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I tilted my head for her to go. I would take the fall for this. Spinning around, I faced him. “I reported my brother for being involved in a shooting and for possession of an unregistered firearm.”
I had no idea how deep Channing’s debt to the Gages went, if they would care enough to get the charges dismissed, or if the police would drop them on their own. But for now, Channing would be protected—at least long enough for me to do what I needed to. I would find a way to pay his debt. Whatever the cost.
Fury gripped his features. “That’s against policy.”
“I do not give a shit whose name is on the side of this building or what deal your team has worked out with those monsters,” I hissed at him. “You might be okay with having blood on your hands, but I am not going to let my brother get sucked into this.”
I waited for him to speak, his face growing redder with each second that passed. “I think you need to take a few days off, Miss Holloway. Your recent trauma is affecting your ability to think clearly.”
I’d expected that. In fact, I was hoping for it. “I’ll finish my shift.”
“No,” he said firmly. “Now.”
Even better.
Chapter Two
Waverly Avenue wasn’t what I expected.
I stood on the southeastern corner of where it crossed with St. Charles and stared up at the Avalon, a hotel I’d avoided my whole life. This was where the medic said Channing had been shot. I’d always pictured this part of town as dismal, seedy, dangerous. And it had been…until I reached the crossroads.
There, the smell of the city had shifted from exhaust and grease to the florid citrus of the sweet olive bushes planted in oversize pots outside the hotel.
The hotel’s glazed white terra-cotta facade gleamed like a bright jewel in the ink-black night. Stone garlands draped the arched entrance. Gold carpet swathed its massive stone staircase, and half a dozen windows with gilt etchings glimmered on either side of it. I looked around for signs of the shooting, for some indication that I wasn’t hallucinating, but the street was eerily quiet. The silence crept across my skin, urging me toward the safety of the Avalon’s golden lights. But it was the anger still burning in my stomach, as hot as a yawning pit in hell, that spurred me toward the door.
My brother was lying wounded in a hospital bed, and this place had the nerve to look like the Ritz.
I’d made it to the top step, only feet from the entrance, when the rotating door spun and a tall, dark-haired man with a square jaw dusted with stubble stepped into the night air and looked directly at me.
Fear gripped my chest, and I froze. Shit. I’d at least hoped to make it inside before getting caught.
The man was dressed entirely in black, his jacket hooked over his shoulder with his index finger. He didn’t say anything—just polished a glossy red apple on his sleeve and studied me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
I glimpsed a flash of white teeth as he took a bite. The apple’s flesh snapped with a crack that sent another thrill through me—a side effect of being in dangerous territory.
Or maybe it was the man himself, because I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his hooded eyes. From his mouth. The way he leaned ever so slightly in my direction. Was he a hotel guest? That was probably wishful thinking, given where I was. My heart fluttered like butterfly wings in my chest, waiting on what felt like the edge of a cliff for…something.
Say something.
But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. I was riveted to the spot.
The handsome stranger cocked his head as if he was waiting, too, giving me a better glimpse of high cheekbones as sharp as his brutal jawline and a pair of full, sculpted lips. Green eyes, the color of soft jade, raked down my body. His gaze, while still assessing, was so intimate that it felt like he was slowly stripping me of my white romper and sneakers.
I swallowed, shifting on my feet as he studied me. At least I’d changed out of my scrubs. But in my casual clothes, it was clear that I didn’t belong anywhere near what was obviously a five-star hotel.
When he took a step toward me, I spotted tattoos curling under his rolled-up sleeves. Broad shoulders that hinted at the muscled torso hidden under his shirt caught my attention next for an entirely different reason: the harness strapped over them. My throat knotted when I saw twin pistols holstered under his arms.
A guard. My stomach dropped to my toes. I’d walked right up to a guard—an armed guard.
“And who might you be?” His voice was deep and smooth, as though he was delivering a sinful invitation rather than a simple question.
I just stared at him, trying to decide if I should lie. Everything about this man screamed dangerous.
He arched a dark brow, drawing my attention back to those searching, wary eyes.
“Cate.” My name burst out of me like he’d ordered me to tell him instead of simply asking. “Cate Holloway.”
Why the hell was I telling this man my full name? He was armed, and I was in Gage territory. I supposed he’d know what to engrave on my tombstone.