Chapter 3 - The Man Who Came Through the Rain
Mave had never been rescued before.
She disliked the idea immediately.
Rescue implied helplessness.
Mave had survived a dead mother, an absent father, a younger sister who needed more care than any teenager should have been responsible for, two minimum-wage jobs, one bankruptcy scare, three apartments, and an impressive collection of men who said they loved strong women until strength became inconvenient.
She had never waited for someone.
Until now.
The dark car across the road remained parked.
Its driver had stepped out once, stood beneath the awning of a closed pharmacy, then returned inside.
Mave kept her doors locked.
“Talk to me,” Gideon said through the phone.
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“That is not very specific.”
“Specific is overrated.”
“You sounded pretty specific about me not going home.”
“That remains specific.”
Mave glanced toward the dark car.
“You’re really coming here?”
“Yes.”
“What if I leave?”
“You said your car will not start.”
“I could walk.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“Do you always order strangers around?”
“Only the difficult ones.”
“We’ve known each other less than an hour.”
“And yet here we are.”
Mave looked at the clock.
12:23 a.m.
Her life had fallen apart before midnight.
By twelve-thirty, she was waiting for a stranger named Gideon Ward who may or may not have been connected to organized crime.
She gave a small hysterical laugh.
“This is ridiculous.”
“What?”
“My life.”
“That is temporary.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I usually am.”
“Must be nice.”
“It can be exhausting.”
The answer was unexpectedly human.
Mave leaned back.
“How far away are you?”
“Eight minutes.”
“You calculated that?”
“Traffic.”
“At midnight?”
“Construction.”
“You sound offended by it.”
“I dislike inefficiency.”
Mave smiled faintly despite herself.
Then the dark car’s headlights switched on.
She stopped smiling.
“Gideon.”
“I heard it.”
“It’s moving.”
The car pulled away from the curb.
For one second, Mave thought it was leaving.
Then it crossed the street.
Directly toward her.
Her pulse spiked.
“Mave, start your engine again.”
“It didn’t work.”
“Try.”
She turned the key.
Nothing.
Again.
The engine coughed.
The other car stopped several spaces behind her.
“Mave.”
“I’m trying.”
“Again.”
She twisted the key.
The sedan shuddered to life.
Mave almost cried from relief.
“It started.”
“Good. Drive.”
“Where?”
“Straight ahead. Take the second right.”
She pulled away.
The dark car followed.
“I’m being followed.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Marco found the traffic cameras.”
Mave blinked.
“You can do that?”
“Apparently.”
“I’m beginning to dislike the word logistics.”
Gideon’s mouth tightened.
“Second right.”
Mave turned.
The road narrowed between old warehouse buildings.
“This is not reassuring.”
“It is faster.”
“Faster toward what?”
“Me.”
Two black SUVs appeared ahead.
Mave’s heart stopped.
“Gideon.”
“Those are mine.”
“That is not necessarily comforting.”
“Fair.”
The first SUV moved past her.
The second turned sideways across the road.
Mave slowed.
Behind her, the pursuing car stopped.
For several tense seconds, no one moved.
Then it reversed.
Fast.
The first SUV followed.
The road became quiet.
Mave stared through the windshield.
A third vehicle approached slowly.
Black sedan.
It stopped ahead.
The rear door opened.
A man stepped out.
Even from a distance, Mave knew.
Gideon.
He was taller than she expected.
Broad shoulders beneath a dark wool coat.
Black suit.
No umbrella.
Rain caught in his dark hair as he crossed the street with complete calm.
Mave’s heart began beating for an entirely different reason.
This was not how she had pictured the voice.
The voice had seemed older somehow.
Colder.
The man approaching her car looked thirty-two, maybe thirty-three.
Handsome in a way that seemed almost inconvenient.
Sharp jaw.
Dark eyes.
Controlled expression.
He stopped beside the driver-side window.
Mave lowered it two inches.
Rain sprayed inside.
Gideon looked at her.
For a second, neither spoke.
Mave finally said, “You’re Gideon.”
“Yes.”
“You look less like logistics in person.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“And you look exactly like someone who has had a terrible night.”
“That is not flattering.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Mave narrowed her eyes.
Then noticed something.
His gaze moved over her carefully.
Not in the way men sometimes looked at women.
He was checking.
Face.
Hands.
Car interior.
Rear seat.
Street.
Assessing.
“You really thought someone might hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone followed you.”
Gideon looked toward the road where the car had vanished.
“Open the door.”
Mave did not.
Gideon looked back.
“What?”
“I still do not know you.”
That stopped him.
Then he nodded.
“Good.”
Mave frowned.
“You’re not offended?”
“No.”
“You came across the city in the rain and I’m refusing to open the door.”
“That means you possess functioning survival instincts.”
“High praise.”
“I rarely give it.”
Mave studied him.
Then unlocked the door.
Gideon stepped back.
She climbed out.
The cold hit immediately.
Gideon removed his coat and held it toward her.
“I’m wet already.”
“Take it.”
“You’re very bossy.”
“You’re shivering.”
Mave accepted the coat.
It smelled faintly of cedar and rain.
It was warm.
Gideon looked at her sedan.
“I’ll have someone tow it.”
“No.”
He glanced over.
“I can handle my car.”
“The battery is failing.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard it.”
“You diagnose cars through phone calls?”
“No. I own bad cars too.”
Mave looked at his black sedan.
“Really?”
“Not recently.”
Despite everything, she smiled.
Gideon looked away almost immediately.
That small smile did something unwelcome to the tension in his chest.
Marco arrived from the SUV.
He was older than Gideon, with silver at his temples and the exhausted expression of a man who had spent twenty years cleaning up other people’s decisions.
“Mave?”
She looked at him.
“The coughing guy.”
Marco sighed.
“I was hoping that would not become my name.”
“It probably will.”
Gideon handed Marco the envelope.
“Get it examined.”
Marco glanced at the note.
His expression darkened.
“Elias.”
Mave watched both men.
“There is clearly something you’re not telling me.”
Gideon looked at her.
“There is a great deal I’m not telling you.”
“That is becoming a problem.”
“It may keep you alive.”
She flinched at the phrase.
Gideon noticed.
He softened his tone.
“Mave, someone knew the private number attached to my brother. Someone routed money stolen from you through my company. Someone followed you after you received a note with his name.”
She looked toward the road.
“And Ben?”
“We find him.”
“Then what?”
“We ask why.”
Mave folded her arms.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“No.”
“It is my money.”
“It is my brother.”
The words landed hard.
Mave stared at him.
Rain ran from his hair down his forehead.
His face had become unreadable.
She realized then that beneath Gideon’s control was something deeper.
Pain.
Old pain.
Dangerous because it had been disciplined rather than healed.
Mave lowered her voice.
“Then we both deserve answers.”
Gideon did not respond.
Marco looked between them.
“I dislike this already.”
Gideon ignored him.
“Where is Chloe?”
“Briarwood.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
Mave’s stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“When did you last speak to her?”
“Yesterday.”
“Call.”
Mave pulled out her phone.
She dialed.
Briarwood’s night desk answered.
Mave introduced herself.
A nurse checked.
Chloe was sleeping.
No visitors.
Everything normal.
Mave exhaled.
“Thank God.”
Gideon’s eyes remained hard.
“Tell them no one removes her without you present.”
Mave did.
Then hung up.
“You think someone would use Chloe?”
“I think people who choose vulnerable targets rarely develop morals halfway through a plan.”
Mave’s face went pale.
Gideon regretted the bluntness.
But fear sometimes needed clarity.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“My landlord has not evicted me yet.”
“You are not going home.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep considering it.”
Mave stared at him.
“I have clothes there.”
“We can replace clothes.”
“My sister’s records.”
“We retrieve them.”
“My life.”
Gideon’s expression shifted.
“No.”
Mave frowned.
“What?”
“Your apartment is where you live. It is not your life.”
Something in her face broke slightly.
Gideon saw it.
He wished he could take the words back—not because they were wrong, but because they had landed too close to something she had been trying not to feel.
Mave looked away.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Yes.”
He did not pretend otherwise.
That surprised her.
Gideon continued.
“I have resources you do not. That is precisely why I am using them.”
“For me?”
“For tonight.”
Mave looked back.
“And tomorrow?”
“We survive tonight first.”
The simplicity steadied her.
She nodded.
“Fine.”
Gideon gestured toward his car.
Mave took one step.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
She returned to her sedan.
Opened the passenger door.
Pulled out the metal lockbox.
Gideon watched.
“That is empty.”
“I know.”
“Then why take it?”
Mave held it against her chest.
“Because I need to remember what trusting the wrong person cost me.”
Gideon looked at her for a long moment.
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“Keep it because you are going to fill it again.”
Mave almost laughed.
“You cannot promise that.”
“I don’t promise often.”
“What if my money is gone?”
“Then I replace it.”
She stared.
“No.”
“Mave—”
“No. I do not want your money.”
“Why?”
“Because then I owe you.”
Gideon’s expression became unreadable.
“You already called me crying at midnight, ordered me not to do anything horrible to your ex-boyfriend, criticized my career description, and made Marco reconsider his life choices.”
Marco muttered, “Accurate.”
Gideon continued.
“I think we have moved beyond ordinary debt.”
Mave stared.
Then, against all reason, she laughed.
This time it was real.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
Gideon opened the car door.
“Get in.”
Mave did.
Twenty minutes later, they entered a private residential building downtown.
Not Gideon’s main home.
A safe apartment.
High floor.
Two bedrooms.
Minimal furniture.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Mave stood inside, looking around.
“This is a safe house, isn’t it?”
Gideon paused.
“Guest apartment.”
“Do guests usually have reinforced locks?”
“No.”
“Security cameras?”
“Many buildings do.”
“Bullet-resistant windows?”
Gideon looked at her.
Mave folded her arms.
“I worked in a hotel for six months. Those are not normal windows.”
Marco walked past them.
“I like her.”
Gideon ignored him.
Mave removed Gideon’s coat.
Her clothes were still damp.
“I need to call Briarwood in the morning.”
“Done.”
“I have work.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“I cannot miss work.”
“You can.”
“I need the money.”
“You also need sleep.”
“I don’t get paid for sleep.”
Gideon took out his phone.
“Where do you work?”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Do not call my manager.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like the kind of man who accidentally gets people fired.”
Marco made a choking sound.
Gideon stared at her.
Mave stared back.
Finally, he slid the phone away.
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“You are still not going.”
“We’ll argue in the morning.”
“I won’t.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Gideon almost answered.
Then Marco entered from the hall.
His face had changed.
All humor was gone.
“Gideon.”
One word.
Gideon turned.
Marco held the envelope with gloves.
“We found something.”
Mave’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
Marco looked at Gideon first.
Then at Mave.
“The envelope has prints.”
“Ben’s?”
“Yes.”
Mave exhaled.
Marco continued.
“And another set.”
Gideon became still.
Marco’s voice lowered.
“They belong to Elias.”
Mave stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
Gideon said nothing.
Mave looked between them.
“You said Elias died eighteen months ago.”
“He did.”
“Then how are his fingerprints on an envelope Darren handed me tonight?”
Gideon stepped toward Marco.
“Run them again.”
“Already did.”
“Again.”
“I did.”
Mave’s heartbeat filled her ears.
Gideon looked at the note.
ASK ABOUT ELIAS.
For eighteen months, he had carried guilt like a second skeleton.
He had identified his brother’s body himself.
He had buried him.
He had watched the casket disappear beneath winter earth.
Yet Elias’s fingerprints were now sitting on an envelope delivered to a woman Gideon had met by accident.
Unless it had never been an accident.
Mave whispered, “Gideon.”
He looked at her.
“What if your brother isn’t dead?”
And somewhere across the city, in a dim motel room, a man with Gideon’s eyes watched security footage of Mave entering the safe apartment.
He leaned closer to the screen.
Then smiled.
May you like
“Hello, brother.”
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