not entirely true. I feel everything. Anger. Betrayal. Humiliation. But none of it has settled into something I can name.
“First things first,” he says gently. “Do you need a lawyer?”
I shake my head. “No lawyer. Not for me anyway.”
His forehead creases.
I take a long swig of my beer, letting the bitterness ground me. “Sam.”
Gavin’s expression hardens slightly. “He’s been gone for months. What kind of trouble is he in with SDPD?”
“Oh, that’s the kicker.” I peel at the label on the bottle, needing something to do with my hands. “That wasn’t a detective.”
He stills.
“He’s FBI,” I continue.
Gavin’s beer freezes halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“Apparently, Sam’s been working for Tate.” The words taste toxic. “When Tate couldn’t buy votes the old-fashioned way—you know with a threatening email or some backroom deal—he brought Sam in to… persuade people.”
I swallow. My chest tightens as the reality settles deeper.
Gavin just stares at me for several long seconds. Then he slowly shakes his head.
“You need to start from the beginning,” he says firmly. “Right now.”
I tell him everything.
How Tate manipulated Sam’s military post to keep him in San Diego. How the FBI thought I was involved. The deal I made to help them build their case. All of it.
By the time I’m done, my throat feels raw.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper. “Sam was my best friend. He was a good person. What happened?”
The words feel na?ve even as I say them.
Gavin’s expression darkens into something I’ve never seen before. He slams his beer bottle onto the coffee table, the sharp crack making me flinch. Then he’s on his feet, pacing. His hands drag through his hair, gripping at the roots like he’s trying to hold himself together.
I hear him mutter something under his breath.
“Gavin, it’s okay,” I say softly. “The FBI will find what they need. He’ll go to prison for a long time.”
He turns away, but I swear I hear it. “This is all my fault.”
My chest tightens. “Gavin?”
He faces me again, and that’s when I see it—his eyes rimmed red, glassy, like he’s seconds from breaking. It’s not anger or jealousy. It’s guilt.
“I need to tell you something.”
My stomach drops again. It’s been doing that a lot today and I’ve decided I would really like to get off this roller coaster. “Gavin, you’re making me nervous.”
He crosses the room and sinks down beside me, turning his body fully toward mine. He takes my hands in his, his grip firm but shaky.
“Sam was never a good guy.”
“Gavin,” I start carefully, “I know you two never got along, but—”
“No.” He cuts me off, voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “It’s not just that. I mean… yeah, maybe some of it was that. But when I say he was never a good guy, I mean it.”
He inhales deeply, like he’s about to jump off a cliff.
“I need to tell you the real reason we broke up.”
“Gavin,” I croak, dread pooling inside me. “What does that have to do with Sam?”
He swallows hard.
“About a week before we were supposed to move to Sacramento, I came home and found Sam sitting on our couch. Waiting for me.”