What happens when a researcher obliterates every ethical line? Worse, what happens when her subject, the man she used and slept with, discovers the truth on the bestseller list?
Her stomach threatened to rebel, and she snapped the book shut. It explained so much.
“Aren’t you curious?” Emily asked, watching her closely.
Gaby nodded once, breathing slow and deliberate. After a few cycles, she found her voice. “I’m not going to betray his trust by reading about him.”
She slid the book back into its place on the shelf.
Emily studied her with admiration. “If the book was about Alec, I’m not sure I could resist.”
Gaby didn’t answer right away. She thought of Rhys, his restraint a shield he’d learned to raise long before she met him. Leland’s sage advice echoed in her head, and she repeated his words. “It’s Rhys’s story to tell.”
Emily voiced the question Gaby didn’t dare consider. “What if he never tells it?”
Several heartbeats passed.
“He said he would,” she said finally. “I believe him.”
Emily’s expression softened, though concern lingered in her eyes. “What will you do until then?”
“I don’t know. This changes everything. I guess I’ll just have to wait.” She closed her eyes. Waiting wasn’t her strength, and it felt like she’d been doing it for months.
Cari rejoined them then, book in hand. “Got it.” Her eyes went from Gaby’s pale face to Emily’s watery eyes. “What the hell happened? I was gone five minutes.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Emily said softly, slipping an arm around Gaby’s shoulders. Half a foot shorter, it was a stretch for her, but Gaby leaned into it. “Let’s go. I’d recommend a drink, but we did that after the last crisis. At the rate you’re going, we’ll have to do a Google search for the nearest AA meeting.”
Cari looked at her with wide eyes. Em shook her head and mouthed,later.
Gaby glanced at the shelf one last time. Some stories weren’t meant to be told before their time. When Rhys chose to tell his, if the day ever came, she hoped she’d still be around to hear it.
Chapter 17
The conference room at Devlin & Associates had always felt like neutral ground to her. They broke down cases, built strategies, and made sense of messes other investigators left behind. Nothing fancy. Just the work.
Tonight, it felt smaller. Not because of the number of bodies around the table but because of the two FBI agents seated at the far end. They had their jackets off and sleeves rolled up. A clear sign this wasn’t a courtesy visit.
Dev stood at the head of the table, arms folded, expression unreadable. The low murmur of conversation cut off the second he spoke.
“You all know Special Agents Keene and Price, assigned to the Human Trafficking Task Force out of Miami.”
Keene gave a short nod. Price didn’t bother. His attention was already on the screens Callan was bringing up for the briefing.
“They’re in on everything from here on out,” Dev said. “No more separate channels.”
That landed with weight. Costa Rica had changed things.
Beside her, Gaby felt Rhys react—subtle, almost imperceptible—but she’d worked with him long enough to recognize the signs. His posture stilled. His attention locked in.
Whatever rift lay between them, it didn’t affect their work. They communicated, didn’t miss steps, and worked clean. That was something, at least.
Keene picked up the briefing from Dev, his voice steady. “Álvarez has been on our radar for over two years. Financial anomalies, offshore shells, and ownership layers were enough to raise suspicion but not enough to move on. Money trails point us in the right direction. Witnesses and victims allow us to act.”
His gaze tracked briefly to Gaby, and she understood the message beneath it. They were relying on Natalie to get them their warrant.
Callan brought up the first image—a satellite view of a small island surrounded by deep-blue water.
“Álvarez Island,” Callan said. “Private dock. Helipad. Main residence. Outbuildings. No confirmed underground layout.”
