Page 73 of Ruthless Enforcer

“Let’s just say that the Reyes family is good at setting a scene for their own benefit.” I shift uncomfortably. I don’t need to look at Whitlock to know he’s thinking that the Reyeses had something to do with my mishap.

It’s true. They did. Whitlock just doesn’t need to know that it’s because I embezzled money from them.

“What do you know about that night at the museum?” I ask.

Whitlock scowls. “Just what the police showed me. That Clara was attacked and Reyes defended her.”

I nod. "And did she call you from her own phone that night?"

Silence.

"Have you seen her since?" I ask, cutting him off with the gentlest possible inflection. "Have you looked into her eyes, alone, and asked her if she chose this? Or have the Reyeses been controlling the narrative?"

"Clara is not a child," Whitlock says, but the force behind the words is brittle now. It’s the sound of a man trying to convince himself. "She isn't weak. She doesn't fold under pressure. She knows how to signal me that she’s being forced against her will."

"Of course she isn't weak," I agree instantly. "That’s why Gabriel wouldn’t try to break her with iron, James. Gabriel Reyes is many things, but he’s not stupid. He didn't lock her in a basement. He didn't put a gun to her head. He gave her a dead body, an adrenaline shock, and a manufactured crisis where he arrived as the prince in shining armor."

"Why are you here, Turner?" Whitlock glares at me. "You don't care about Clara. You didn't come to my club out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want? A donation? My backing when you try to resurrect your campaign next fall?"

"When I make my play for the governor's office again, James, I will certainly ask for your support," I say calmly. "And I hope you'll remember who took the time to alert you about the Reyes family boasting that they have your niece. But today I don't want a dollar. I don't want a single favor."

I stand up, smoothing the front of my jacket with deliberate care. The pain in my side flares, but my expression never wavers. "I simply thought that a man like James Whitlock would want the information. If it were me, I’d want to know whether my niece walked into a marriage of her own free will or if she was handled by a professional. Enjoy your evening, James."

I turn and walk out of the lounge, my footsteps soundless on the heavy carpet, my expression bland. I wait until the elevator doors close and I’m on my way to the lobby.

And then I smile.

I didn't give him a single photograph or a single document he could verify or disprove. I gave him something far more lethal.

I gave him doubt.

Because a powerful man can survive almost anything except the suspicion that someone he loves is in danger. Sooner or later, he'll act.

All I have to do is make sure Gabriel Reyes is standing in the way when he does.

58

CLARA

After dinner, I want to paint.

With the last painting for my show done, I started a new one—an idea I had that I’m excited about—and I’m itching to get back to it. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind. He kissed me and told me to do my thing.

I work for a couple hours, setting my brush down around ten. I leave the solarium happy. Hell—I’m happy for more than just my almost-finished painting. I’m happy because I woke up in Gabriel’s arms this morning. And I plan to sleep in them again tonight.

Only I need to shower to wash the paint off first.

The house is quiet except for the distant sound of the ocean. There are no lights on except for one coming from Gabriel’s bedroom. I tiptoe past it to my room.

Flipping on the light, I go to the dresser. I don’t have any enticing lingerie, but I figure lace panties and nothing else will be inspiring. Gabriel offered to take me shopping for more clothes, but I’ve been happy wearing his shirt and painting all week. Truthfully, I can’t bear the thought of the outside world intruding.

I open the drawer and I freeze. It’s empty.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs as I quickly open the rest of the drawers. Nothing. I spin around to check the rest of the room.

Everything is gone. My clothes, my duffel, the toiletries I left on the bathroom counter, the legal pad I’m still doodling on—all vanished.

For one irrational second, I think Gabriel’s sending me away—packing me up and shipping me back to Helena.