Trusting Danger (Danger, #2)(11)

“What would you suggest I do?” he scoffed. “Have them stay in DC and meet them at a McDonald’s?”

“Of—of course not,” she stammered.

How was it that in the past twenty-four hours, she’d managed to offend nearly everyone she’d come in contact with? Gabe was good at what he did and didn’t need her second-guessing him.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking,” she said quickly. “Please forgive me.”

Gabe studied her for a moment before his smile returned and he reached for her hand. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

Gazing down at their entwined fingers, Claire recalled the night they’d met last year. Her mother had been the first to spot Gabe at a party. She’d gone up to him, introducing herself before calling over Claire.

“Well?” her mother had asked at the end of the evening.

“He seems very nice.”

“Not just nice. He’s perfect for you.”

Surprised, Claire had shaken her head. “How in the world can you know that? We’ve only just met.”

“Peter has invested with him. He knows all about his company and says it’s growing exponentially. Your father’s thinking of investing with him too.” Her mother’s face had held a look of glee. “Gabe is someone who can take care of you, Claire.”

“But I’m not looking for someone to take care of me. It’s not the nineteenth century.” Seeing her mother’s raised eyebrows, Claire had given in, knowing arguing about it was pointless. “Just don’t start planning our wedding.”

Her mother had given her a smug smile. “All right then. I’ll wait a bit.”

The memory faded as Claire lifted her head to study Gabe. He was so much like her parents. Money and power were just as important to him.

While she admired his drive and determination—her father’s too, for that matter—she wouldn’t mind a lower-profile life for herself. And a less stressful one.

As their server approached, Claire slipped her hand out of Gabe’s. There was no more time for introspection. His guests would be here soon, and she had to slip into hostess mode.





Chapter Nine





Grayson rapped his knuckles on the open door to Eli’s office. His boss was seated at his desk, the cuffs of his button-down shirt rolled up to reveal dark forearms.

Looking up from the report he was reading, Eli grinned and motioned him inside, setting aside the folder. “Come on in, Gray. How’s your mother doing?”

Grayson settled in the visitor’s chair in front of Eli’s desk and gave him an update on Eleanor’s condition, but stuck to the facts as if he were debriefing his boss on a case. How he felt about it all—the worry, the sadness, the guilt—that part he kept to himself as he forced his face to remain impassive.

Leaning back in his leather desk chair, Eli studied him for a moment, his dark brown eyes measuring. “I can arrange a leave for you.”

“That’s all right.”

Eli looked away for a moment as he slid a palm over his shaved head. It was a tell Grayson knew well; the boss wasn’t in agreement.

“What if something happens, Gray? Won’t you regret not being there?”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Did my aunt call you or something?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. Either the boss had missed the sarcasm or was choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter.

Eli’s message was coming across loud and clear. You’re in denial. It was the same thing his aunt thought, but both of them were wrong.

Grayson wasn’t in denial . . . he was well aware his mother was dying. He just couldn’t handle watching it. The fact that he was an adult made no difference; after losing his father already, the prospect of losing his mother hit him hard.

This was where he needed to be, here working the case. If he didn’t have something else to focus on, he just might lose his mind.

Locking eyes with his boss, Grayson said slowly, “I appreciate your concern. I really do.”

Eli still looked skeptical. For all his macho persona—the imposing physique, the shaved head, the dark eyes that could skewer a man—he was a softie inside and tended to mother his team. Well versed on the statistics relating to divorce and suicide in law enforcement, he regularly lectured Grayson and his teammates about mental health, and kept a close eye on each and every member of the task force. Clearly, he was evaluating Grayson’s mental state right now.

But Eli didn’t offer another argument. Instead, he let out a huff of resignation. “If you’re sure, Gray.”

“I’m positive.” Grayson took advantage of the rope Eli was giving him and switched gears, explaining his plans to meet with Darryl that night.

Eli gave him a nod. “All right. Keep me posted.”



When he received a text from Darryl that afternoon, Grayson could hardly believe his luck. Darryl had done exactly what Grayson had asked for . . . he’d set up a meeting with his supplier, Rex Gibson.

At seven p.m., Grayson strode into the Brew, a dive bar on the outskirts of DC. The dimly lit interior was packed with a rough-looking crowd of mostly male patrons, clustered in small groups in booths that lined the cinderblock walls.