His Mafia Queen

His Protective Instincts

RILEY

I hide out in the photo lab for a while, hoping that Beckett is gone — and that the drama of the Kevin-Jennifer situation doesn't spill into here. Thankfully, everyone's on assignment and I have the little space to myself.

I don't, however, have my phone. That's still on my desk. Dammit, what if Beckett took it? I spend fifteen minutes worry about that, then I make a tentative move into the newsroom.

It's the same as I left it, minus Beckett. Thank God. That's when I remember I have an interview about the symphony story. Dammit. If I leave now, I'll be able to make the appointment with the conductor and the PR director.

I snatch up my phone, notebook, purse and coffee, and leave without saying a word to anyone. For the next two hours, I'm shaking on the inside as I do a fluff interview with the conductor. I try to casually ask about Martinez, but the conductor knows nothing (of course) and the PR person steers me to more creative questions (of course).

My mind is too unsteady to press the PR woman, and I end the interview, relieved I got some good quotes but knowing I need so much more. From there, I go directly to Cath's gallery.

I find her in white overalls, a white T-shirt, a white bandanna, and barefoot. She's painting one wall black, and there are splatters of paint on her clothes. She looks effortlessly interesting and artsy, whereas I'd probably look like I rolled in dirt if I tried the same thing.

I spill into the room, dumping my bag and a box of mini donuts I picked up on my way here.

"You're not going to believe this," I say, flipping open the box and cramming a tiny donut in my mouth.

Cath sets her brush down and pads over to me. "Are you okay? You look a little flushed."

"No. I'm not okay," I say while chewing. "Sorry."

I swallow and tell her about Beckett. She listens while eating half the donuts.

"Wow. Shit. That's wild, bringing you a bouquet of flowers then standing like a creeper at your desk. Who let him in, anyway?"

"I have no clue. It's supposed to be a secure newsroom because some guy came in a couple of years ago and threatened the reporters."

Cath exhales. "You haven't told Gabriel, have you?"

I shake my head. "I haven't told him anything."

"He doesn't know you kissed Beckett?"

"He knows basic details about Beckett, about of what happened while we were broken up. You're the only one who knows the entire story. No. I haven't told him about Beckett's..."

"Stalking?"

"Yeah. That. Do you think that's what this is?"

"Uh, fuck yes. You need to tell him."

Now it's my turn to sigh. "He's going to freak out."

"And maybe for good reason. Why is this random man you went out with what, twice? Three times? Showing up with flowers? You're engaged now."

"I know. I feel bad about it all."

"Jesus. Beckett's the one who should feel bad. Dick. Maybe I should go over there now and tell him what I think."

I wave a donut in the air. "No. Please don't. If this guy's unhinged, I don't want you getting involved."

"Okay, but you need to tell Gabriel. Soon. Today."

I nod. She's right, of course, but part of me is more worried about Gabriel's reaction than anything. "I'll go there now. I'm blowing off work for the rest of the day."