My heart clenched, and I swallowed hard. “She was adamant about me not buying her out at first.”
“The Elin we know, the Elin you love—” I glared at him, but he gave me a hard look. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t love that woman. I’ve known you for too long, Gavriel. We’ve been through too much. My statement stands. The woman we know now wouldn’t do this.”
I studied Hillabrand. “He said that she had a change of heart. Hasn’t fed him information for months.”
The thought of my father discovering Elin's possible betrayal or worse, our plans for Rhea, made my blood turn to acid in my veins. My hands, still slick with Hillabrand's blood, clenched into fists so tight, my knuckles cracked. I whirled toward Harley, my vision edged with red, jaw clenched so hard I tasted metal.
"If that sadistic bastard finds out anything—"
“He touches her and I’ll kill him myself.”
Harley's face hardened into granite, his eyes burning with a ferocity I'd only seen a handful of times. "I'll protect her with my last fucking breath, Gavriel. My oath and dedication are to you, never that worthless piece of shit you call father. I'd put a bullet in his skull before I'd let him touch her. You. Know. That."
Silence filled the space, the only sound Hillabrand’s blood dropping onto the concrete floor. We waited for a long time before he stirred. When his eyes fluttered open, it took amoment before they cleared and his attention was fully on me again.
"Here's what happens now, Agent Hillabrand." I kept my voice conversational, as if discussing the weather. "You're going to tell me every single detail about this operation. Entry points, surveillance positions, personnel. And if I think you're holding back, even slightly—" I gestured to the tools on the table. "We've barely scratched the surface of what I can do."
His eyes welled with tears, a broken man staring into the face of his nightmare.
"Start talking."
And he did. For the next hour, through sobs and gasps and pleas, he emptied himself of every scrap of information. I didn't need to use the tools again—the threat had been enough. By the time he finished, he was pale from blood loss and I knew more about the operation than most of the agents involved.
I stood, wiping my bloody hands on a rag. "You've been very helpful."
"Please," he whispered, his voice raw. "You said you'd let me go."
I paused, tilting my head. "Did I? I don't recall making that promise."
The hope drained from his face, replaced by the dull acceptance of a man who knew he was already dead. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Unfortunately for Hillabrand, his body wasn’t able to hold up as long as I would have preferred. When the light drained from his eyes, I punched him repeatedly just to get some of the remaining anger out before I went and investigated the allegations of Elin’s involvement.
His face was a bloody mess, completely unrecognizable by the time I was done. I stood there, drawing heavy, deep breaths,trying to calm the rage that was billowing inside of me. Yet, as that rage stood before my heart, trying to shred it, the love I felt for her stood in front, denying access.
There had to be some reasonable answer to all of this. I tried to collect my thoughts, but dread filled my veins in anticipation of what she would say when I confronted her. Each ragged breath I took tasted like guilt and copper.
The last couple months, Elin had let me in further than I thought she would, and I’d let myself believe it was real. I’d convinced myself that the distance between us was only temporary, that the way she softened when she laughed meant she’d been opening up, even if she’d never say it. The memory of sharing the bed in her office haunted me. There were nights, after the world was quiet and the business of the day was only a memory, when I would lie in bed and imagine her beside me, breath rising and falling, the curve of her back against my chest the only evidence I needed that I was safe and wanted.
Now, every one of those small moments, her head on my shoulder, her laughter, the warmth of her fingers on my wrist, were lined with barbed wire. Had it all been a trick? Was every smile a calculated move, every sigh a message to someone else?
Harley, always the practical one, stepped between me and the corpse and grabbed my shoulders. His grip was firm but not unkind. “Gavriel,” he said, shaking me a little, his knuckles white against the fabric of my shirt. “Stop spinning out. We’ll figure this out. You need to talk to her.”
I shoved my bloody hands into the sink and scrubbed hard, as if I could scrape away the doubt, but it only spread deeper. I stared at him. “What’s the point? If she’s the leak, if she’s the reason—”
“She’s not,” Harley said, and for a second there was an echo of the little boy I’d known, the one who’d followed me around theblock and wanted to know what being a grown-up felt like. “She loves you. Anyone with blood in their veins can see that.”
There was nothing in his eyes but conviction, and for a moment I almost let myself believe him.
“She’s had dozens of chances to bury you, if that’s what she wants. She hasn’t. She’s got her own reasons for every move she makes, but you? You’re the only one she lets herself be honest with.” Harley’s jaw was set, the old scar on his chin puckering with the effort of holding back everything he wanted to say. “Go to her. Don’t hide from this. You’re not your father, Gavriel—you don’t run from the people you love.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “You sure about that?”
He shook me harder. “Yeah, I am. You’re more than your old man, and you’re more than this shitty basement.” He let go, and his voice dropped. “So, go. Find her.”
I nodded, but fear had already wrapped itself around my spine. Elin. I could see the way her eyes narrowed when she was thinking hard. I could smell the scent of her shampoo on the pillow.
