When she nodded, he removed the blindfold. Slowly, Elle opened her eyes, blinking as her eyes adjusted in the summer morning sunlight. Then she gasped, her heart fluttering when she realized they were standing on the edge of a meadow of wildflowers, the vibrant green grass dotted with crimson, yellow, white, and lavender flowers that swayed gently in the breeze.
“Oh my God, Gabe,” she breathed. “This is beautiful.”
He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I was driving through here yesterday and knew you had to have these wildflowers. But seeing as how I couldn’t pick them all and leave them in your locker…”
She turned in his arms to face him, her eyes wide. “It was you?”
He smiled down at her and shrugged. “It was me.”
Her heart began to pound and she blinked to clear the sudden blur as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“I was waiting for the perfect place and time.” He held her gaze for a long moment before easing down on his knees, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he peered up at her. He chuckled. “I had a whole speech planned, but I’ve forgotten every damned word. So I’ll just say I love you, Elle. And I hope that forever still sounds as right and perfect to you as it does to me. Will you marry me?”
She stared at him, emotion choking her and making it momentarily impossible to speak.
When she didn’t immediately respond, he cleared his throat, and continued, “I know I’m probably not the guy you always pictured yourself with, but—”
Elle dropped to her knees and stopped his words with a kiss. When she pulled back, she took his face in her hands. “It was you, Gabe,” she breathed. This time there was no question. “It was always you.”
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Well, son of a bitch.
The little bastard had decided to run. Didn’t that just fucking figure? It was at least ninety degrees, and the air was so thick Kyle might as well have been trying to inhale the gumbo that the citizens of New Orleans found so enticing. And now that freaky little shit Harlan Rhodes was sprinting down Decatur Street wearing nothing but a Speedo, tube socks, and glittery gold sneakers.
No one even raised an eyebrow—except for a random tourist or two who hadn’t quite figured out that natives of the Big Easy were rarely surprised by anything.
“Dawson!”
Kyle groaned inwardly when his partner, Dave Peterman, called out to him. He could already hear the ass-chewing he was going to get later for pissing on protocol. But screw it—Kyle wasn’t letting Rhodes give him the slip. No way in hell. He’d been working this case almost since he’d arrived in New Orleans a year ago and finally had the key witness needed to put an end to one of the biggest human-trafficking operations in the country. Peterman was just going to have to get his ass moving.
Rhodes suddenly darted into the street, sprinting toward Jackson Square, causing cars to come to a screeching halt. Kyle raced after him, ignoring the cacophony of blaring horns and shouted obscenities. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His suit jacket and tie began to feel like a wet straitjacket, restricting his movement. But the adrenaline pumping through his veins pushed him forward.
For all his wiriness, Rhodes was struggling just as much as Kyle in the heavy air, his strides beginning to slow even as he vaulted over a couple picnicking in the grass. The muscles in Kyle’s legs were on fire and his breath sawed in and out, but he surged forward in a burst of speed.
When he was within a few feet of Rhodes, Kyle lunged, tackling the other man. They crashed to the pavement, sliding along the concrete path and nearly taking down a bride and groom making their vows before a preacher dressed in a Colonel Sanders-like white suit, string tie, and goatee. Ignoring the couple’s startled cries, Kyle wrapped his arm around Rhodes’s neck, putting him in a headlock and rolling until the man was on his stomach. Kyle scrambled to his knees and twisted Rhodes’s arm behind him. The man bucked, trying to throw him off, forcing Kyle to press his knee into Rhodes’s back to keep him down.
“Now,” Kyle panted, having to yell as the brass band on the other side of the fence struck up their first tune of the afternoon, “I think you had a few things you wanted to tell me, Harlan…”
“Suck my dick!” Rhodes spat. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Dawson!”
Kyle shrugged, slapping handcuffs on Rhodes and dragging him to his feet. “That’s what you think, asshole.”
*
Kyle popped a handful of peanut M&M’s into his mouth just as Peterman stormed out of the assistant director’s office and halted abruptly to give Kyle a shitty look. So, pretty much business as usual.