Chapter 81
Evelyn's POV
"Ms. Valentine is more efficient than I anticipated." Julian's tone was perfectly professional, but I caught the slight emphasis on my formal name. Maintaining distance. Keeping boundaries. "Her expertise cut our research time significantly."
It was smooth. Believable. Exactly the kind of explanation that would satisfy Adrian's questions without revealing anything we didn't want him to know.
But I could see Adrian trying to process it. Trying to figure out if we were really just working, or if something else had happened while he was gone.
"That's—" Adrian started, then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. "That's good. I'm glad it was productive." His eyes found mine again. "Evelyn, if you have a minute, I wanted to—"
"Actually," Julian interrupted smoothly, already moving toward the door with his phone in hand, "we need to get back to Titan. Webb is waiting for these findings so he can start the deep financial analysis." He glanced at me, expression professionally neutral. "The sooner we get him the information, the faster we can identify who's behind this."
It was a clear dismissal. A polite but firm indication that we were leaving. Now.
I could see Adrian's jaw tighten, could see him wanting to protest. To insist I stay.
But he couldn't. Not without making it obvious that this was personal.
"Of course," Adrian said finally. His voice was carefully controlled, but I caught the frustration underneath. "I understand." He turned to me. "Thank you for coming, Evelyn. Your help is—" He stopped, something painful flickering in his eyes. "It's appreciated."
The words were simple, but they carried weight. Subtext. Everything he couldn't say with Julian standing right there.
"You're welcome," I said quietly. Then, because I couldn't help myself: "Take care of yourself, Adrian."
His eyes held mine for a moment longer, and I saw him struggling with something. Wanting to say more. Wanting to ask me to stay, or to meet him later, or to give him some indication that I wasn't completely lost to him.
But Julian was already holding the door open, waiting with that patient impatience that suggested we were on a schedule.
"I'll walk you out," Adrian said finally.
"That's not necessary," Julian replied. "I know the way." He gestured for me to precede him. "Ms. Valentine?"
I moved toward the door, hyperaware of Adrian's eyes tracking my movement. Of the way he looked like he wanted to physically block my path. To force me to stay and talk and explain what the hell was happening.
But he didn't. Just stood there with his hands clenched at his sides and watched me walk away.
Again.
I stepped into the hallway and Julian followed, letting the door close behind us with a soft click that felt far too final.
We walked in silence toward the elevators, our footsteps echoing off polished floors. I could feel Julian's presence beside me—close but not touching, maintaining that professional distance that would satisfy any security cameras.
But I could also feel the satisfaction radiating off him. The barely concealed triumph of someone who'd just successfully extracted me from a situation he didn't want me in.
The elevator arrived and we stepped inside. The doors closed, sealing us in reflective steel and artificial lighting.
"You're welcome," Julian said quietly.
I turned to look at him. "For what?"
"For getting you out of there before Adrian could corner you into a conversation you didn't want to have." He leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed, watching me with those sharp gray eyes. "You would have stayed if he'd pushed. Would have let him talk you into explaining things you can't explain. Would have ended up hurt and guilty and—"
"I know what I would have done," I interrupted. Then, softer: "Thank you."
His expression shifted slightly. Surprise, maybe. Or satisfaction that I'd admitted he was right.
"You're learning," he said.
"Learning what?"
"That sometimes letting someone else run interference isn't weakness." He pushed off the wall as the elevator descended. "That you don't have to handle everything alone."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because he was right. Because for the first time in seven years, I'd had someone watching my back. Someone who'd seen me struggling and had done something about it without being asked.
Someone who cared enough to be jealous and manipulative and completely impossible, but who'd also given me exactly what I needed.
"This is still a terrible idea," I said quietly.
"Probably." He didn't look away. "But I'm not going anywhere."
The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened onto the parking garage, and we stepped out into concrete and shadows and the echo of our own footsteps.
Julian's Mercedes was waiting where we'd left it. He unlocked the doors with a chirp and we got in, the interior suddenly feeling far too intimate after an hour of careful distance.
He started the engine but didn't put the car in gear. Just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
"You did good work today," he said finally. "The leads you identified—they're solid. Webb's going to have a field day tracing those connections."
"It's what you're paying me for."
"It's more than that." He turned to look at me, and there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch. "You're good at this, Evelyn. Not just the investigation. The whole thing. Staying focused under pressure. Reading between the lines. Seeing patterns others miss." A pause. "You're wasted as just a killer."
The compliment caught me off guard. Not because it was flattering—though it was—but because it was true. Because I'd forgotten, in all the years of blood and violence, that I used to be good at other things. That I had skills beyond ending lives.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
Julian held my gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to the windshield and put the car in gear.
We pulled out of the parking garage in silence, heading back toward Titan Tower and whatever came next.
And despite everything—despite the disaster we'd just navigated, despite the investigation still looming, despite all the ways this could still go wrong—I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Because I wasn't alone anymore.
And maybe that was worth the risk.