Page 97 of Gatsby's Starlet
His gaze flicked once more toward the direction Ruby had pointed earlier, toward the agents still moving through the trees, and then back again.
“You said someone else was out here,” he continued, calm, precise. “The shooter.”
Ruby didn’t hesitate. “He ran that way,” she said, pointing again, her hand steadier now. “We didn’t see his face, he just came out of nowhere and then he was gone.”
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, and something passed there, something quiet, assessing, like he was deciding whether to push harder or let it stand.
Then he nodded once. Short. Decisive. And just like that, he let it go.
“Units are already sweeping the perimeter,” he said, more to the agents around him than to us, his attention shifting outward as he gave a few quick, low orders that sent movement rippling through the trees again before his focus came back, settling on us with that same controlled intensity.
“You’re safe now,” he added, the words practiced but not empty, like he meant them even if they didn’t quite land the way they were supposed to.
Safe.
The word felt… distant.
Uncertain.
Because nothing about this felt over.
“We’re going to need to take you both in,” he continued, already anticipating the reaction, his tone steady, leaving no room for argument without being forceful. “Standard procedure. You’ve been held on a federal trafficking site, you’re witnesses to an active operation, we need statements, medical evaluation, the whole process.”
Ruby nodded again, slower this time, like she was bracing herself for it, and I felt her shift beside me, just enough to draw his attention back to her. She studied him for a second. Really studied him. Her eyes narrowing just slightly, something thoughtful slipping in under the fear.
“Have you ever been to High Voltage?” she asked.
For the first time, the agent stilled. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But I saw it.
That fraction of a second where something flickered behind his eyes, something keen and quick and gone just as fast as itcame, his expression settling back into place before the silence could stretch too long.
“No,” he said evenly, not missing a beat, his voice controlled, certain. “Can’t say that I have.”
Ruby held his gaze for a second longer, like she was testing that answer, like she wasn’t sure she believed it. Then she nodded. “Alright,” she said quietly.
The agents moved in closer, guiding us forward, the weight of it settled in my chest right alongside everything else, because whatever this was?
It wasn’t over.
Not even close.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FROM THE COVERof the trees, I stayed whereI’d dropped back into the shadows, the weight of the gun still steady in my hand even though the shot had already been taken, my focus locked on the clearing as the agents closed in around Evie and Ruby, their lights cutting through the dark in sweeps that made everything too visible, too exposed, every movement tracked, every angle covered, and I didn’t move, couldn’t, not without stepping straight into their line of sight and turning this into something it didn’t need to be, something that would end with cuffs instead of answers, and as much as every part of me pushed against that, as much as it scraped raw under my skin to stand here and watch instead of stepping in, I held it.
My eyes stayed on her as they moved her forward, the agents speaking to her in a tone I couldn’t hear from this distance, controlled and measured, like they were already shifting her from threat to witness, and I tracked every second of it, every step she took, every look she gave the men around her, everyflicker of movement that might tell me something I needed to know.
She looked back once, not at them, but at the trees, at where I’d been, and my grip tightened for a second before I forced it to ease, forcing myself to stay still, to stay gone, because if she could see me, even for that moment, then someone else could too, and the last thing she needed right now was to be tied to me in any way that mattered.
Movement at the front pulled my attention, and I shifted just enough to get a better angle through the brush, my gaze landing on the man stepping in close to them, the one calling the shots, the one the others adjusted around without question.
Tom Montgomery.
The name still sat wrong in my head, tied to something that didn’t belong anywhere near this, and as I watched him speak to them, watched the way he listened without interrupting but didn’t miss a thing, I could see it clear as anything, he wasn’t sloppy, wasn’t guessing, and that made him a problem. Because she was alive, and that mattered more than anything else.
Not immediate.
But later? Yeah. Definitely.
