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Hot tears formed a lump in her throat, and she knew what she needed to do. It might not fix the mess she’d made, but it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
She hurried into the second bedroom. Her bedroom now. A sharp pain pierced her heart, but she hurried over to the safe. Punched in the code and removed Jerry’s folders.
She stared at them for a long time. Were these folders worth losing Gideon? Of course not. She’d never felt for anyone what she felt for Gideon. Swallowing the lump that clogged her throat, she squared her shoulders and walked to the other bedroom. Rapped on the door.
She heard nothing for a long moment. Maybe he was done with her.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably less than a minute, the door opened. Gideon stared down at her, his expression impossible to read. She held out the folders to him.
“I should have given these to you a long time ago,” she said. “I’d planned on showing them to you tonight. Figured we could read them together. See why they were so important to Jerry.” She swallowed and studied his face. Couldn’t read a thing. “You can ask Mel. I told her I was going to give it to you.”
When he didn’t take the folder, she set it on the floor. “I’m sorry, Gideon. Sorry that I didn’t trust you. Sorry I jumped to conclusions. I know I screwed up. I know what I said was a horrible betrayal.” She kept her gaze on his face. “I need to figure out why I did that. And hope that you can forgive me at some point.”
She nodded at the room. “May I get my things?”
He stepped aside and gestured her into the room. She threw all her belongings in her suitcase. Swept her toiletries into her kit bag and dumped it on top of her clothes. Then she zipped the suitcase and left Gideon’s room. She couldn’t look at the bed, with its still-rumpled covers. Couldn’t look at the two pillows, so close together they looked like they’d become one.
When he didn’t say anything, she turned and walked back into the spare bedroom. Closed the door quietly. Stared at the bundles of money in the still-open safe, then quietly closed the door.
What a fool she’d been.
* * *
Late that evening, Gideon tossed the file folders onto the kitchen island. Watched as they skidded across the granite. Leaped to catch them before they slid off. He needed to keep those papers in order. Alex should read them, too. She needed to see the whole, ugly picture of what Trotter had been doing.
The memory of her face when she’d walked into the apartment, staring at him as if he’d just shattered her trust, would haunt him forever.
He sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t allow it to haunt him. Maybe he should take her reaction as a sign that they weren’t meant to be together.
After everything they’d shared -- the trip across the country, being stranded together in Boughton, the race for the compound, let alone the lovemaking that had been on a completely different level than anything he’d experienced before -- how could she believe he’d betray her trust?
He knew Alex was a woman who didn’t trust easily. After the horrific story of her teen years, when she’d been betrayed by her own mother, why would she trust people? He got that.
But he thought he’d earned her trust. Proven that she could rely on him.
She’d jumped to conclusions about why he was standing beside her tote bag. Lumped him into the same category as Trotter -- someone who’d been using her. Someone who’d tried to have her killed.
Trotter had betrayed her for money. Escape from his debts.
She thought Gideon had tossed aside all the things she had to offer… for a look at some files that might not prove anything?
He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. A woman who’d heard her husband paying a hitman to murder her had a very small reservoir of trust.
She’d leapt to conclusions. He replayed the scene in his head. He’d been standing in front of the tote. Might have even reached for it, then drew his hand away. And all she’d seen was the tote and his hand.
He banged his head against the back of the couch. A moment earlier or later, she would have seen something completely different.
Truthfully, he had been tempted to look in that tote. Briefly, but the thought had been there.
So maybe she wasn’t so far wrong.
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He’d seen those files as his redemption. He’d been fired by the FBI because he’d investigated Peter Morton, his immediate supervisor. Morton had been in bed with the Bratva, but it had been covered up and smoothed out by Morton’s boss, Rudy Kramer. And as those files of Trotter’s had proven, Kramer was just as dirty as Morton had been.
He’d just been smarter about not getting caught.
If Alex gave him permission, he’d email the information to Tony Conklin. Tony’d take it to the Justice Department’s Inspector General, and she’d investigate. Eventually, Kramer and anyone else who’d been working with him would be fired. Arrested. Prosecuted, and probably go to prison.
The information in Trotter’s files had been damning.
