Treasured by Thursday
Page 66

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.