Tate hissed. “That motherfucker led us here so he could make us an offer and let us see what happened to people like Sinclair who landed on his shit list. My contact specified that the tip was anonymous. I didn’t wonder if it had been passed on by Gideon.”
“What did he say?” asked Luke. “I missed most of the conversation.”
“He pretty much confirmed that he’s Gideon York, and he told me that he’d leave us be if we all backed off. He didn’t like that I refused to fall in line.”
“Do you think he would have shot at us even if we agreed to his deal?” asked Bailey.
“No,” said Tate. “Killing a bunch of pallas cats wouldn’t have changed anything—our pride would have continued to hunt him, and they’d have hunted him harder to avenge us. That’s why he didn’t start shooting the second we arrived. He was hoping we’d take the deal and leave him be.”
“He was also probably hoping that shooting at the motel room would make us reconsider hunting him,” mused Vinnie. “Otherwise, he’d have waited for us all to step out of the building. He didn’t. He gave us one last warning so that we’d know he meant business.”
Aspen looked at Havana. “You need to be careful. There was a slight sneer in his voice every time he said your name. My opinion? He blames you for everything that’s gone wrong.”
“I’d say the same.” Bailey rubbed at one arm. “It was a good thing we hid in the bathroom, huh?”
“He probably figured we’d hide once we wondered just how he could know that anyone was in the motel room,” Vinnie theorized. “I doubt he thought the bullets would truly kill anyone.”
“People are peeking out the windows of the other rooms,” said Aspen. “Someone might call the police.”
Luke shook his head. “It’s a shifter-only motel. They won’t call the human authorities.”
Because shifter business was shifter business. They had their own rules as to how they dealt with things.
“I say it’s time we got out of here,” declared Bailey.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Tate, tossing the burner phone into the trash. “But first, I want to question the shifters here and see if anyone noticed people entering or exiting this room at some point today.”
They learned that no one heard a gunshot, so the firearm used to kill Sinclair must have had a silencer attached. One person claimed to have seen four people approach the motel room, but he’d been too far away to view their faces. The witness hadn’t thought to pay them any attention, because he’d assumed they were staying in the room.
On their way back to the large SUV, Tate slid his hand up Havana’s back and cupped her nape. “Come back to my place.”
She looked at him, her expression guarded. “Why?”
“I want to be alone with you.”
She looked at the floor and then gave a slow nod. “Okay.”
He squeezed her nape. “Okay.”
A complete bag of nerves, Havana waited as Tate unlocked his front door. Her muscles felt all twitchy. There would be nothing smooth or easy about this conversation. Nothing simple or painless about putting herself out there when the only thing she’d get in return would be an “oh shit” look. But Aspen was right. Tate would back off if he knew that he’d otherwise mislead Havana into thinking he wanted a relationship. He was too good a guy to play with her like that.
Obviously intending to give them privacy, Luke and Farrell settled on the porch swing.
Tate opened his front door and gestured for her to enter first. She reluctantly stepped inside, feeling like she was walking to her doom, and allowed him to shepherd her into his living room. The space was both masculine and stylish—deep neutral tones, dark woods, tan leather, sturdy furniture, sleek and straight lines, simple detailing, no frills or accessories.
He came up behind her, slid his hands up her arms, and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You’ve been very quiet. You okay?”
“No.” She stepped away from him and turned to face him. Tight as a drum, she bit her lip, dredging up the courage to confess the truth.
He ate up the space between them in one stride and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t let what that bastard said play on your mind. He’s not going to get to you.”
“It’s not about Gideon.”
“Then what is it? Tell me.”
She took a deep, preparatory breath. “You were right that I didn’t give you the full reason why I decided we need to go our separate ways.”
He cocked his head. “You gonna tell me the rest?”
“Yes. Just be warned that you’re not going to like what you hear.”
He backed her toward the sofa. “Then let’s get comfortable while we have this conversation.”
“That’s not—” She cut off as she plopped onto the sofa.
Tate sat beside her, twisted his body to fully face her, and splayed his hand on her thigh. “Right, go on.”
“First, I need to tell you about Dieter.”
A line briefly formed between his brows. “All right.”
“I’ve known him for a while. We never had a typical bed-buddy arrangement. We had a fling at first. Then he went traveling, so we ended it. He goes traveling a lot. And whenever he was both local and single, he’d turn up, looking to hook up. That went on for too long, but I let it, because I cared about him.”
Realizing he’d involuntarily clenched her thigh, Tate relaxed his grip. He didn’t want to know she’d cared about another man, and he wondered if it was truly a case of “past tense.” His cat slowly paced, wary of where the conversation was going.
“I thought he had to care about me if he kept coming back again and again,” she went on. “I thought maybe he just needed time before he was willing to offer me something more. But about six months ago, he gave that ‘more’ to someone else. I’m not mad at him for that. He didn’t purposely hurt me—he didn’t even know I cared about him. It still hurt, though. So when you proposed having a short, shallow fling where I wouldn’t have to give anything of myself, it suited me.”
“But you end your flings early now so that you don’t make the mistakes with others that you made with Dieter,” Tate assumed.
“How I wish that were the case. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment or something, but I made the same fuck up with you.” A somewhat self-depreciating smile touched her mouth. “Yeah, I came to want more.”
Tate could only stare at her, at a loss for what to say. Even his cat stilled in surprise.
“I could see that you didn’t feel the same—one thing I can say for you, Tate, is that you never gave me mixed signals. I didn’t misread them. I just took a chance and gave you some time because I’m that stupid.” She swallowed. “I’m done being stupid.”
He closed his eyes. “Havana—”
“You were right when you said I wasn’t ready to walk away. I’m not. But I have to do it, Tate.”
Cursing beneath his breath, Tate jumped to his feet and scrubbed a hand down his face. The same feeling he’d gotten when she first ended their fling came rushing back—the sensation of her slipping through his fingers, of him losing something important. The cord of panic returned, too, and wrapped tight around his lungs once again.