daily limit as to how much cash I could withdraw. A limit I’d stupidly lowered in case someone got a hold of my bank card.
As soon as this was over, I was raising the limit. I’d learned a valuable lesson about being on the run—cash was king and I was fresh out.
Damn.
I’d need to book a hotel with my credit card.
Then they’d find me.
I’d already taken a chance having to book my flight. Which, let me tell you, costs a whack to book a same-day flight at the airport. The ticket was quadruple what it would normally cost. Or maybe it was so expensive because I had to take the redeye and change planes twice.
Now it was Saturday.
Wait, Saturday? Why were all these people working on a Saturday?
My mind was racing so fast I was nearing panic.
“Hey, Evette,” Gabe called.
“I need a bank. I ran out of cash.”
“Why do you need cash?”
“To book a hotel.”
“A hotel?”
I vaguely heard the surprise in Gabe’s voice but I was descending into mania.
“Is that possible these days? Do hotels even rent rooms without ID and a credit card?”
Oh, God, I was going to have to stay at a rent-by-the-hour, no-tell motel.
Um, gross.
I knew what went on in those rooms. I’d written a piece about prostitution. A side note, hookers were extremely forthcoming about their activities. I was shocked to find that some of them enjoyed their profession as they called it. Others did it as a means to an end to get themselves through school. Okay, so, I was interviewing high-paid escorts, not streetwalkers but still.
“Babe, hey, look at me.”
I must’ve completely zoned out because when I blinked Gabe was in a crouch right next to me. His hand was on my knee. Again, his hand placement was friendly but that didn’t stop the thrill from tingling up my leg straight to my—nope, not gonna go there.
No way.
No how.
“I’m out of cash,” I repeated.
“No, babe, you misunderstood. You’re coming with me.”
I wasn’t sure I misunderstood as much as Gabe hadn’t properly explained.
“Where are we going?”
“To a safehouse.”
Okay, a safehouse sounded good. A safehouse sounded safe. I could seriously use a safehouse right now.
“I can pay for it,” I quickly told him, remembering the way Zane complained about people not paying their bills. “I have money—”
“Family doesn’t pay.”
“But I’m not family.”
“Yeah, Evette, you are. You’re Anaya’s best friend.”
That was really nice but still.
“I feel like I should pay. Zane was pretty vocal about clients paying their invoices. And he doesn’t look like a man who sends his past dues to a collection agency.”
Gabe’s face broke out into a wide smile and that thrill raced straight to my girly parts. Again.
“You’re right about that,” Gabe confirmed.
“Puh-leeze,” Ivy huffed. “As if my husband knows which accounts are past due. And anyway, don’t scare Evette. Zane’s all bark.”
My gaze went to Ivy and I gave her my best “are you crazy” look.
“Fine. He bites. He also growls and hisses. But with women, he’s all bark. Unless you’re a rogue CIA agent, then he’ll shoot you.”
Eek.
I was happy to report I was not a rogue CIA agent. Though there seemed to be a story behind that comment and I loved a juicy story.
“CIA?” I prompted.
Ivy leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll tell you later when Owen’s not around. But for the record, Zane didn’t actually shoot her, he just threatened to. Though the bitch is dead.”
Double eek!
“I think you should hold off telling her about Ashaki,” Gabe said and pulled himself from his squat. “Or maybe not tell her at all.”
“Why? I wanna know about Ashaki.”
“Yeah, Evette, and you’re not hiding it. I’m waiting for you to pull out a notebook and pen.”
Damn.
“I would never write about something a friend told me.”
“I didn’t think you would. But let's get you through this trauma before you go digging up dirt on a dead CIA agent, a sex trafficking ring, a crime boss, and Owen’s woman.”
“Owen’s woman?”
Gabe’s expression became guarded and I immediately regretted my question.
“Owen’s woman,” he confirmed.
Alrighty, that conversation was closed.
“Before we leave may I speak to Kyle?”
“Yeah, he’s waiting for us in the conference room.”
Gabe helped me out of my chair which was totally unnecessary but gentlemanly and I followed Ivy out of the breakroom. Which wasn’t like any breakroom I’d ever seen. It looked more like a kitchen you’d find in a really nice house. Top-of-the-line appliances, black marble countertops, a large dark-wood table in the middle of the space with nice, padded chairs. Even the walls were