Chapter 237

Chapter 237
NATALIE

Nathan grabbed his jacket, instantly alert. "What happened?"

"Scott's men—at my mom's place." My fingers shook as I grabbed my clothes. "They're breaking in!"

"Call Brian," Nathan tossed me his phone. "Tell him to send someone to your mother's address now. Password 0804."

I did as he said, rattling off the address while Nathan made another call.

"Scott," Nathan's voice turned deadly. "Call your dogs off Natalie's mother or I'll make last night seem trivial."

I couldn't hear Scott's response, but Nathan's jaw tightened.

"You have five minutes."

Nathan hung up and turned to me. "Brian's guys are three minutes out. Scott agreed to back off."

"And you believe him?" I snatched my purse.

"No. But we need a plan beyond running." Nathan gripped my shoulders. "Trust me one more time. I can fix this."

Twenty minutes later, Mom called back. Brian's men had arrived just as Scott's thugs were leaving. She was safe—for now.

"We can't go back to your place or mine," Nathan paced the motel room. "Scott's watching both."

"So what's your brilliant plan?"

Nathan smiled that dangerous smile. "We gather evidence to destroy him."

"You want to take down a drug dealer who just tried to kill us?" I stared at him. "That's insane."

"You need a career-defining story. I need revenge."

I rolled my eyes. "Only you would call potential death a good idea."

Nathan started making calls, arranging for Brian's men to get us back into the city—avoiding main roads and cameras.

"Wear this." He handed me a baseball cap and mask. "Head down whenever we pass security cameras."

Two hours later, we crouched in a black SUV with tinted windows in downtown Chicago. Nathan's plan was simple but dangerous: follow Scott's men, gather evidence, call the police.

"I need my gear from the station," I said.

Nathan nodded. "Too risky for you to go in. Who can you trust?"

I texted my camera operator. She brought my equipment down to the parking garage without questions.

"Keep low," she whispered. "Everybody's talking about how you stood up to Scott. He's out for blood."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Just don't get killed," she said, hurrying away.

Nathan had rented an anonymous black sedan. "Scott's right-hand man left the Meridian twenty minutes ago. My guy says they're moving product tonight."

"How do you even have contacts in Chicago?" I adjusted my camera.

Nathan shrugged. "Money opens doors everywhere."

We tailed Scott's men across the city all afternoon. Eventually, they led us to a private dock in the industrial harbor.

"Got 'em," Nathan said, parking behind an abandoned warehouse. "Ideal spot for drug shipments."

We crept closer, using a rusted-out barge hull for cover. From there, we watched Scott's operation. Men loaded crates onto a small cargo ship with practiced moves.

"Those aren't televisions," I whispered, zooming in with my camera. The crates had false bottoms—smuggler's trick 101.

"I'm going closer," Nathan announced.

I grabbed his arm. "Are you insane? They'll kill you!"

"They have to catch me first." His eyes burned with reckless confidence. "I need to slow them down so you can get enough footage."

"How?"

"Fire disrupts things nicely."

"Nathan, no!" I hissed. "That's arson!"

"And what they're doing is drug trafficking." He checked his watch. "Stay here. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, call the cops and get out."

"What about you?"

His expression softened. "I'll be fine. I've seen worse in South America."

Before I could argue, he disappeared between containers. Through my viewfinder, I watched Nathan approach from the dock's blind side. He knocked out a guard with scary efficiency, taking the man's jacket and cap.

My stomach knotted watching him casually stroll into a drug operation. He picked up boxes, helped load the ship. No one questioned him.

Twenty minutes passed. Where was he? Then I spotted him on the ship, ducking into a cargo hold. Five minutes later, flames erupted from the vessel. Chaos erupted—men shouting, running, abandoning posts.

I recorded everything, hands steady despite my pounding heart. This was career-making footage.

The fire spread fast. Men tossed packages overboard, white powder sinking into dark water. I caught it all.

Police sirens wailed in the distance. But Nathan hadn't returned.

I waited five more minutes before breaking my promise. The warehouse near the dock was burning too, flames shooting from windows. Nathan could be trapped.

I abandoned my hiding spot and ran toward the burning building, dodging panicked drug runners. "Nathan!" I shouted, coughing as smoke filled my lungs.

A figure burst through the doorway, crashing into me. Nathan, face black with soot, coughing violently. His eyes widened.

"What the hell?" He grabbed my arm hard. "I told you to stay put! This place is dangerous—move!"

He dragged me away as fire trucks screamed to a halt nearby. We retreated to safety as firefighters battled the blaze.

"You could have died!" I snapped once we were clear.

"Says the woman running into a burning building." Nathan's voice rasped from smoke. "Did you get the footage?"

"Yes—plenty."

Nathan looked at me with sudden intensity. "Then get it on air. Now."

He was right. This was my chance. I set up my equipment on a rise overlooking the chaos. Nathan helped position the camera, surprising me with his technical know-how.

"Testing," I murmured, then went live. "This is Natalie Morgan for CBS Chicago. I'm witnessing what appears to be a major drug trafficking operation at south harbor industrial dock..."

My report flowed as I described police detaining Scott's men below. The burning ship had been pushed from the dock, firefighters battling from tugboats.

When I finished, my station colleagues arrived to take over. I stepped back, drained yet wired.

Nathan stood off to the side, smoking and watching me. He typed something on his phone, a slight smile on his face.

I approached him after wrapping up. "Who are you texting?" My tone came out sharper than intended.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Jealous already?"

"The police need your statement about the fire." I moved back when he reached for me.

His expression darkened. "What happened to your concern from ten minutes ago? Weren't you just charging into fire for me?"

"That was professional courtesy."

"Professional courtesy?" Nathan barked a laugh. "That what we're calling it?"

"What are we calling it?" I challenged. "You making eyes at your phone right after we nearly died?"

"Making eyes?" Nathan stepped closer. "You think I'm texting a woman?"

"Your history speaks for itself."

"You want to know who I'm texting?" Nathan thrust his phone at me. "It's Sean. Asked him if trying to get back with an ex means I've lost my mind."

I glanced at the screen, seeing Sean's name. Heat rushed to my face.

"Next time, ask before jumping to conclusions," Nathan said firmly. "I'm sick of you assuming the worst about me."

"I assume the worst because that's who you are," I muttered, shame mixing with stubborn pride.

"Speaking of history," Nathan's voice hardened, "should we discuss Ethan? The one who screwed you?"

The mention of Ethan was a slap. "That's different."

"How? Because it's you?" Nathan ran a hand through his sooty hair. "You condemn me for my past while ignoring your own issues."

"Your past includes Elizabeth," I said, the name burning my tongue. "Who you still talk to."

"For business," Nathan clarified. "She's a client."

"That counts as contact."

Nathan studied me, then said something unexpected. "You're right."

"What?"

"I'll cut all ties with Elizabeth—business and personal. When we get back to New York, I'm terminating her contract."

I stared at him, blindsided. "You'd drop a client?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "I want us to work, Natalie. I'm changing."

"But—"

"I've had relationships," Nathan continued, his voice softening. "I won't deny that. If we'd met five years earlier, things might have ended differently."

"You mean you'd have dumped me sooner?"

"I mean I wasn't ready for someone real." His eyes locked on mine. "But since we married, there's been no one else. Not once."

The raw honesty in his voice made my chest hurt. Nathan held out his phone.

"Here. Check everything. Delete whoever bothers you."

I hesitated before taking it. His phone unlocked with the same password—our wedding date. I scrolled through contacts, finding several marked "Ex" that I deleted. With each deletion, my stomach twisted tighter.

"You've been busy," I muttered, returning his phone.

Nathan caught my hand, yanking me against him. "That was before you. It's done."

"So many women—"

His mouth crashed down on mine, cutting me off. The kiss was rough, desperate. When he pulled back, his eyes burned.

"The past is over," he said against my lips. "From now on, there's only you."

I suddenly noticed the news crew watching us. My face burned as I pushed him away. "People are staring."