adrian-run-to-you-v1

by Lara Adrian

  Beck swears under his breath. “You think it’s been there that long?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s possible.” I clamp my jaw, if only to maintain some level of calm when I consider that someone has had digital access to Evelyn and her workplace for an indeterminate time. “According to the electrician, equipment like this can suck down a lot of energy when it’s in use. This one caused an overload on the shop’s electrical system, which is why the power went out last week. The only good news is the surge also fried the components of the device.”

  “Evie was working late that night by herself. She said she thought she heard someone trying to get in the back door.”

  “Yes. All the more reason to expedite the new security system and camera installations. I made a few calls on my way here. I have a crew available to work the weekend to get it completed as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, I agree.” Beck lets out a weary breath. “I appreciate all you’re doing, Gabe.”

  Nick nods in confirmation. “Whatever you need, consider it yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beck’s serious gaze moves from Nick to me. “Does Evie know about any of this?”

  “No. Not yet. I wanted to bring it to you first.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way for now.”

  “Yeah, about that.” I clear my throat, working up to what I’ve been wanting to suggest for several days. “This actually might be a good time to bring her up to speed on everything. I don’t think we need to keep her in the dark. In fact, I prefer we don’t. As the one tasked with keeping her safe, it’s my opinion that it will be easier to do that if she’s informed.”

  “You’d rather scare her before we have answers?”

  “From what I’ve seen, she’s a level-headed, strong woman. She can handle this.”

  Beck’s misgiving is written all over his face. “You’ve known my sister for, what, barely a couple of weeks? You’ve been watching her from a distance, Gabe. I’ve known Evie all her life. I’m fairly certain I know what she can handle, or not. I’ve seen up close what stress and anxiety will do to her.”

  I sympathize with him, all the more now that Evelyn has shared some of her past struggles with me. I also know that it was her brother who protected her. He’s still trying to fill that role now, still seeing her as the fragile young woman she had been when her life had spun so dangerously out of control.

  The last thing I want to see is a repeat of those troubles for her. The woman I know is stronger than that. I’ve seen it myself. I trust that she can handle anything life throws at her now, but at the end of the day, that’s not my call to make. I’m the hired help, even if my feelings have crossed that line a long time ago.

  “Someone slashed her tires the other day,” I remind both men. “And now we’ve got hard evidence that the boutique has been compromised. Not to mention her personal belongings. I don’t think her purse went missing by accident last week.”

  “You think one of the employees took it?” Beck asks.

  I shrug. “I think someone did. And I think if we find out who it was, we’ll find out who’s responsible for everything else that’s going on.”

  “Then go dig up those answers, Gabe. When you get to the bottom of this, then I’ll explain everything to my sister. But don’t expect me to put her through any unnecessary pain in the meantime. I love her too much to see her hurt for any reason.”

  I can’t argue that. No more than I’m prepared to admit just how intimate my knowledge of Evelyn has become. And I can’t tell him how every moment I withhold the truth from her--about the potential threats I’m aware of, and about my covert responsibility to protect her--is the worst kind of torture I’ve ever endured.

  Beck seems to take my silence as agreement.

  “Do you think she’s in danger right now?” he asks me, his low voice filled only with concern.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it, no.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” he says. “I’m counting on you, Gabe. I know you’re not going to let me down. I also know I don’t need to tell you how grateful I am for everything you’re doing for us. I can’t thank you enough for dropping everything to watch over her.”

  I nod, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that claws at me. My friend wouldn’t be thanking me if he knew how I’d greeted his sister this morning. Or all the other mornings--and nights--I’ve spent in Evelyn’s bed this week.

  I avert my gaze, looking at Nick as he inspects the cooked spying device. “What are you thinking this is about, Gabe? Corporate espionage, or something more personal?”

  “I don’t think we can rule out anything.” I glance at Beck. “How much do you know about her coworker Kat?”

  He shrugs. “Only the basics, and things my sister’s told me. I do know Katrina Davis came to L’Opale from another lingerie house. She’s been Evie’s design partner all this time, so that’s five years now. Why do you ask?”

  “She walked off the job today.”

  “You got to be kidding.”

  I give a sober shake of my head. “When the electrician and I arrived, Kat was storming out of the shop after what sounded like a heated argument with Evelyn over a difficult client.”

  “Shit.” Beck scrubs a hand over his jaw. “That doesn’t sound like Kat. To hear my sister tell it, she’s always been a consummate professional.”

  I nod. “That’s my understanding too. Even so, I’d like permission to check her background. Just to see if there are any red flags we should be aware of.”

  “Are you saying you think she might have something to do with all of this?”

  “Like I said, we shouldn’t rule out anything.” I glance at both men. “I want to run background checks on all L’Opale employees and everyone with access to the boutique.”

  “Fine with me,” Beck says.

  Nick gives an affirmative dip of his head too. “Based on this development today, I’d personally feel a lot better knowing Evelyn has eyes on her around the clock.”

  “Gabe, do you have the resources on hand for that?”

  I practically choke at the idea of putting other security personnel on Evelyn’s watch. Especially when the person she’s spending the most time with lately is me.

  “I’ll make sure she’s covered,” I answer, mentally signing myself up for the job.

  It’s not as though I would entrust her safety to anyone else, no matter how much confidence I have in my other team members.

  Evelyn’s well-being, and her exquisite body, are mine to protect.

  And as I agree to extend my secret duty to watch over her, I can only hope that this decision to covertly keep her safe isn’t going to cost me her heart one day.

  23

  ~ Evelyn ~

  Gabe’s rain check for our missed lunch date yesterday was an early dinner of Chinese takeout and a sleepover at my place.

  Not that either one of us got much sleep.

  I’m pretty sure my satisfied smile hasn’t faded even a little since I arrived at the boutique this Saturday morning. Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s spent nearly the whole day in the shop with me, he and a small crew of technicians showing up first thing to install the new security cameras and wireless alarm system that I thought weren’t due to arrive until next week.

  Megan and I closed the boutique early to give the guys space to work, and I sent her and the weekend sales team home to enjoy some time away from the shop for once.

  I have to admit, it doesn’t seem the same without Kat here. I still regret the way things ended yesterday. I’ve tried calling her a few times since she walked out, but she won’t pick up. Meanwhile, I’m scrambling to decide between gearing up to hire someone new or finding a way to juggle all of L’Opale’s clients on my own.

  It’s after five o’clock and I’ve still got several projects open in front of me on my design table when Gabe appears in my open doorway. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up
over his sexy forearms. He wore jeans in to the shop today, and I’m not sure which Gabe I find hotter--laid-back in denim or take-no-prisoners in his usual dark suit and tie.

  Fortunately, I don’t have to choose. I have them both. And I must have done something right in this life, because by some gift of fate, I also have naked and glorious Gabe, which is the version I’m craving now.

  “The guys are wrapping things up and taking off,” he says, his tone low enough not to be heard over the sounds of chatter and jangling equipment carrying in from the back of the shop. “How long do you need before you’re ready to call it a day?”

  I glance at my desk full of work. “About three months. But how does five minutes sound?”

  “Like four minutes too long,” he says, giving me a hungry look that almost melts me in my seat. “I want to take you out tonight, Ms. Beckham. Not here, but in my neck of the woods. I want to show you where I live.”

  I raise my brows, surprised and delighted by the invitation. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Noble. What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Everything.” He studies me for a moment, his hazel eyes serious and contemplative, promising more than just a date. “Five minutes, Ms. Beckham. Then you’re at my mercy for the entire weekend.”

  I lick my lips, my pulse skittering with excitement. “I can hardly wait.”

  ~ ~ ~

  When we get to my apartment, Gabe instructs me to change into casual clothes and pack an overnight bag. Wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, I have no idea where we’re going, or what to expect when we get there.

  I’m even more confused twenty minutes later, when he parks outside a gymnasium near Harlem. There are only a couple dozen vehicles in the lot, mostly pickups of various types and a few beefy SUVs. Although the lights are on in the building, for a Saturday evening in New York, the place is far from busy.

  Gabe turns off the Lexus’s engine and smiles at me. “You like watching basketball?”

  I frown, confused. “Sure.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Come on.”

  We get out of the car and he grabs a black nylon duffel bag from the trunk. With the bag in one hand and my fingers caught in his other, he takes me into the large square building. Inside the lobby are bulletin boards filled with schedule sheets and activity calendars, as well as brochures and flyers offering various services and counseling centers geared toward veterans.

  We walk past, Gabe leading me down a wide corridor toward the open doors of the gymnasium. The rhythmic thud of basketballs bouncing on hardwood and the inviting sounds of men and women laughing and conversing echo out to the hallway.

  As we near the entrance, a blond man in a wheelchair rolls out to the corridor. He’s thirty-something and good-looking, and although he’s got all of his limbs, his legs are thin and immobile beneath the knee-length hems of his red basketball shorts.

  He stops when he sees Gabe, and his face breaks into a wide smile. “Hey, Noble. Good to see you, man.”

  Gabe lets go of my hand to clasp his friend’s. “How’s it going, Webber?”

  “Oh, you know. Same shit, different day.” He says it with an affable grin, his gaze cutting to me every few seconds. “Hello.”

  I smile. “Hi.”

  Gabe clears his throat. “Sorry. Webber, this is Evelyn. Evelyn, this is Chris Webber.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He stares for a longer moment, his head tilted, eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Anyone ever tell you that you kind of look like that famous model from a few years ago?”

  “I have heard that comment once or twice before, yes.” My smile broadens with my wry reply. “Probably because I am her. Or used to be, that is.”

  His brows shoot up, and I swear I don’t know who looks more surprised by my casual admission--Gabe, or his friend. I have to admit, I’ve surprised myself too.

  If I’d encountered this question even a few weeks ago, I would have been tempted to shut it down with a polite deflection--maybe even a sharp denial. But now, standing next to Gabe, I don’t feel trapped by who I used to be. I don’t feel exposed, or fearful.

  Instead, with Gabe’s warm gaze on me, and his hand slipping easily around mine, I feel strangely liberated. I feel comfortable, free.

  I feel safe in a way that I haven’t felt for a very long time.

  Gabe smiles at me, a private glance that is both a comfort and an enticing promise.

  “Well, damn.” Webber chuckles, reaching up to punch Gabe in the arm. “No wonder we haven’t seen you around here lately. O’Connor’s been trying to cover for you, said you were putting in a lot of hours at that swank security job you’re working.”

  Gabe grunts, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the subject of his job. “Is O’Connor here?”

  “Yeah, she’s inside with everyone else. Now we’re only waiting on Nicholson and then we can start the game.” Webber gives me a nod. “Good to meet you. ‘Scuse me for a minute. I gotta go call Nicholson and light a fire under his ass to get down here.”

  Webber rolls away and Gabe leads me into the gymnasium. Inside is a regulation-size basketball court where a group of seven men and women are gathered on the sidelines, some in wheelchairs like Webber, others standing on prosthetic limbs.

  Near the group is a collection of ten specially designed chairs with low backs, tilted wheels, and a metal frame fitted around the bottom of the chair with a small caster at each corner.

  “Gabe!” His friend O’Connor raises her left hand in greeting as soon as she spots us.

  She breaks from the group to walk toward us and I realize that not only does she have a prosthetic right arm and hand, but she also wears a prosthesis on her right leg. The gleaming metal and plastic limb extends from her sneakered foot to above her knee in the cutoff sweats she’s wearing.

  “I’m glad you made it tonight,” she says as she nears us, smiling at him for a moment before turning her warm greeting on me. “Hi, Evelyn. We haven’t formally met yet. I’m Kelsey. Although most people I know call me O’Connor, so take your pick. Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you.”

  I nod. “Thanks. I’m happy to meet you too.”

  She swivels another look at Gabe, giving him an impatient up-and-down wave of her hand. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to suit up and strap into a chair so my team and I can kick your team’s butt all over this court?”

  “You can try, anyway,” Gabe quips.

  “Wait a second.” I can’t mask my surprise. “You play wheelchair basketball?”

  “Most every Saturday night for the past year or so,” he says with a shrug. “O’Connor talked me into joining the group. Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  We walk over with Kelsey to where the other players are gathered and I meet the four men--Rob Sanchez, Denny Adams, John Tuttle, and Bruce Goldberg--and the two women--Tameka Jenkins and Lori Murphy. Everyone is friendly and inviting, so when Gabe excuses himself to the locker room to change out of his office clothes, I fall into the relaxed conversations as if I might actually belong here.

  When he returns a few minutes later I have to add another version of Gabe’s hotness to my list, because he is rocking the hell out of a basic black basketball jersey and shorts. The jersey showcases his powerful arms and broad shoulders, and the waistband of the loose-fitting shorts cling to his trim hips below the muscled taper of his waist and abs.

  He strolls up with an easy, confident stride and a dimpled smile that makes my mouth water and my core bloom with instant heat as I mentally undress him with my eyes.

  He leans in close, his mouth hovering beside my ear. “If I knew you’d look at me like that, I would’ve brought to you one of these games a lot sooner than now.”

  It’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around him. Not only to give in to the arousal that’s stirring to life inside me, but out of simple joy and affection.

  Dear God, I’m falling fast and hard for this man.

  But it’s more th
an that.

  If I’m being honest with myself, I already have fallen.

  The admission sits on the tip of my tongue as he draws back from me, his hazel eyes lit with amusement and something more elusive. Something solemn and intense. I hold my breath because for a moment, I wonder if he’s feeling the same way toward me.

  “Eve . . .” My name is a rough whisper as he rests his palm tenderly on the side of my face.

  I don’t know what he might have wanted to say, because in the next heartbeat Webber rolls back into the gymnasium to announce that Nicholson won’t be coming tonight, after all.

  Groans go up from several of the players.

  “Shit.” Sanchez, a triple amputee, lets his curse fly along with the ball he’s been holding in his lap. The basketball swishes into the center of the net, a three-point field goal wasted.

  Another player, one of the two women, Tameka Jenkins, holds up her hand. “I’ll sit out. We can manage playing with teams of four tonight.”

  Webber shakes his head at the tall, dark-skinned beauty whose left arm is nothing but a short stump at her shoulder. “No way, Jenkins. You’re our best center, and I want you on my team.”

  “You know, guys,” O’Connor says, “we do have a tenth person on the court tonight.”

  All heads swivel in my direction. My panicked gaze moves from Gabe to each of his friends, who are staring at me in expectant silence.

  “W-what? Me?” I stammer in response, shaking my head. “Ah . . . I don’t--”

  “I think it’s a great idea.” Gabe’s deep voice is calm, leaving me little room to argue. His hand drifts down to mine, idly stroking my fingers, quelling the little bubble of alarm rising up in me. “Do you know how to play?”

  “Yes. But I’m not--”

  “Missing a limb?” Jenkins asks, a note of challenge in her voice.

  “I was going to say I’m not dressed to play,” I clarify, glancing down at my jeans and T-shirt. “But I’ve never used a wheelchair before, either.”