Soft candy center. Titanium shell.
The kind of woman who only cracks when the pressure is unbearable.
I snatch the spoon from his hand. “Give me that.”
I toss a dishtowel over my shoulder and taste the broth. Two more pinches of Mexican oregano, and it’s just about there.
Gabe hands me the tongs. Helpful. Like he has any idea what he’s doing. Like I haven’t been the one preparing this meal for the past hour.
“Keeping the truth from your sister is wrong. If she doesn’t know the stalker’s here, she’ll be vulnerable.”
The words turn sour the second they leave my mouth.
“I know, I know,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “But we know they’re here. We just need a few more days. They’ll slip up. I know they will.”
Desperation fractures his tone. I look at him then. Really look. Then shake my head.
“That’s hope, Gabe,” I say quietly. “We’re hoping they slip up. And what happens if they don’t?”
I gesture toward the other room. Toward the woman we’re trying to protect.
“You can’t keep her in the dark,” I continue. “Not when we have zero margin for error and no advantage.”
“But we do have an advantage,” he insists. “We have you.” He points at me. “You’re the advantage. And you have to do this.”
I’m about to give him my top ten reasons why whatever half-baked plan he’s cooked up is a terrible idea when he passes me the chipotle powder.
“Just hear me out.”
I don’t answer right away.
Because Gabe isn’t just another vet I served with. And he’s damn sure more than my employee.
He’s my best friend.
I roll my eyes, then give in. “Fine. I’ll hear you out. But not until you grab some beers.”
He grabs two Tecates from the fridge, pops the caps, and hands me one.
“There’s something I never told you about my sister.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. His voice doesn’t break. It just… thins.
“When she was ten, she was kidnapped.”
My heart slams to a halt. “Kidnapped?”
“He’d been casing the playground,” he says. “People remembered the weirdo hanging around. My sister was just… there.”
Wrong place. Wrong time.
He pulls in a breath like it costs him something. “That son of a bitch had her for almost three hours before they found her.”
Another drink. Slower this time.
“She was lucky,” he says. “Most of his victims weren’t.”
Bile climbs my throat. I don’t want to ask.
