Page 95 of Love What's Left
“It’s the middle of the night. She’s got coverage. Go home. Maybe she’ll call you when she wakes up in the morning.”
“She isn’t asleep.” I won’t punch Sydney’s personal protection officer in the face. It would compromise her safety. But I want to. “I’ll tear this building apart until I find her.”
“Maybeyou will. But you’re not getting in toseeher until she’s ready to talk to you.”
“You son of a bitch—”
“This was the deal. I’m hers, not yours. You put me on this job because you know my word is solid.”
Done wasting my time on a dead end, I bark at Kurt, “Find her.”
The tracker in her necklace has her location pinpointed. Now we have to figure out which one of twenty possible floors she’s on.
With four of us, it takes less than ten minutes. It’s still too long.
I stride down the corridor and assess the threat separating me from my wife.
Lieutenant Annabel Farris, one of the first female Army Rangers, now retired from active duty at forty-two years old, five foot ten, brunette, and particularly skilled in close-range combat, stands directly in front of Sydney’s door. To protect my wife, Annabel would shoot anyone she deemed necessary, including me.
Brute force is a no-go. Even if I could get past her without taking life-threatening damage, Sydney would never forgive me for hurting one of her “minions.” I could drag hotel management into this, but discretion is important under the circumstances.
That leaves charm, something I’m told I have in abundance.
I produce a smoldering smile and lean one shoulder against the wall next to her with my hands in my pockets and one leg crossed at the ankle over the other. Casual.Just here for a chat, Lieutenant.“Hey, Annabel. How’s the night shift treating you?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
I drop the act and stand up straight. “Her phone is dead. Otherwise, she’d tell you to let me in that door.”
“Let her sleep, Gabriel.”
“You assholes keep saying that. I know my wife. She isn’t asleep. At the very least, check on her, yourself.”
She shifts uneasily. “I’ll text her. If she—”
Fuck discretion.“Open this goddamn door,” I bellow.
The door swings open behind her to reveal a disheveled and fully dressed Sydney, her eyes swollen and rimmed in red. “Gabriel Allen McRae, don’t you dare yell at Annabel for doing her job.”
Relief floods through me at the sight of her. Then I remember my middle name was her father’s first name. There’s probably a reason she remembered that detail tonight of all nights. “I’m making sure you’re okay, because this note“—I rip the paper out of my pocket and brandish it—“scared the shit out of me. You think I’m better off without you? No, Sydney. I’d never recover from losing you.”
Her lips roll in on each other. “I didn’t think you’d get that note for a couple of days.”
A couple of days?“Let me in, Sydney.”
She darts a glance at Annabel before turning to face me, her brows coming together and her gaze raking over me. When she yanks me into the room with her, I catch a brief glimpse of Annabel’s cool professional mask slip into surprise, then Sydney pushes the heavy door closed behind us.
“Talk to me,” I say.
She swallows hard. “Where did you go?”
“To a restaurant near our house.”
She moves closer than anyone would consider conversational distance. “What did youeat?”
“Nothing. I left before the nachos arrived.”
She’s inches from my face now, obviously trying to smell alcohol on my breath. “Who were you with?”
