“My point is, I see the same qualities in Gabe,” Charlotte continued. “Of all the boys, he’s probably the most romantic. And by that, I don’t mean the other boys don’t know how to treat the women they love and make them feel special. I can tell that just by looking at how Joe and Sadie and Kyle and Abby are together. But Gabe…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think Gabe has an idealized vision of what love is supposed to be like. He saw how much Mac adored Theresa, saw everything he did to be there for her, to be the rock for their family when she was sick. I think he won’t settle for any less of a steadfast love.”
Elle scoffed as she took a sip of her cocoa. “You wouldn’t know it by how quickly he goes through women.”
Charlotte wagged a finger at her niece. “That’s where you’ve got it wrong, baby girl. Gabe doesn’t move on quickly because he’s fickle. He moves on because he realizes she’s not the one.”
Elle tucked away that little bit of intel to muse over later. Her aunt was one of the most insightful women Elle had ever known, but she was also biased when it came to the Dawson men. She’d been a surrogate aunt to them their entire lives, especially after their mother had died. And her affection for Mac certainly made her more lenient when it came to the foibles of his offspring. But the jury was definitely still out for Elle.
“And what about you?” she asked her aunt, eager to divert the subject away from her own interactions with the Dawson clan. “Do you ever regret that you never married and had children of your own?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not in the least. You’re every bit a daughter to me as if I’d given birth to you myself. And as for marriage…” Here she paused and sighed. “Well, everything turned out as it was meant to.” She rose and came around to Elle, taking her face in her hands. “And I’m sure it will for you, too—whatever path you choose.”
Elle grinned as her aunt pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Charlotte. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Charlotte pulled a face. “Oh, you’d do just fine. You’re a fighter, Elle. You always have been. And you’ll get through this mess with that son of a bitch Jeb Monroe, too. And as far as Gabe goes? Well, I certainly feel better knowing that he’s watching over you.”
*
Gabe jolted awake and glanced around the living room, wondering what it was that had awakened him so suddenly from his favorite dream for the past year or so—the one where he and Elle were tangled together on his bed, half-naked and straining toward each other, desperately wanting each other but holding back.
His frustration at being interrupted was only dampened by the adrenaline pumping in his veins as his fight-or-flight mode kicked in. Even though his sofa wasn’t directly across from the windows or his front door, Gabe suddenly felt very exposed. He moved silently, grasping the Glock he’d set on the sofa next to him after talking to Elle and ensuring she’d made it safely to Charlotte’s.
He’d locked his doors and set his alarm before dozing off on the couch, but something had brought him out of a deep sleep—and the dream. But as he sat there, listening intently for another sound, he didn’t hear anything.
He cursed under his breath and managed to get to his feet, grabbing one of his crutches as he limped to the window and peeked through the blinds. The neighborhood was quiet. Nobody was out and about at this late hour.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch?”
After a few moments, he made his way through the rest of the house, checking the doors, peering outside through other windows to get a different vantage point. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shit, for all he knew, just the normal pops and creaks of a fifty-year-old house settling could’ve been what he’d heard.
He heaved a relieved sigh and checked his watch.
Three a.m.
Christ, it was going to be a long night if every little noise was going to have him on edge like this. But now that he was completely awake, sleep was out of the question. He made his way to his office and powered on his laptop.
An hour later, he’d checked both his work and personal email, and had caught up on the news he’d missed while in the hospital, but the adrenaline-infused tension still had every muscle in his body taut and ready for a fight.
He heaved a frustrated sigh.
Hell, he might as well make use of the time if he wasn’t going to be going back to sleep. Besides, some of his best investigating was done on sleepless nights just like this one, when his thoughts wouldn’t stop churning, trying to connect the dots that would help him solve the most stubborn cases.
He brought up a browser and, after a couple of minutes, found his way to Jeb Monroe’s blog. If he was gonna bring the bastard down, the first thing he needed to do was really get into his head. The antigovernment tirades on his blog were a good place to start.
Four hours later, Gabe jolted awake again. Not because of a suspicious noise this time, but because his head had slipped from where he’d been resting it against his fist and he’d nailed his forehead on his keyboard.
Nice.