“That was a pretty young lady, that one that’s always on the news. You know her?”
“What are you trying to say, buddy? Spit it out.” He wasn’t playing games any more. His brain flashed to an image of Sarabeth, dark hair spread on his pillow, and his stomach cramped. What if he wasn’t the only mobster in town?
“We got some recent intel that could make getting rid of your young friend a moot point. Good information, you know, says that all the footage is hidden away in some evidence locker. You wouldn’t happen to know anybody with access to that locker?” Sal perched the toothpick back between his lips, a malicious smile curling his thin lips.
He obviously already knew the answer to that question, but Gavin wasn’t about to give him any leeway. Not yet. “I couldn’t say, since I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The smile on the thug’s face hardened into a solid line. “I don’t think you’re paying attention. Let me spell it out for you. We’re willing to forget about Sarabeth Lucking. Scout’s honor. And you know it’s hard for guys like us to forget about such pretty ladies. All you have to do is turn over those tapes. Easy as that. If not, well, things might not be so easy.” He spit the toothpick onto the ground in front of Gavin’s feet. “We’ll be in touch.”
Sal slipped into the back of the limo, closing the door without a second glance at Gavin before the car sped away on the high street. It was only after he’d watched the vehicle disappear over a hill that he noticed the man had left a calling card. On the other side of the space where the car had been parked, there lay a dark-red brick with a note rubber-banded around it. The words were typed in newspaper font:
Beachwood Street. 5 p.m. Pay phone.
He read the words twice before stuffing the paper in his pocket and turning on his heel to stalk toward his office.
There was no question that the only way to obtain the tapes was through illegal measures. He’d been on the wrong side of the law more than his fair share and for far less altruistic reasons. So what if he’d given up that life more than a decade ago? Sarabeth was special. And the thought of seeing even a single hair on her head harmed made his chest hurt. He wasn’t in a mental place to think too hard on the whys of that. If he wanted to ensure her safety, there was work to be done.
His conscience kicked hard at the thought of doing any favors for the mob and the possible ramifications of those videos going missing, but the more he knocked the pros and cons around, the more he was convinced of what he needed to do. The tapes were part of the evidence against Nico, and now that Nico was dead, they might never come out of their box again. It wasn’t as if their disappearance would hurt the DA’s case against him. He’d paid the ultimate price for his crimes already, and once Vito got what he wanted, it could all be over. Sarabeth would be safe and free to choose how she lived the rest of her life.
Maybe she’d even choose him.
Either way, he’d be damned if someone was going to tell him she wasn’t worth the risk.
She was the only risk worth taking.
…
When she woke up, Sarabeth shifted in the bed to find an empty pillow and a man-shaped imprint on the mattress. The place where Gavin normally slept had gone cold since he’d left, and the feel of the cool pillow left a residual chill in her heart. The disappointment of not finding him beside her was a splash of water on the red-hot trend her imagination had taken over the past five days. But the thing that was most unsettling wasn’t that he wasn’t there, it was how much she wanted him to be. How much she’d expected him to be.
The past few nights they’d fallen into a routine where they’d cook together, often taking an hour or more as they talked and he showed her the proper way to grill a steak or make a meatloaf. She’d actually managed a half-decent pair of pork chops almost totally on her own the night before. Sure, the mashed potatoes were a little gluey, but all in all, not bad. After dinner, they’d have a glass of wine and talk some more, or watch a movie. And then? Things invariably heated up. Her cheeks burned at the memory of some of those nights. She loved being with him that way. Loved who she was becoming. Braver. Bolder. The Sarabeth she felt like she would have been all along if she had the freedom to grow her own way.
But almost as good as the sex were the moments right after. The quiet moments right before they fell asleep, when he would nudge her to her side and spoon her from behind. One hand resting lightly on the flat of her stomach, his thighs pressed against the back of hers, his breath washing over the nape of her neck as they drifted off.
He was becoming a habit. A lovely, warm, sexy, and entirely too tempting habit.
Her throat went tight, and she shot upright in the bed. Leaning off to the side, she scooped up the first piece of clothing she found—a discarded button-down shirt Gavin had left on the floor the day before—and yanked it on. It still smelled like his musky, woody cologne, and she breathed deeply, taking in his scent. The smell comforted her.
Not good.
When she’d slept with him that first night, it had been because she wanted him, and for no other reason. Now, five days later, she was perched precariously between wanting to run from his house before she fell so hard that she couldn’t make herself go, and taking her chances and seeing if he could possibly feel what she’d been feeling.
He’d enjoyed her body for the past few days, and they’d fallen into a routine in the evenings, but in between there were times where he grew distant again. Most of the day, he left her alone with her books when he was off working or on the telephone, and he was very tight-lipped. When they practiced self-defense, it was often in silence, and even then, he seemed distracted.
Was that some sort of checks and balances system? Where he was pulling away half the time so he could make sure he didn’t get truly close to begin with? He had no use for the neat, proper life he knew she’d go back to, and she was pretty sure that his edge-of-your-seat, he-may-never-come-home lifestyle wasn’t something she could handle either.
She stood, suddenly sure of one thing. If she kept on this road with him, she was going to wind up in a world of hurt.
Her throat ached as she collected her clothing from his floor, carrying all her belongings back into the spare room he’d shown her on their second day together because that was where it, and she, needed to stay. She might be in physical danger right now, but if she let Gavin get any closer than she had already, there was no way she was coming out of this in one piece.
The downstairs door banged open as she began picking out her outfit for the day. She dropped the clothes and rushed to the top of the stairs to find Gavin already stalking toward her.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said gruffly, pushing past her to head toward his bedroom. He’d barely looked at her as he went. “You’ll need to stay here, you understand? With your gun. Just in case.” He wrenched open drawers of his dresser, pawing through the garments until he found little metal gears and gadgets she’d never seen before.
She swallowed hard, reminding herself to maintain her resolve. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been contacted by someone who assures me that if I get the footage from The Healing Place’s security cameras, you’ll be safe.”
“Who contacted you? And what do they need the footage for?” Her heart pounded at the thought of being free of the constant fear, but at the same time, the fact that he was being very vague wasn’t lost on her.
“Look, the less you know right now, the better. I’m going to do what I need to do in order to make sure you’re safe. I feel confident that if we play these cards right, they’ll call off the dogs and you’ll be free to go.”
Free to go?
Her heart plummeted into her stomach. “What do mean, ‘what you need to do’?”
He didn’t answer, but his face said it all and her skin went cold with growing horror as she took in the items in his hands.
“You’re not seriously thinking about breaking into the police station evidence locker, are you?”
He closed his eyes and slumped against the dresser. His voice was low and tight. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet but I have to consider all options right now.”
“Are you crazy?” she whispered furiously. “You could be arrested. You could ruin your career, and Maddy’s. Not to mention, how do you know you can even trust these pe—”
“I’m going to weigh it all out and decide what the right way to handle this is. I’m the expert. This isn’t up for debate.” He grabbed a leather satchel from the far right drawer of the dresser and shook it out, muttering over a checklist to himself as he went.
“Exactly right, it isn’t. I know you understand criminals and all that MacGyver stuff you do, but that doesn’t mean you can be a criminal. It’s not in you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, providing a mental congratulations to herself on a point well made.
The right side of his mouth curled in response. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I’m a mental health professional.” Bam. Two points Sarabeth. Zero points crime.
“That you are, and you’re a good one, I’m sure, but I’m what you’d call a retired pro in terms of crime. When I was in Edinburgh, I had to get by somehow. My ma was…unavailable, so I found other ways. I lived that way from the time I was five until I became an Army Ranger. Never once was I caught. Trust me when I tell you I can handle it.”
“But it was petty stuff, right? Like, Les Mis steal-a-loaf-of-bread-to-eat type of stuff?” Her voice hitched in the middle of the sentence, and he turned away from her as he stuffed the rest of his trinkets in the bag.
When he was finished, he took a deep breath and a step toward her, his cool hazel gaze penetrating hers. “Would that make you feel better?” The warmth of his breath brushed her face, and she bit back the urge to lick her lips and taste the minty flavor he’d left on her mouth the night before. But no, right now, they were serious.
“It would make me feel better if you didn’t go at all.”
He leaned in close, pausing a millimeter from her lips before dipping lower to plant a kiss on her collarbone, his lips traveling the length of her neck before she felt his warm breath tingling her earlobe.
She made an attempt to push him away, but his grip shackled her wrists and pressed her against the dresser, knocking over the picture of Maddy with his force. “I think I know another way I can make you feel better,” he breathed. Her back arched into him, her core pressing against his hot, hard bulge. With deft movements, he released her wrists and tore open the shirt she’d been wearing, sending buttons flying in every direction.
Her breath caught in her throat as he closed his mouth over her pert nipple, sucking on the sensitive tip until her toes curled and her thighs quaked. “Gavin…”
“Don’t you want to feel better?” he asked, raising a hand to stroke her other tight peak.
“I…” she started, and he got on his knees, reaching to massage both of her breasts, and his mouth traveled lower, uninhibited by her lack of panties.
His tongue flicked against her bud, and he looked up at her, his chin resting against the light trail of hair that led to her center. “Yes?” he asked, his hands gripping her waist.
“Yes,” she whispered, part of her wanting to resist, but the bigger part knowing, one way or another, their time together was coming to a close. She blinked back the hot rush of tears and let herself sink into the moment.
His tongue entered her again, tracing her folds before dipping inside of her, then pulling back and toying with her clit once more. She wanted to scream, to lose herself in his touch. Each time was more electric that the last, and the way his tongue moved against her was building to a full-on power surge. It was too much for one woman to bear.