Safe from Harm (Protect & Serve #2)(25)
“No, I don’t,” Joe said without hesitation. “You know why? I can’t think about that when I’m doing my job. I can’t think about it at all. I go to work each day with the attitude that I’m coming home that night. Otherwise, I make bullshit mistakes that could get me or someone else killed.” He paused for a moment then added, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have nightmares about someone taking me out like they did Chris. Or that I don’t worry about what would happen to Sadie and our baby if something happens to me. Hell, that’s the shit that keeps me up at night, man.”
Gabe let that hang in the air for a moment, caught somewhere between gratitude and sorrow that he didn’t have a wife and family to worry about him—and that he didn’t have to worry about. He knew damned well the reason he never stayed in a relationship long was that he didn’t want that kind of worry hanging over him, didn’t want to experience the pain of that kind of loss—pain he’d witnessed when his father had been forced to watch Gabe’s mother slowly fade away in spite of all his efforts to save her. And yet Gabe envied Joe, and now his youngest brother, Kyle, for having exactly what he’d always tried to avoid.
Because at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to hold a certain woman with fiery-red hair, kiss her full lips, and hear her moan with need, and make love to her all night long and confirm that, in spite of Mark Monroe’s efforts, they were both very much alive.
“Gabe? You okay, Bro?”
Gabe actually had to think that one over. Shit. He wasn’t quite sure anymore. But he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“Well, you need anything, call me,” Joe insisted. “Sadie and I are just down the road. And if she finds out you needed something and didn’t ask, she’ll kick your ass. You know she will.”
Gabe chuckled. Sadie had been like a little sister to the Dawson boys while growing up and had needed to knock some sense into them more than once over the years. “Oh, I have no doubt. Hey, Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“I love ya, man. Stay safe.”
“Ah, hell,” Joe muttered. “Now I’m really worried. You’re getting all sentimental and shit.”
Gabe laughed. “Fuck off.”
“Back atchya, Bro.”
Gabe was still smiling when he hung up and settled back against the cushions, letting his eyes close as the oh-so-snappy dialogue of some sci-fi movie with shitty special effects droned on, lulling him into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
*
Elle sat in the driveway for a long moment, wondering what the hell she was doing. She should be home, working on…something. She certainly had cases waiting on her to get to them. But she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus on the work. The words swam before her eyes, making her head ache.
She’d tried to run errands to keep her mind off of things, to keep from reliving the horrors of Gabe being shot, of the sight of his blood on the courthouse steps, the look in his eyes when he was so worried and concerned for her, unaware of his own peril. And that, inevitably, led to thoughts of the night she’d spent in his arms and the hurt and disappointment that had followed when he’d failed to ever mention it. But that didn’t keep her from remembering the commanding tenderness of his kisses.
She gave herself a mental shake and glanced around, looking over her shoulder for the hundredth time that day. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was being watched, that someone was staring at her even now, tracking her every movement. The hair on the back of her neck prickled in warning, but there was no one. The only other person out during the sweltering Indiana summer heat was a man watering his lawn a few houses down.
She shuddered and shrugged her shoulders a few times, trying to rid herself of the feeling. She was being paranoid. Understandable under the circumstances. And, of course, if someone was watching her, sitting in her car in Gabe’s driveway for a half hour was probably starting to look a little suspicious.
She heaved a determined sigh and shoved open the car door, grabbing the bag of takeout from the passenger’s seat before she lost her nerve, and strode to Gabe’s front door, knocking firmly.
Still unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling making the base of her spine tickle with apprehension, she cast another look around her surroundings, narrowing her eyes as she scoped out the cars parked along the street. Nothing.
“Get a grip, Elle,” she murmured. “It’s nothing. You’re totally overreact—”
“Elle?”
A startled cry escaped her lips before she could check it, and the bag she was carrying dropped to the concrete porch with an ominous, wet thunk. She whirled around with wide eyes to see Gabe standing in his doorway with the aid of crutches, his aqua eyes studying her a little warily.
“Jesus!” she breathed. “You scared the crap out of me, Gabe.”
His blond brows came together in a confused frown. “Um…sorry?”
She snatched up the bag and carefully slipped past him, throwing another uneasy glance over her shoulder as she went inside. “I brought you dinner. Where’s your kitchen?”
He gestured vaguely with a jerk of his chin. “That way.”
“I hope you like Italian,” she called as she hurried to the other room, hoping he didn’t notice the warmth of humiliation flooding her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure. But I took a chance.”