The Guardian
Chapter 24

After a week in protective custody, Delia had learned several things. One was that there was no such thing as too much Big Bang Theory (she’d already had her suspicions, but it had been nice to prove the hypothesis). Two was that, after five consecutive nights of curling up in Matteo’s lap instead of hers to fall asleep, her cat could officially be labeled a big, fat traitor.

And three was that with every conversation, every belly laugh, and every toe-curling time he took her to bed, Delia was falling for Matteo.

Hard.

“Oh, my God, Al,” she laughed, carefully tucking the thought away. They had plenty of time to unpack whatever this was between them once Nicky Bianchi was behind bars. “You really are shameless.”

“I think she’s giving you a bad rap, buddy,” Matteo said as Al stretched out over his lap, preening and purring loudly when Matteo scratched behind his ears. “Tell her. You’re just misunderstood.”

Delia laughed again, leaning over the back of the couch to k!ss him on the cheek. “You’re spoiling him, you know.”

“Nah. We’re male bonding. I’m just glad he bounced back.”

The reminder of what had happened to Al, of why they were locked away in the tiny cabin rather than living normal lives back in Remington, sobered Delia up, lickety split. “I take it there’s no update from Sinclair.”

Matteo shook his head. “You know how this goes,” he said, and she finally did.

“Slower than Dateline, I know. I just…” She clamped down on her lower l*p. She was safe in protective custody, and the Intelligence Unit had a plan. She was wildly grateful for their protection. But God, she missed Camila and her dad. She missed going to work every day, crunching numbers and balancing spreadsheets. She missed not being scared that someone would break in before she could reach the panic button and murder her and Matteo in any one of a thousand different ways.

Safe to say, the stress might be getting to her just a teensy bit.

Of course, Matteo read her with ease. “Want this to be over-with, I know. And it will be soon. Kent is cooperating with Sinclair. Capelli is scouring the system for the Silhouette file, and Intelligence is keeping a close eye on Bianchi and investigating Peyton’s death. The M.E. is taking her time because she wants to be absolutely sure she sees everything from every angle. All the pieces will slot together soon.”

Delia’s chest squeezed in dread. Peyton’s laptop still hadn’t been recovered, and clues from her apartment had yielded inconclusive results. “Do you really think her death could be an accident?”

“No,” he said quietly. “While it’s technically possible, that’s not what my gut says happened. Even if the M.E. rules it inconclusive.”

So odd, to be sure of something without concrete facts and data to back it up. And yet… “I don’t, either. I just wish we had some answers.”

“I do, too. But in the meantime, I know something that might help.”

Delia was about to make a saucy remark—although they wouldn’t fix everything, Matteo’s “distractions” were pretty mind-blowing—when a knock sounded off on the cabin’s front door. Her heart back-flipped against her sternum, but a quick look at the security cam monitor beside the door had her jitters turning to a smile.

“Hey!” Delia said after keying in the code and flipping the two-inch titanium deadbolt on the door to let Hale and Isabella and—whoa—Tara inside. “What are you guys doing out here?”

“Um, girls’ night, of course.” Hale nodded down at her T-shirt, which read Rosé All Day in loopy pink script and was a stark contrast to the Glock at her h*p. “We brought takeout from Spice Up Your Life, wine for you and Tara and sparkling water for Isabella and me since I’m on-duty later, and chips and popcorn for whatever movies you might want to binge. The works.”

Tara held up two overstuffed reusable grocery bags and grinned, and Isabella leaned in for a hug that her now very round belly made semi-awkward, and Delia’s heart panged with the promise of normalcy.

“And that’s not against the rules?” she asked, but Tara just laughed.

“My boss wants a piece of this pie just as badly as the FBI does. It’s in the best interest of the D.A.’s office for me to join the Intelligence Unit in a well-check on a material witness. That’s the official line, anyway.” She passed the bags off to Hale, who took the handful of steps needed to reach the kitchen. “But the truth is, I know all too well how hard the isolation of protective custody can be, so when I heard that Garza had asked these two to come cheer you up, I bullied my way along for the ride.”

Blinking, Delia turned toward Matteo. “This is your distraction?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “Sinclair okayed a little change-up in your protection detail, just for the evening. Hale’s going to stay here with you while Maxwell and I keep an eye on things outside. I’ll be with him in an unofficial capacity, of course.”

His tone told Delia he’d still be armed to the teeth and ready to take on any danger. Unofficially, of course.

“And I’m just here for funsies, since I’m now the size equivalent of a beached Beluga,” Isabella said, waggling her brows. “My maternity leave starts tomorrow even though the baby’s not due for another couple of weeks. But I couldn’t miss one last girls’ night before I’m outnumbered by men at work and at home.”

“I’m going to take that as my cue,” Matteo said, standing up with Al still in his arms.

Hale laughed. “Oh, how the grumpy have fallen. Looks like sweet, fluffy kittens are your thing after all, G.”

“Don’t mess with Al.” He gently lowered the cat to the floorboards, where the animal quickly scampered off to investigate the food situation in the kitchen. “Maxwell’s waiting?”

“Out front,” Isabella confirmed, her gaze flicking from Matteo to Delia and back. “Go. We’ve got her.”

He nodded, the flush moving over his golden-brown cheeks making Delia flush harder in return. “I know. I wouldn’t be leaving if you didn’t.”

Without hesitating, he walked over to Delia and brushed his mouth over hers, soft and quick. “I’ll be right outside.”

“I’ll be okay,” she promised, and what do you know, that blush warming her cheeks didn’t get any better as all three women raised their eyebrows and grinned.

“Oh, my God,” Hale said, moving toward the kitchen as soon as Garza shut the front door and Isabella locked it behind him. “Big, bad, grouchy-as*s Garza engaged in a PDA and blushed. He’s so far gone for you!”

Delia laughed. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I don’t know.” Isabella shrugged as she pulled out glasses and cutlery, setting them out along the counter while Hale unloaded the food onto the tiny kitchen table. “I’ve known Garza for a while now, and he’s never looked like that before.”

“Looked like what, exactly?” Delia asked.

Hale bounced her brows up and down and grinned. “Smitten, kitten!”

“He does usually rock that tall, dark, and broody thing,” Tara said contemplatively. She lifted a bottle of chardonnay in wordless question at Delia, whose nod was probably just a liiiiiittle too enthusiastic. “But I think it’s nice that you two are so into each other.”

“Better living through org*sms.” Hale winked, then let out a sigh. “Not that I’m having any that aren’t self-induced, but I’ll live vicariously through you b!tches ’til I can find a good Mr. Right Now.”

Isabella handed out the plates she’d found in the cabinet and gr0aned. “I can’t even see my feet, let alone the parts of me needed for s3x. Although, I’m not one hundred percent sure I wouldn’t have at least a minor org*sm from a really good foot rub right now. We preggos have our priorities.”

Tara passed Delia a glass of wine, clinking her own glass against it as she winked. “Let’s just say, I know the sparkle of a happy woman because I am a happy woman. Cheers, girlfriend.”

A sound suspiciously close to a giggle escaped Delia’s lips. “I’m happy, too. I mean, you know, the whole money laundering, psycho-killer mafia boss who had me attacked and broke into my apartment and probably murdered my boss thing aside.”

As if a lid had been lifted, her feelings grew steam and spilled outward in a sudden rush. “I just don’t really have a lot of girlfriends. Okay, any girlfriends, other than Camila, and I can’t talk to her because of the whole protective custody thing. Also, the exceedingly hot s3x I’m having is totally with her brother, so that’s awkward, even though I’ve had a crush on him since pretty much the dawn of time. But now that we are, in fact, having the aforementioned exceedingly hot s3x and starting to get really, really into each other on top of it, I’m not exactly sure what’s supposed to come next, or how I’m supposed to handle things. And there is the whole psycho-killer thing to worry about, too. Like, it’s really hard to navigate relationships on a normal playing field. When you’re almost certainly being stalked by someone who wants nothing more than to murder you so he can get away with stealing an insane amount of money from the company you work for, and the guy you’re falling for is also the guy who’s keeping you safe because it’s his job, it’s just…a lot, you know?”

Silence filled the cabin, pounding against Delia’s ears. She hadn’t meant to rainbow-vomit all of her feelings out loud, especially not in front of these smart, savvy women who probably thought she’d lost her marbles.

She gulped her wine—hey, she was already in for a penny—and opened her mouth to recant, or at the very least, to apologize.

But Isabella beat her to the punch. “Okay. Come on.”

Uhhhh. “Where are we going?”

“To the couch. I have a future soccer star in my uterus, and I’m going to need to get comfortable while we girl-talk all of”—she waved a hand in the air—“that.”

Delia’s jaw fell open. “You want to listen to me talk that out?”

“Of course we do,” Tara said, grabbing the bottle of wine in her free hand. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Garza’s our friend,” Hale continued with a warm smile. “He cares about you, and that makes you our friend. You’ve got a lot on your mind, and this will help. So, yeah, girl. Let’s go air it out.”

They filled their plates to brimming with butter chicken and shrimp biryani, then made their way to the cabin’s main living space. Between bites, Delia shared a mostly-not-R-rated version of what had happened between her and Matteo, peppering in some details on her crush from the past. She didn’t share any of his personal history—he’d told her about his family and his ex in confidence, and that wasn’t hers to tell—but while Isabella, Hale, and Tara might not have been privy to all the particulars, they certainly seemed to know Matteo well enough to fill in the blanks.

They shared their own stories, too, with Hale making them laugh so hard they were gasping at her bad first-date stories (“I sh!t you not, he meowed at me instead of speaking the whole time. After twenty minutes, I told him I was allergic to cats and bounced.”). Isabella drew Delia to the edge of her seat with the story of how she and Kellan had met, hated each other, been forced to work together, then fallen in love while chasing down a killer just as crazy as Nicky Bianchi (“occupational hazard when you fall for a cop,” she said with a grin) and Tara adding her meet-cute with Xander to the mix.

“Let me guess,” she said, polishing off the last sip of her second glass of wine, cheeks flushed and smile knowing. “Your necklace is a Capelli special.”

“Yeah,” Delia admitted, sliding a finger beneath the pendant that held the tiny electronic tracker. “Just in case.”

“I had one just like it. Saved my bacon. And then Xander and the rest of these guys saved my life.”

Delia’s brows popped as Tara told her the story. “The whole thing just scares the crap out of me,” Delia admitted. “I know you guys are used to all this danger flying around, but the most adrenaline I’ve had to deal with before this was when my Uber got into a fender-bender a couple years ago. I’m just…” Oh, f**k it. “Whenever I think of that guy dragging me into that alley, all I can do is freeze.”

Hale tilted her head in thought. “First of all, that is pretty much everyone’s reaction, so don’t feel bad for having it. Secondly, have you given any thought to practicing stressful scenarios?”

“Practicing them?” Delia asked, confused.

But Hale just nodded. “Sure. None of us, not even Maxwell—who could, like, bench press a Buick—handles stressful situations magically. He practices them. We all do. Being able to react efficiently is just a matter of training your brain to tell your body how to react when fear wants to take over. Once your body does it enough, the muscle memory kicks in and the instincts that go with it follow.”

Delia supposed that made sense. “So, you think I can teach myself to not freeze?”

“Every situation is different, so no guarantees,” Hale said. “But I know you can practice your way into things that’ll surprise you.”

“That’s definitely true,” Isabella said, and Tara nodded to make it unanimous.

“I’d trust her, if I were you. She may be all adorable over there, but she’s got a stack of black belts beneath all that glitter.”

“Seriously?” Delia’s jaw fell open.

“Two,” Hale semi-corrected. “But let’s just say, no one’s going to take my lunch money. Want me to show you a couple of tricks? I won’t lie, it’d be hands on. Getting past the panic of someone literally putting their hands on you with the intent to cause harm is the first and hardest part of handling an attempted attack. But some practice might help ease your mind.”

Delia hesitated. Yes, she trusted Hale, and double yes, she wanted to do all that she could to keep herself safe. But, God, the thought of trying to manage all that paralyzing adrenaline, the fear that she was taking her very last breaths—it had all been so strong. So real. She didn’t know if she could overcome that.

But then she looked at the women around her and realized that even though they were, all three, bad-a*sses, they hadn’t been born that way. Even Matteo had told her how hard he’d had to train to be a good cop. She trusted him. She trusted Hale. This was a safe place.

She could face her fears. She could.

“Okay,” Delia said. “Where do we start?”

Hale walked her through a handful of basics and evasive maneuvers, and Tara joined in as a second student, too. Isabella offered some pointers from her spot on the couch, and soon enough, they got to the hands-on part of things. But Hale eased Delia into it, telling her exactly what each drill involved before they began and asking permission to touch her before she did so. They started with wrist grabs, which weren’t so bad—although, wow, Hale was strong for someone with such a petite frame—and after a bunch of stutter-starts and fumbled attempts, Delia got the hang of managing her adrenaline pretty well.

Right up until Hale said, “Okay. Now, I want to practice the grab from behind.”

Delia’s pulse tripped, banging out a steady no no no in her veins. “O-kay?”

Tara reached out to squeeze Delia’s forearm. “Why don’t I go first? Would that help?”

“Yes.” Gratitude rushed through her. If she understood the mechanics of how things would work and gathered all the data on what was needed for a positive outcome and any variables for which she’d have to adjust, she’d be able to process the steps. Believe they’d work. Not freak the f**k out.

Delia nodded. “Please.”

She listened carefully as Hale described the drill, then asked Tara to help demonstrate a few different escape scenarios. “This one is, by and large, my favorite for when your attacker is a lot bigger than you,” Hale said. “Let’s see if we can call in some reinforcements.”

One text and two minutes later, Maxwell and Matteo were back in the cabin. “Okay, Maxwell,” Hale said, giving him a rundown of what they were doing. “Go ahead and grab Tara from behind with your arms over hers.”

“You good?” Maxwell asked Tara, who nodded. Although Maxwell didn’t go as all-in as Delia expected he would have if real danger were present, he didn’t soften up on Tara, his huge biceps bulging over her much more slender arms as he pythoned her in an unforgiving hold.

“Tara, what’s going on in your head right now?” Hale asked, and Tara managed a tight laugh.

“Uh, I’m wondering what the hell Maxwell ate for breakfast to make him this strong,” she said. “Also, how I’m going to get out of this.”

“You’re going to fight your fear response, that’s how,” Isabella said, and from beside Delia, Matteo nodded.

“Being bigger isn’t always an advantage.”

“Exactly, G. The truth is, strength does matter. It’s why grab-from-behinds usually work in the attacker’s favor. But most attackers who rely on that alone can be outsmarted.”

“How?” Delia asked. It seemed impossible.

“By thinking outside the box. See how Tara’s arms are tight against her body? Her attacker thinks this is his advantage because she’s not able to escape in any direction. But he forgot one.”

Delia examined the scenario. Measured all variables. Calculated escape paths and probabilities until—

“Down! She can drop down!” The hold Maxwell had over Tara’s arms gave her the perfect unimpeded path.

“Yep,” Hale said with a grin. “If you relax against your attacker’s grip, chances are, he won’t hold you as tightly as if you were struggling. He’ll think you’ve given up, but really, that little edge is likely all you need for a drop and slip.”

She showed Tara how to drop her body in one swift move toward the floor, then gave her a few tips on how to retain her balance so she could use her next steps to run. “Now, let’s try it in real-time.”

Delia watched, amazed, as Maxwell grabbed Tara from behind just as firmly as he had that first time. But then, Tara dropped, her body rocketing downward to escape his grasp, then bouncing back up as she sprang to her feet, and holy sh!t.

“That’s amazing,” Delia murmured, wide-eyed.

Hale grinned. “You want to give it a shot?”

Matteo stiffened but said nothing, clearly concerned but also seeming to want Delia to make the choice on her own. Yeah, she was still a little scared (and by a little, she really meant a lot). But she wasn’t going to overcome her fear without practice, so she said, “I do.”

“Okay,” Maxwell said. “If you need to stop at any time, just say ‘stop’. Or you can tap my leg with either hand, if that’s easier, and I’ll let go right away. Cool?”

Even though logic screamed hell, no, dude! at the top of its lungs, Delia had to try. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Maxwell’s arms banded around her in an instant, crushing her arms to her body and her heart to her throat, and Delia’s fear spiked. All of Hale’s directives flew out of her brain, leaving a blank sheet of ice behind, and oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, he was too big. Too strong.

She couldn’t get away. She couldn’t…

“Maxwell,” Matteo’s voice sounded off from somewhere beside her. “Let her go.”

“She knows how to tap out if she needs to,” Maxwell said. “Give her a chance.”

A chance. A chance. She had a chance, and okay, she could do this. Scraping in a raggedy breath, Delia summoned all her courage, forcing one directive into her paralyzed brain.

Relax.

Her body loosened by a fraction of an inch, but it wasn’t enough. Inhaling again, Delia pictured Matteo, scratching Al behind the ears. K!ssing her good morning. Trusting her with his feelings.

Her muscles melted, Maxwell’s going more lax in return, and one word screamed through her.

Drop.

She had no idea she’d moved until it was done. Suddenly, the pressure around her body was gone, air rushing into her lungs on a gasp as she scrambled free, and holy crap.

She’d gotten away.

“Yes, girl!” Hale whooped as Tara and Isabella high-fived and Maxwell scooped Delia up from the spot where she’d landed gracelessly on the floorboards. “You did it, you little badas*s!”

Delia clapped her hands over her mouth, utterly stunned, but of course, her speechlessness only lasted so long. “Oh, my God. It worked.”

“It did,” Maxwell confirmed, giving up the first smile Delia could ever remember seeing on the guy. “You got past that hiccup just great, kid. Just because you stutter-start doesn’t mean you’re done. As long as you’re alive, you’ve got a chance to come out swinging.”

“Okay.” Her nod was just this side of shaky, but she’d survived. She’d gotten free, and Maxwell hadn’t gone easy on her. He’d made her earn it, and she had.

She turned toward Matteo, beaming. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

Some emotion she couldn’t quite tag with a label moved through his eyes, gone so quickly, she knew she’d never unravel it.

“I can.”

They practiced a handful more times, both Tara and Delia taking turns. Maxwell and Matteo offered up some tips of their own, until finally, everyone was just about spent.

“We should probably head back to Remington,” Tara said. “Isabella, I can drop you off at home on my way, since Hale has to stay here with Maxwell to finish their shift.”

Isabella, who had stood to stretch her legs, went suddenly still. “Uh, actually, you can’t take me home.”

“What?” Delia asked. “Why not?”

“Because my water just broke, so I’m thinking maybe we need to go to the hospital instead.” She pressed a hand to her belly and grimaced. “Ohhhkay, yeah. Definitely yeah. We need to go.”

“Oh, sh!t. Should we call an ambulance, instead?” Hale asked in a rush, but Matteo stepped in, cucumber-cool.

“Getting an ambo all the way out here will waste time. Hale, run to the bathroom and grab a towel. Tara, go start your car. Isabella, I’m going to help you outside and get you all situated in the backseat so you can lie down if you want, okay? We can call Kellan and your doctor on the way. Maxwell”—he broke off to send a fast, hard look at the other detective—“you and Hale stay here with Delia.”

“You want us to stay?” Hale asked, brows sky-high.

“No, I need you to stay. I’m not officially on the case, and the last thing we need right now is to go off-book and f**k this up. Just keep her safe. I’ll be back soon.”

Delia nodded. “He’s right. Tara shouldn’t drive alone in case Isabella needs help.”

“What Isabella needs is an epidural,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Ugh, this freaking hurts.”

“You’ve got this, Isabella. Come on, lean on me.” Matteo scooped a shoulder beneath her arm, gently walking her toward the door. “I’ll check in once we get to Remington Mem, okay?”

“Go. I’ll be okay,” Delia said.

And in another minute, they were gone.