I was about to pull my keys out of my purse when Cary came into the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot.
He grabbed whipped cream out of the fridge but paused before he headed back out. “You okay?”
“Yep, I’m good.”
“You talk to your mom yet?”
“No, but I’m planning on it.”
He leaned his hip against the counter. “Anything else on your mind?”
I shooed him off. “Go have fun. I’m all right. We can talk tomorrow.”
“About that. What time should I be ready?”
“Brett wants to pick us up at five, so can you meet me at the Crossfire?”
“No problem.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”
I waited until I heard Cary’s door shut, then grabbed my keys and went next door. The moment I entered the dark and quiet apartment, I knew Gideon wasn’t there, but I searched the rooms anyway. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was … off.
Where was he?
Deciding to call Angus, I walked back to my apartment, grabbed the burner phone, and took it into my bedroom.
And found Gideon gripped in a nightmare.
Startled, I shoved my door shut and locked it. He thrashed on my bed, his back arching with a hiss of pain. He was still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his big body stretched atop the comforter as if he’d fallen asleep waiting for me. His laptop had been knocked to the floor, still open, and papers were crackling under the violence of his movements.
I rushed to him, trying to figure out a way to wake him that wouldn’t put me in danger, knowing he’d hate himself if he hurt me by accident.
He growled, a low feral sound of aggression. “Never,” he bit out. “You’ll never touch her again.”
I froze.
His body jerked violently, and then he moaned and curled to his side, shuddering.
The sound of his pain galvanized me. I climbed onto the bed, my hand touching his shoulder. The next moment I was on my back, pinned as he loomed over me, his eyes fixed and sightless. Fear paralyzed me.
“You’re going to know what it feels like,” he whispered darkly, his hips ramming against mine in a sick imitation of the love we shared.
I turned my head and bit his biceps, my teeth barely denting the rigid muscle.
“Fuck!” He yanked away from me and I dislodged him as Parker had taught me to do, throwing him to the side and freeing myself to leap from the bed and run.
“Eva!”
Spinning, I faced him, my body poised to fight.
He slid from the bed, nearly landing on his knees before he found his balance and straightened. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep … Christ, I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” I said, with forced calm. “Relax.”
He raked a hand through his hair, his chest heaving. His face was sheened with sweat, his eyes reddened. “God.”
I stepped closer, fighting the lingering fear. This was part of our lives. We both had to face it. “Do you remember the dream?”
Gideon swallowed hard and shook his head.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Damn it. You have to—”
“You were dreaming about Nathan. How often do you do that?” I reached him and took his hand.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!” he snapped, bristling. “I rarely remember my dreams.”
I pulled him toward the bathroom, deliberately keeping him moving forward both physically and mentally. “The detectives came to see me today.”
“I know.”
The hoarseness of his voice concerned me. How long had he been asleep and dreaming? The thought of him tormented by his own mind, alone and in pain, wounded me. “Did they visit you, too?”
“No. But they’ve been making inquiries.”
I flicked the lights on and he stopped, his grip tightening to make me stop, too. “Eva.”
“Hop in the shower, ace. We’ll talk when you’re done.”
He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbone. “You’re moving too fast. Slow down.”
“I don’t want to get hung up every time you have a nightmare.”
“Take a minute,” he murmured, lowering his forehead to rest against mine. “I frightened you. I’m frightened. Let’s just take a minute and deal with that.”
I softened, my hand coming up to rest over his racing heart.
He buried his nose in my hair. “Let me smell you, angel. Feel you. Say I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay.”
“It’s not okay,” he argued, his voice still low and coaxing. “I should’ve waited for you at our place.”
I rested my cheek against his chest, loving the idea of “our” place. “I’ve been checking my phone all night, waiting for a text or message.”
“I worked late.” His hands slid under my shirt, brushing over the bare skin of my back. “Then I came here. I wanted to surprise you … make love to you …”
“I think we might be free,” I whispered, clutching at his shirt. “The detectives … I think we’re going to be okay.”
“Explain.”
“Nathan had this bracelet he always wore—”
“Sapphires. Very feminine.”
I looked up at him. “Yes.”
“Go on.”
“They found it on the arm of a dead mob guy. Russian Mafia. They’re running with the theory that it was a criminal association gone bad.”
Gideon stood very still, his gaze narrowed. “That’s interesting.”
“It’s weird. They were talking about photos of me and sex trafficking, which just doesn’t mesh with—”
His fingers pressed against my lips, quieting me. “It’s interesting because Nathan was wearing that bracelet when I left him.”
I watched Gideon take a shower while I brushed my teeth. His soapy hands slid over his body with economical indifference, his movements brisk and rough. There was none of the intimate worship I caressed him with, none of the awe or love. He was done in minutes, stepping out of the shower in all his nude glory before grabbing a towel and scrubbing away the water on his skin.
He came up behind me when he was done, gripping my hips and pressing a kiss to my nape. “I don’t have any underworld ties,” he murmured.
I finished rinsing my mouth and looked at him through the mirror. “Does it bother you to have to say that to me?”
“I’d rather say it than have you ask.”
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to protect you.” Turning, I faced him. “Could it be Angus?”
“No. Tell me how the mob guy died.”
My fingertips drifted over the ridges of his abdomen, loving the way the muscles flexed and clenched in response to my touch. “One of his own took him out. Retaliation. He was under surveillance, so Graves said they’ve got proof of that.”
“So it’s someone connected, then. To either the mob or the authorities, or both. Whoever’s responsible, they chose a fall guy who could take the blame and not pay for it.”
“I don’t care who arranged it, just so long as you’re safe.”