AllFreeNovel
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It’s late. Really late, a few minutes before midnight. I knock on Dominic’s door, my heart racing in anticipation. A few seconds later, he opens it. “Gabby,” he greets me, his lips tilting up in a smile. “Come on in.”
I step inside. His eyes are shadowed, and his hair is tousled. “You look tired,” I tell him. “Long day?”
He nods. “It was both busy and frustrating.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Ah well. You win some, you lose some.”
“We could have taken a raincheck on hanging out.”
“We could have,” he agrees. His eyes rest on me. “But I wanted to see you. I’m glad you’re here.”
His words take my breath away. I’m so used to Manhattan, where women outnumber guys two-to-one, and everyone likes to keep their options open and their feelings caged. Not so with Dominic. He’s a gorgeous guy, but far more importantly, he is nice. Direct. He doesn’t play games. It’s shocking and refreshing at the same time.
Carter comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “I got takeout in case you were hungry,” he says, pointing to the Styrofoam boxes on the dining table. “Do you like Thai?”
“I love it.” I give him a hopeful glance. “Any pad thai?”
“And that settles the ‘I hope she isn’t allergic to peanuts’ debate.” He grins and pushes over a container in my direction. “All yours. Drink?”
“Something cold, please.”
I settle on a glass of chilled Riesling. We sit down at the table. For a few minutes, we focus on our food, and then, when I’ve taken the edge off my appetite, I clear my throat. “About yesterday,” I begin. “Look, I can’t take your money.” I reach into my bag, pull out an envelope containing a handful of prepaid credit cards, and push it toward Carter.
He doesn’t pick it up. “What is this?”
“My winnings from last night.”
“No.” He shakes his head immediately. “No. We had a deal. You keep your winnings.”
“You wanted me to find dirt on Ed,” I reply. “I found nothing.”
I glare at Carter. He glares back. Dominic cuts in before our standoff can escalate. “Tell me about last night,” he encourages. “How many people were there? Did you feel safe? Your text didn’t get into the details.”
“About twenty,” I reply. “Two tables. Oh, and Vittoria Vitale was there with a few of her friends.”
Both men stiffen. “Was Denton Mitchell there?” Dominic demands. He shoots a glare at Carter. “I thought you said you were watching the place.” He pulls up a photo on his phone and pushes it toward me. “This is Mitchell.”
I survey the image. “No, he wasn’t there.” I give Carter a questioning look. “You were watching? From the outside?”
“I told you I’d be close.”
“What if you’d been seen?”
“I wasn’t. I’m good at what I do.”
“So modest,” I tease. A thought strikes me. “Did you get a look at Plaid Guy?” I take in his puzzled expression and elaborate. “Caucasian guy, in his thirties or early forties. Clean-shaven, no visible tattoos. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.”
“He left an hour and fifteen minutes after you went in?” Carter asks. “Yeah, I got a photo of him. Why?”
I remember the cold look in Plaid Guy’s eyes, and even the memory of it makes the hairs at the back of my neck rise. “He creeped me out,” I reply. “He went head-to-head with Ed, and he lost a lot of money. He went from cold to hot to cold again in a second. It was…” I make a face. “I’m probably just being silly.”
Dominic sets his chopsticks down. “I don’t like this,” he says, a frown on his face. “Carter, we agreed that if there was even the slightest hint of danger, we’d drop this ridiculous plan.”
“There wasn’t any danger, you guys,” I cut in. “My imagination is probably just on overdrive, that’s all. I’ve watched too many movies or something.”
“Never ignore your intuition,” Carter responds. “I’ll look into the guy.” There’s a troubled expression on his face. “You asked me yesterday what the endgame was with Ed. Dominic’s been telling for months that I need to bury the hatchet. Maybe I just need to let this go.”
Dominic gets another bottle of Riesling and tops us up. Carter stares into his drink. “Noah doesn’t talk about Chloe any longer,” he says, his voice so low that I can barely hear him. “Not to me, not to his therapist. Not to his teachers. I don’t think he remembers her.”
Understanding blooms. “You think he’s going to forget you,” I whisper. “That’s why you don’t want to give up custody.”
