Chapter Thirteen
Even when they’d gone back to Gabe’s after the animal shelter debacle, Rachel was still having a hard time not laughing at the mental image of Gabe looking agitated while getting licked to death by a giant teddy bear of a dog. Despite the ordeal, Gabe had insisted they stay and finish out the time they’d promised the shelter, and he’d tried to put on a brave face, but it was clear he couldn’t wait to get out of there.
He’d invited her back to his place to hang out and order takeout, which she’d been all too happy to agree to. While it had been nice spending time with him at the shelter, that had been for her article. Now she’d get to spend time with Gabe simply because she wanted to.
When they’d gotten back to his place, Gabe had excused himself to shower. He’d offered her the shower in his second bathroom, but she hadn’t rolled around on the ground with a wet dog and also didn’t relish the thought of putting the same clothes she’d worn to the shelter back on afterward. She’d survive a couple hours until she got home.
Though he’d been trying to mask it, it had been obvious that Gabe was favoring one leg over the other. She knew about his injury but wasn’t sure how badly he’d re-hurt it. She’d asked him about it, but he’d shrugged it off. Hopefully the warm water would help.
Rachel wandered around his living room, unsure what to do with herself. She went over to the coffee table where a bunch of remotes sat, but there were at least five of them and she had no idea what any of them did so she decided to wait for Gabe to turn on the TV. She let her eyes drift over his place. It wasn’t the first time she’d been there, but it was the first time she’d really gotten to give the place a thorough once-over. It was very Gabe. All comfy couches, soft rugs, and sports memorabilia on the walls. The floor plan was open concept, the living room running into the dining room, which was set off from the kitchen only by an island.
She walked over and slid onto a stool and waited for Gabe, reaching her hand out to pet one of the cats who’d was walking across his counter. But as her hand landed on the kitten, it bolted, knocking some paperwork off the countertop and onto the floor. “Dammit,” she said, her tone hushed as she began picking up the papers and trying to get them back in some sort of order that resembled how they’d been before the cat had sent them flying through the air.
But as she did, her eyes landed on a piece of paper on the island. She tilted her head so she could read it. It was a bank statement, which was absolutely none of her business so she began to tear her gaze away when she noticed the name on top: Helping Hands. What the hell is that? If Gabe was getting a bank statement for a company, he’d have to have some fiscal stake in said company. But in all the time they’d spent together—over all the times they’d discussed how he spent his time—he’d never mentioned being a part of a nonprofit.
Rachel reminded herself that there was probably a very logical explanation—one that she could easily find out if she just asked him.
“Hey, what do you feel like eating?” Gabe walked around the corner rubbing a towel over his damp hair. Rachel couldn’t stop her eyes from raking over his body as he wore gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips and a tight blue Premiers T-shirt. His biceps flexed as he toweled off his hair. Rachel had never wanted to be a scrap of terrycloth so badly in her life.
Gabe came around behind her, rubbing a hand along her back as he passed, and went into the kitchen. Walking over to the other side of the island, Gabe pulled open a drawer and withdrew a stack of takeout menus. “These places are all pretty close. Any of them look good?” As he spread the menus out, his eyes locked on the bank statement.
Rachel studied him for his reaction. The widening of his eyes was the only immediate physical response, but he slid his hand over the paper, and pulled it toward him as his other hand moved the menus around. It reminded her of how a magician might try to distract an audience by using sleight of hand. He pulled the statement off the island and let it drop into the open drawer.
Rachel kept her head bent down as if she was looking at the menu options, but her eyes followed Gabe’s movements carefully. All of Rachel’s journalistic senses tingled. There wasn’t a cell in her body that thought Helping Hands was something Gabe would want to discuss. And now she had to know why.
Gabe rested his forearms on the granite countertop and smiled at her.
That’s when she knew she had to get out of there. Because even though she didn’t have any reason to think Gabe was hiding something, her instincts told her differently. And ever since she’d become a reporter, her gut was the one thing she never ignored. She didn’t want to spend time with him cuddling up on the couch watching movies and sharing dinner while her mind was focused on the bank statement. She gasped and looked down at her watch with what she hoped was a believable degree of panic etched on her face. “Oh shit. I totally forgot. I have a conference call with an editor in twenty minutes.” She rose from the stool and took a step away from the island. “I’m so sorry. It’s for another freelance opportunity; I can’t afford to miss it.”
She hated how easily she lied to Gabe, who looked disappointed yet understanding. “No worries,” he said. “I understand. Raincheck? Maybe we can get together for something not-article related this week?”
She smiled at him. “I’d like that. I’ll text you later, and we can set something up.”
“Works for me.”
“Great. Talk to you soon then,” she said over her shoulder as she went to retrieve her purse and walked toward the door. When she reached out to turn the knob, she felt the heat of a presence behind her. She wanted to melt into it, but managed to restrain herself.
An arm reached around her, making her hope it would snake around her waist and pull her back into Gabe’s chiseled chest. But instead, his hand grabbed the lock and turned it. “Gotta unlock it first,” he said huskily into her ear.
A shiver worked through her. “Is that how doors work? Good to know,” she joked, hoping it would lighten this moment that felt astoundingly sexually charged.
“Glad I could help.” He must have taken a step back because the warmth at her back disappeared. “See you later, Rach.”
She glanced quickly over her shoulder and offered a sly smile to turn the tables on him a little. “Can’t wait, Gabe.”
***
Two hours later, Rachel sat on her stiff couch with a blanket over her legs and her laptop resting on top. She’d been researching Helping Hands since she got home, but it was such a generic name that literally thousands of search results came up. She’d been painstakingly clicking through each one, but there was nothing Gabe had a clear connection to. And he’d have to have a connection if he was receiving their bank statements.
That led her to look into the bank that had sent the statement: The Bank of American Fidelity. And that was where things got interesting. It was a small branch that was in Philadelphia. But its website was… odd. Too simplistic, with no clickable links. Rachel had tried to call them, but no one answered and there was no answering service. It just continued ringing until Rachel eventually hung up. Her next step was to place a call to a friend named Jared who had a way with computers and a loose moral code. She told him what she knew, and within thirty minutes he’d called her back with the information that let her know she’d found something important.
As it turned out, The Bank of American Fidelity existed under the umbrella of a larger corporation called the Bank of Worldwide Fidelity, which was located in the Cayman Islands. It was all so cliché, it was almost hard to believe. Of course, Rachel knew that the Cayman Islands was a mecca for people trying to hide funds from the American government, especially since Swiss banks were under investigation and closing at a rapid rate. But it still seemed so…Netflix miniseries. Rachel had a hard time believing that Gabe would be using an offshore bank. It reeked of criminal behavior that he’d never demonstrated he was even remotely capable of. But the fact that he obviously hadn’t wanted her to see the statement plagued her mind.
Jared said he could dig around into Gabe’s finances if she wanted, but Rachel wasn’t willing to go there. Aside from it being illegal, it was also a gross betrayal of his trust, and she didn't want to go that far. Once she got off the phone, she went into her bedroom, where she had paper scattered all over the floor in an intricate web that made sense only to her.
The majority of it dealt with Cole Barnes, but some of his friends were also included. She’d done what research she could on his friends, but she hadn’t come up with anything that tied them to the club. Rachel looked over all of it, and slumped with the knowledge that it didn’t really amount to much. And now, though she hated to think about it, she worried that Gabe might be a member of the club. The bank was the only lead she had—if it even was one—and there was no way she could get much farther without exploiting that angle at least a little bit.
Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her phone from the living room and called Jared again. When he answered, she said, “If I needed a list of The Bank of American Fidelity’s customers, how long would that take you to compile?”
Jared chuckled. “About five minutes. Ten if their security is better than I’m giving them credit for.”
She wanted to call him out on his cockiness, but she didn’t have it in her to tease him. “Then I guess I’ll check my email in ten minutes.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Jared said before ending the call.
Rachel pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. She’d gotten the lead she wanted. No, needed. But all it made her feel was slightly ill and anxious. Please let this be worth it, she thought before walking back out into the living room and waiting ten minutes before opening her email.