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Then she’d fallen for a man who’d turned out to be as devious and dangerous as the world she’d fled.
Maybe the old sayingblood will tellwas true.
From the chest of drawers, Gia scooped up panties, bras, and socks, and tossed them into her suitcase. Then she stopped.
A copy of her twelve-week contract with the medical clinic lay on top of the chest. She unfolded the paper. Six more weeks to go, with a bonus at the end—a bonus she desperately needed in order to disappear again.
Farther this time.
Her patients needed her. The overworked nursing staff needed her. She and Jennie were organizing a wellness fair at the clinic in three weeks.
Jennie.
A nurse at the clinic, Jennie Tsosie was fast becoming a close friend. She didn’t know what had brought Gia to the Navajo Nation—or why Gia always found a reason not to join her and the others for a night out beyond its borders.
If Gia left now, Jennie would be stuck organizing the fair on her own, on top of everything else already on her shoulders. Gia needed to find a way to say goodbye. To explain.
But if she told Zach she was leaving, he’d try to talk her out of it. Tell her she was safer on the rez.
President Blackwater had gone out on a limb for her. He’d intervened so she could live and work here. He’d trusted her when no one else in their right mind would have. Walking away now—leaving the clinic short-staffed with no notice—would betray that trust.
She set down the contract and glanced at her open suitcase.
Vincente’s men had come across Abigail. A name she’d told them was passing through. Not staying. They didn’t know about Gianna Barone.
If she stayed put until her contract ended, they wouldn’t know where to find her.
Still, she frowned. If they started asking around, it wouldn’t take much to discover an Anglo doctor matching Abigail Winters’s description working on the rez.
With a rough exhale, she lifted a single pair of panties from the jumbled pile, folded it neatly, then placed it back in the suitcase.
For all her efforts to carve out a life of privilege, she’d never felt as at home as she did here. The Navajo had accepted her—not because of who she pretended to be, but who she was. They needed her.
She could see herself building a life here.
That is, if she was ever free of her old one.
“And that’s exactly why you can’t stay.” Her eyes watered. She gave them an irritated swipe and turned to the closet.
Screw destiny.
She’d remade herself before. Would do it again.
Shirts and pants hung in order, next to her white doctor’s coat. Her hand hesitated over the sleeveless black dress she’d packed when she fled Miami.
Elegant. Timeless.
Fit for a funeral.
“Caleb Varella.”
She whispered the name aloud, the consonants flowing over her tongue like a lover’s caress. It had weight. Strength. Protection.
And that terrified her.
Not because she feared him. Because for the first time, she wanted someone and felt safe wanting him.
A shrill ring shattered her thoughts. The sound came from her living room.