Meg placed a hand on her leg. “It’s OK. You were in love with Alonzo—”
Gabi shook her head. “No. I wanted to love Alonzo. I thought he was something he wasn’t. After I knew his secrets, I wanted nothing to do with the man. I know Hunter’s secrets . . . what drives him . . .”
“And your feelings toward Hunter are . . . ?”
She couldn’t solidify them . . . not with words. Not yet. “Do you know why he needed to get married?”
Meg shook her head.
Gabi popped off the counter and grabbed Meg’s hand. She led her into a room across the hall from the master suite. “I’m thinking blue walls . . . dark blue with stars on the ceiling . . .”
“I’m not following you.”
Gabi tilted her head toward the ceiling and smiled. “His name is Hayden. Not even a year old and already in the middle of family drama.”
Meg sucked in a breath. “Hunter has a son?”
Gabi wasn’t sure how much she should say. The house was wired with sound . . . the monitors already recording their movements.
“Let’s just say . . .” Gabi started, “Hunter’s need to marry wasn’t as selfish as I first believed.”
Meg moved about the empty room, her head deep in thought. “A family is a huge step.”
“Sometimes family just happens. Look at you and me. I love my brother but always wished for a sister. And here you are.”
“Do you even want kids?”
Gabi ran her hand along the window ledge. “My biological clock, as they say, has been ticking for some time. Before Hunter, I’d given up on relationships altogether and pushed booties and bottles from my head.”
“Women have babies without active fathers all the time.”
Gabi met Meg’s gaze. “I know that. My father passed away when I was in my teens, leaving Val to step into his role. What if I’d decided to have a child on my own and something happened to me?” She shook off the empty thought of a child growing up without any parent. “I couldn’t take that risk.”
“You have us.”
“I know. With Hayden falling into our lives, Hunter and I will both determine very soon if we’re parent material.” The thought should scare her, but for a reason she couldn’t say, it didn’t.
Meg stopped moving and hugged her. “Tell me the whole story, when no one is listening,” she whispered.
Gabi nodded.
When Meg stood back, her eyes were dusty with tears. “Val and I . . . we . . . I think I might be pregnant.”
Gabi’s jaw dropped. The hair on her arms stood on end and every happy cell in her body sang. “You think?”
Meg shrugged. “I’m meeting Judy later with the pee stick. Seems wrong without Val here . . . but.”
Gabi shrieked like a teenager laying claim to the star quarterback on the football team. She hugged Meg too hard. “I’m so happy.”
“I don’t know yet.”
She waved her off. “A woman knows.”
Meg laughed. “You sound like your mother.”
“My mother knows. She knows everything. Oh, Margaret . . . I’m so happy for you.”
“Your mom has been eyeing me lately.”
Gabi hugged her again. “When is Judy coming over? We need to celebrate.”
“It might be a false alarm.”
Yeah . . . it could be. Gabi didn’t believe it was.
“Italy was a bust.” Remington sat across from Hunter in a bistro in Hollywood. “The owners of the vineyards surrounding the property that still belongs to your wife had nothing to say about the property owners. Other than nasty things that I couldn’t completely translate, the general feel was one of disdain. As for Picano’s family . . . there is a mother who refuses to acknowledge that she had a son and a grandfather who was just as mortified that anyone asked about him. A younger sister, however, seemed to know she had a brother once . . . a rich one. But from what I could tell, she knew nothing about money in any account.”
“How could you tell they didn’t know about the money?” Hunter asked.
“No connections. Picano cut family ties early on. The only one who even cared I was asking around was the sister. If I had to guess, Picano still had a relationship with her at his death. But she was a college student when he died. She’s in debt to the tune of forty grand . . . a drop in the hat of what is in her brother’s account. If she had access, my guess is she wouldn’t have the debt.”
Hunter agreed. “So no family involvement.”
“Exactly.”
“Which leaves those he was dealing drugs with.”
Remington shook his head. “Dealing . . . no . . . smuggling. Different ball game. The amount of drugs this douche bag was shoveling proved he was working directly with the main guy. Whoever this guy is.”
“I need a name,” Hunter told him.
“Don’t we all. The guy they caught alive, Steven Leger, slipped and fell on a knife in prison before he made trial. Picano’s onboard staff were just as lucky with their short lives. Whomever Picano was smuggling with didn’t take prisoners.”
The chill in the room dropped to subtemperatures. No prisoners . . . he had arms that reached into the prison system and took out his enemies. How easy a target would Gabi be if this man wanted her dead?
“I need to step up Gabi’s security,” he muttered to himself.
“What’s that?” Remington asked.
“Nothing . . . listen, we need to find this man from a different angle. Drug smugglers from this part of the world are rich, right? Most of them are part of known cartels. We look into the players and reference those who dealt with people like Picano—”
Remington lifted both hands in the air and shook his head. “You don’t pay me enough, Blackwell. As it was, I felt eyes on me the entire time I traversed that forsaken country. I don’t need a target on my back by peeking into a multitude of drug runners. I’d tap into all those politicians you’re becoming so chummy with. Chances are someone in your circle knows a name or two.”
“Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
He shrugged. “Your friends won’t talk to me. I can tap into security files, but that wouldn’t be legal.” Remington lifted a mocking brow. “You’re not suggesting I do that, are you?”
Hunter wouldn’t direct the man to an illegal act . . . not with his words, in any event. “Would I ask that of you?”
Remington’s smirk said it all.
Even if Remington had a name, Hunter would need to use his connections to keep the drug smuggler away from his home. The thought of reversing the passwords that locked him out crossed Hunter’s mind. Chances were, however, Mr. Smuggler would avoid touching the money to prevent a trace. Or worse, look for deeper pockets and silence money. The last thing Hunter’s reputation needed right now was that of a man who gave in to blackmail.
Hunter pushed from his desk and stood. “I need dirt on Sheila Watson.” He pulled a notepad off his desk and scribbled the address he had for the mother of Noah’s son. “I have someone working on current habits, what I need is her past. And keep an ear out for Picano’s partners.”
Remington tucked the note in his pocket and offered a mock salute. “You’re the boss.”
Once Hunter was alone in his office, he lifted the phone and called his new security.
“MacBain.” Neil answered the phone with his name.
“It’s Blackwell. I want another set of eyes on Gabi.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Did you hear me?”
“Why?”
“I think she needs it.”
“You know, Blackwell. I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m sure you have enemies, but if you think there is one in particular we should be looking out for, I need to know who they are.”
Hunter felt a headache coming on. “I don’t have a name, Neil.”
“Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
“It’s not about me.”
More silence.
“It’s Gabi’s ex.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yeah, but whoever he worked with isn’t.”
“Wait . . . is there an actual threat? What aren’t you telling me?” Neil asked.
Hunter hadn’t told Neil about the bank accounts and drug smugglers when they set up Gabi’s security. “A hunch. One I have to listen to.”
Crickets filled the line for the third time. Finally, Neil gave an ultimatum. “We can do this one of two ways. You start talking now . . . or I put my very persistent wife on Gabi’s doorstep until we have answers.”
Hunter shook off his frustration with Neil’s tenacity before he opened his mouth. “I found two offshore accounts . . .”
By the time he was finished delivering the information, Neil’s silence was like talking to a rock, and Hunter became increasingly uneasy.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Neil asked.
“I wanted to deal with this myself. I’ve found the more people that know the details of my life, the more tabloid exposure I find myself explaining. I can deal with me, it’s Gabi I’m worried about. She doesn’t need the grief of her past haunting her.”
“Doesn’t sound like she has a choice. I’ll put another man on her while I make a few calls. I’m also going to put a tracking device on her car.”
“It’s in the shop.”
Neil’s short laugh made Hunter pause.
“Why am I not surprised.”
“She backed into a pole,” he found himself explaining.
“Yeah, I’m sure she did. It’s better this way. I’ll have one of my guys following and one behind the wheel. A personal driver doesn’t attract attention like a bodyguard. And the less questions the tabloids will ask.”
“Good.”
“Then I’ll make a few phone calls. My friend in the Coast Guard might have a name to attach to Picano’s.”
Hunter wasn’t expecting that. “A name is all I need.”
Neil huffed. “You need more than a name . . . and you need to start putting some trust in those around you.”
“Trust is earned.”
“Agreed. One thing you can count on, when it comes to Gabi, or any of the women in our circle of friends, we will all step up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Neil disconnected the call and Hunter found himself staring out the window of his office.
They’d owned the house for over three weeks but were embarking on their first night in it. The kitchen and the bedroom were the main priority, at least according to Gabi. The rest of the house could take shape over time.
With Meg safely tucked into a plane flying back home, Gabi felt some of the weight of responsibility lifted. She hated the relief that trickled in after Jordan’s passing. The guilt was easier when she noticed Samantha returning to her normal self. Gabi knew it would take time, but the end was simply too difficult for everyone . . . especially Jordan.
The one thing that stuck with Gabi long after the service was over and the house was clean . . . the Harrisons’ extended family, their friends, and those that Gabi now considered her friends were some of the most genuine people she’d ever met. They stuck with Samantha and Blake, took care of them and their two children . . . did everything so they didn’t have to. Having grown up with only her brother and mother most of her life, Gabi was humbled by the friendships she’d managed in her short time in California.
She checked the baked ziti one last time and opened a bottle of cabernet to breathe while she waited for Hunter to come home.
The alarm system in the home told her the gate allowing cars in had been opened. She took a moment to light the candles on the kitchen counter. The kitchen and dining room tables were on order . . . the living room furniture was nothing more than several pictures on her phone that she couldn’t decide between. The house had a den . . . and Gabi decided Hunter was on his own for that space. She’d never furnished a bedroom, let alone an entire house. Having a blank checkbook and tastes that ranged from island simple to elegant Italian castles, Gabi was torn.
The sound of Hunter’s dress shoes against the wood floor announced his arrival.
“What is that wonderful smell?”
She blew out the match as Hunter rounded the corner of the kitchen, flowers in one hand, his jacket in the other.
Gabi leaned a hip against the counter and smiled.
Hunter stopped before he entered the kitchen. “Hi, honey . . . I’m home.”
The laughter that erupted wasn’t expected.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he said.
She kept giggling. “I see the busses missed their mark again.”
Now he laughed as he walked into the middle of the kitchen, tossed his jacket and the flowers on the counter, and captured her around the waist. This was all they’d really managed over the past few weeks . . . a kiss. Yet each one was charged and full. Each one kept her up at night.
When Hunter drew his lips away, he hummed. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She smoothed back a lock of hair from his forehead.
“This is a first.”
“What is?”
“Walking into the front door of my home and finding a beautiful woman cooking.”
“Our home,” she corrected. “And good.” She pushed away. “Maybe tomorrow I won’t ask that a bus take my blackmailing husband out.”
Hunter placed a mocking hand to his chest. “I’m touched.”
Gabi lifted a brow. “Not yet.”
His smirk dropped and something a whole lot sexier took its place.
She turned on her heel and made a show of checking the ziti in the oven.
Hunter grabbed her from behind, turned her around so fast she couldn’t think, and pinned her against the counter. He robbed her of coherent thought as he tested the endurance of her molars with his tongue. Out of control, Hunter was a force. One she loved to unleash.
Something soft hit the floor and Hunter’s arms were molding her body to his. The buzzer on the oven didn’t break their connection. It had been too long, and they were both hungry.
She slapped the oven, cracked it open before Hunter dragged her away from her dinner.
Halfway up the stairs, he stopped trying to kiss her, leaned over, and tossed her over his shoulder.
A little breathless, and laughing more than she ever had, he tossed her on the bed and pounced.
She welcomed him into her arms, curled her legs around him, and rolled until she was straddling his hips.
His hands traveled inside her shirt and played with the edges of her bra.
Gabi tugged on his tie without releasing the knot as Hunter rid her of her blouse.
She pulled the tie from over his head and slid it over hers.
He growled. “That tie is forever branded.” He used it to pull her close as he kissed her senseless.
He was hard.
And she was hungry.
Her bra found the floor, his shirt . . . until only the tie remained. “I need to be inside you, Gabi.”
“Please.” She reached for a box of condoms she’d bought and placed under his pillow. “Let’s burn through these.”
Hunter’s smile filled his gray eyes, his laughter echoed in the nearly empty room. Then he was there, filling her, completing her.
Seemed every time they’d managed to make love since Dallas, her resolve to stay distant became nothing more than a memory. In Hunter’s arms she was alive, loneliness left her alone, and passion took its place.
When he’d rocked her universe, twice . . . Gabi wasn’t hungry at all.
Later, the candles were glowing along with the fire Hunter had started in the master bedroom. She wore his shirt, his tie, and he donned boxers while they enjoyed her slightly dry ziti and a lovely bottle of wine.
“A kitchen and a bedroom . . . it’s all we need.” Hunter shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth.
“You could be on to something there.”
He leaned
forward and ran his finger along her lip before licking the sauce away.
“House parties would be easier without a mess of furniture.”
“True, but where would people sit?”
“Bring your own lawn chair?”
Gabi imagined the massive living room filled with wicker and plastic. “I don’t think that will work.”
He took another bite. “This is so good.”
“It’s dry.”
“It’s perfect.”
“It would have been perfect if we’d eaten it an hour ago.”
Hunter wiggled his eyebrows.
Gabi shook her head and tried not to blush.
“We need to make a decision on the furniture,” Gabi insisted.
He broke off a piece of bread before popping it into his mouth. “What’s the hurry?”
“Child Protective Services.”
He stopped chewing and stared.
“I’ve been doing some research. As much as you need to find Hayden’s mother unfit, Child Protective Services is going to use that same microscope on us. A furnished and safe home is only the beginning.”
Hunter leaned back, unconcerned. “Furniture doesn’t determine a decent home.”
“Neither does money. Statistically, the mother is often given custody even when the scale dips in the father’s favor, which means we need to dip that scale deep.”
“I have the deeper pockets.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Hayden is in his biological mother’s custody.”
“A biological father has rights.”
Gabi picked at her food while she talked. “Your case for full custody is stronger if she’s unfit and you’re a saint. That’s why we needed to get married, right?”
“I’m not a saint.”
Gabi stopped chewing and stared. “Thank you for the clarification that this woman doesn’t need. Point being, you’re too rich to leave loose unsaintly ends, and she’s too self-centered to think you’re going to petition for custody. There’s only one factor I don’t think either of us has considered.”
Hunter pushed his empty plate away. “What’s that?”
Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) Page 21