Chapter 24
Gabe
“Lena,” I called right before my office door slammed. I waited for a beat, but she didn’t return.
I glared at Preston.
“He’s renting a house about an hour forty-five minutes outside of Harlington,” Preston said, unfazed by my anger. “We need to pay him a visit.”
I looked once again at the door Lena just vacated. I hated the lingering doubt in her eyes, but Preston was right. It took us a while to track down Eli’s address. We needed to speak with him in person since he was still dodging our calls.
And the address he initially gave us when he first moved to Harlington turned up a dead end. The owner of the home said an Eli Gatlin never lived there.
“I’ll drive.” I grabbed my car keys from my desk drawer.
Less than an hour after Preston barged into my office, we pulled up in front of the small, one-story home. I noted the white sedan in the driveway, which I knew wasn’t Eli’s.
“You sure this is the right place?” I asked.
Preston double checked his phone. “This is it.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.” After months of this bullshit, I was ready to find out what the hell Eli had going on. Between his history with betting, entering underground fights, and now, missing practice, he was skating on thin ice.
“I can’t believe he’s still pulling this shit even after that exhibition fight.”
I nodded at the ire I heard in Preston’s voice.
“Look,” I said, jutting my head toward the house. There was movement from behind a curtain.
Preston and I hopped out of my car at the same time. We strolled up the driveway, and I was the first to knock. I could hear movement behind the door.
“Who is it?” a female voice questioned.
“Gabriel Townsend and Preston Scott from No Sweat.”
The lock unlatched, and slowly, the door opened. A petite woman with dark brown eyes and a suspicious crease in her forehead stared at the two of us. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Eli Gatlin,” Preston answered. “Is he here?”
She glanced between the two of us before shaking her head. “There’s no one here by that name.”
It was bullshit.
“This is twenty-one Glenn Dale Court, isn’t it?” I asked, already knowing.
“Maybe you wrote down the wrong address,” she said, trying to close the door in our faces.
“We don’t give a damn if you’re shacking up with Eli or whatever,” Preston said, his patience waning.
“We need to speak with him. He hasn’t shown up for training in weeks,” I added. “Is he here or not?”
“I already told you my answer.” She went to close the door in our faces again, but the roaring engine of Eli’s Thunderbird caught all three of our attention.
He pulled up directly behind my Camaro and hopped out of the car, a look of surprise on his face.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s what you want to ask right now?” I demanded. “What the fuck is wrong with you that you keep throwing your career away?” I was pissed and ready to beat the hell out of him from months of pent-up frustration.
