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“I did my residency there, then joined a practice. Concierge medicine.” Her lips puckered, like she had a foul taste in her mouth.
Concierge medicine for the rich and powerful. A far cry from Gia’s job at the clinic on the reservation.
“You meet him through your practice?”
She flinched, but said nothing.
Frustration was a low simmer in his veins. “Any idea why those men were looking for you?”
Gia’s face flushed crimson. “He wants…me back.” The admission dragged from her mouth, coated in barbed wire and regret.
Again, his internal radar jangled. Women didn’t flee cross-country and bury themselves on a reservation because their ex still had feelings for them.
Unless the jilted lover was powerful. Dangerous.
“Did he hit you?” He kept his voice low, steady—even as rage filled him.
That frightened doe look shadowed her face, just like it had last night. He didn’t want to add to it.
She looked startled. “Hit me?” A quick shake of her head. “Not that.”
Again, a truth mixed in with unspoken layers.
Maybe he hadn’t beaten her, but there were other forms of abuse. Emotional abuse. Gaslighting. His father had perfected gaslighting his mom.
Caleb pulled into her driveway and parked. “What scared you enough to hide?”
Hesitation. Then, “He wasn’t the man I believed he was.” She shoved the door open and bolted toward her house, her movements jerky.
Her voice rang with conviction that time.
“Hold up.” He grabbed his Glock from the glove box and hurried to catch up. “Let me clear the place.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t know where I live.” Still, she unlocked the door and stood aside to let him enter first.
“How do you know?” He swept the living room and kitchen with a professional eye, then shut the front door and motioned her to take a seat on the couch.
“I think if they knew where I lived, they would have come here, not stumbled across me at a bar I never go to.”
She was too sure of herself. Like she had been when the kid in the pink cap had a knife to her throat.
He moved down the hall. Bathroom clear. Bedroom—
A brown Louis Vuitton suitcase sat next to the bed. He hefted it. Full of clothes, as he’d expected. The closet was nearly empty—just a few stray hangers. Dresser drawers were bare, too.
She’d been planning to disappear. Maybe still was, despite what she told his grandfather.
Dammit.Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a looming headache.
Running wouldn’t save her. She’d spend the rest of her life always looking over her shoulder. Always having to guard her secrets.
Tucking his pistol at the small of his back, he found her standing stiffly by the kitchen counter, watching him with wary eyes.
“You were leaving.”
Her chin lifted. “Why do you say that?”
“Full suitcase. Empty closet.”