The man barely glances at him. "I'd like to speak with Mrs. Hale."
"Mrs. Hale," he says again, looking at me, "I'm Detective Green?—"
Gabe moves in front of me. Fast. Close enough that I can't see anything but his back.
"Didn't you hear me?" His voice is low and deadly in a way I've only ever heard once. Right before he burned the man's finger off. "Arrest her or call her fucking lawyer."
The detective doesn't flinch. "That is not how this works, Mr. D'Amato. And you know that."
Arrest me? A chill moves through me, and I automatically step closer to Gabe's back, putting my hands on the arm of his jacket.
Gabe doesn't move. "That is exactly how this works," he disagrees with an edge that sounds like it's costing him the last of his control. "Detective Greenwald."
For the first time all day, something cuts through the fog. And it isn't grief. I feel… protected. So incredibly protected, it sends a chill down my spine. Not because I'm afraid of what's in front of me—but because of what stands between me and it.
Two days later…
Two days. That's how long I've managed to keep my distance. Two days of giving her space. Of not hovering. Of not dragging her deeper into my world than she already is. I make sure she eats. Drinks. Sleeps. Or at least I try to. I check in when she needs it. Step back when she doesn't.
It's… restrained. Because every instinct in me says do the opposite. Stay close. Don't let her out of my sight. Don't let her breathe without me knowing. Yeah. That's a problem.
In the meantime, I've been working relentlessly on trying to find Salazar. The man's gone to ground like a fucking ghost. No calls. No movement. No mistakes. He didn't even show for the meeting. Massimo islivid. And that's putting it mildly.
"Nobody stands me up," he growled. "Especially not some low-life cartel dog."
Translation? Salazar's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet.
But until he is, the threat to Audra is still very real. The problem is that keeping her locked up in the penthouse only works for so long. This morning, she was pacing like a caged cat. Asking me about the Cartel and Salazar. Getting that look in her eyes again. The one I saw in the warehouse. The one that says she's about to do something reckless. I need to redirect that. With finesse.
I come up with a plan. Not a perfect one. But it'll do.
Stacy's been… stable. For the most part. Still complaining. Still narrating her life like it's a one-woman show. But physically? Better. Mentally? Debatable. Right now, she's fixated on one thing. One of her cats.
"Mittens needs a nail trim," she told me yesterday. I'm not sure if she was expecting me to actually give a fuck. I don't.
Apparently, the thing is feral. Mean. Untouchable. I suggested a tranquilizer. She looked at me like I'd just proposed murder. Probably fair. Instead, she recruited Mario and Jack. That went about as well as expected.
Both of them ended up with the doc doing a house call, giving them a tetanus shot. The cat? Untouched. Still reigning supreme.
I stand by the window now, watching the city wake up beneath me. Vegas. Bright and alive. The first tourists are starting to show their faces in the late morning glow, having no idea what's moving underneath it. I glance toward the hallway. Toward wheresheis.
Audra.
And I already know she's not going to stay passive much longer. Not without pushing back. Not without demanding control. I can't have that. Not right now. Not when someone out there is still trying to kill her.
Hence the plan to give her something to occupy her time. Something that will help her defend herself if it comes to that. Not that I'd let that happen, but… it might serve two purposes.
I push off the window and head down the hall. Knock once. Then open the door. She's inside. Sitting on the bed, staring at her phone. And for a second—just a second—everything else fades. She's the most breathtaking thing I've ever laid eyes on. It's not just the way she looks. It's… everything. The layers. The contradictions. The strength I've seen crack and rebuild itself in real time. There's more to her than meets the eye. More than she even realizes.
A diamond has facets. She has depths. I have a feeling she's just as hard. A tear slips free, landing on the screen of her phone. My hands curl into fists. Pete.
Last night I heard Audra crying out in her sleep again, wrecked by yet another nightmare from the warehouse. I rushed to her, but her mom was already there. I heard Audra sob, Pete.
I'd bet my last dollar she's looking at pictures of him. How the fuck is a man supposed to compete with a ghost? If he were alive, I could've shown her exactly what he was. Outclassed him. Outplayed him. Taken what I wanted and made her forget his name. But no. The asshole got himself killed. And now I'm stuck here, competing with memory. With grief. With a version of him that only gets better with time.
"We're going on a trip," I tell her when she finally looks up at me.
Her brows knit slightly. Questioning. Suspicious.
