I think about Sasha, alone in her building. That guy was following me but what if he comes back there when she's by herself? What if he hurts her because he thinks she has information about me?

"What do you know about him? Tell me!" I want to shake him, force the information out of him. He must see the intent in my eyes because he shrinks back into the couch.

The door leading to the hallway opens. The men who enter are familiar. Max’s security team is always nearby.

“Everything all right, Mr. Marshall?”

Max doesn't look at me again. “I’m more tired today than usual. I need to rest. I’ll see you next week, Gabriel.”

Dismissed, I turn and leave the suite. I need to get to Sasha.

*   *   *   *   *

I break a multitude of laws as I navigate through the early evening traffic. It's not quite five o'clock but clearly most of the city of Norfolk has gotten off work early so they can get in my way.  I dial Sasha's number. It rings several times and then goes to voicemail.

"Come on, Sasha. Pick up." I dial her number again but this time I leave a message asking her to call me.

I cut over a lane and take a side street, then gun the engine. I know enough shortcuts to get me to the interstate faster but when I finally pull out onto I-64 West, I curse at the line of cars ahead of me.

This is going to take forever.

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. This nagging feeling that something isn't right is getting stronger by the minute. There's a chance that Tank is already in New Haven so I could call him. Ask him to check on Sasha for me. Even as I have the thought, I decide to save that as a last resort. Tank is extremely protective and he considers Sasha a friend just because Emma does. I know my brothers don't judge me but that doesn't mean they want their friends getting involved with a guy like me.

The traffic inches along until I finally pass an accident on the side of the road. After that the traffic opens up and I fly over the road and take the exit for New Haven.

The street where Sasha's future club is located seems much more isolated now. When I was here earlier, in the brightest part of the afternoon, it didn't look sinister at all. But it's getting dark earlier and earlier now that we're getting closer to winter. I park and look around at all the shadows between the buildings. There are too many places where someone could hide. Sasha will be leaving the club at night and anyone could be waiting out here, hidden from view.

I don't like it all.

I knock on the door and wait. I know she's here because her car is still parked in front of The Rush. There's no sound inside and I don't see anything through the glass. I bang on the door again and then turn the door handle, satisfied when it holds fast. At least she's kept the door locked. 

But where the hell is she?

I peer through the glass again. Several of the bookshelves look like they've been moved and there are some boxes in the corner that I don't remember being there before. That must be the delivery she was waiting on.

Then I see it. There. A small lump on the floor. I wouldn't have even noticed it if it hadn't moved.

"Oh no. Sasha?"

I glance behind me, left and right. There's no one around so I dash back to my car and pop the trunk. I reach into the small black bag in the trunk and pull out my torque wrench and pick. Hopefully no one will come around the corner in the next few minutes or I'm going to end up having to explain to the cops why I keep lock-picking tools in my trunk.

I doubt they'll buy the excuse that it's a just-in-case kind of thing, even though it's true.

Kneeling in front of the door, I insert the torque wrench into the lower part of the keyhole. Since I used Sasha's key to open the door earlier, I already know that the cylinder turns clockwise. I turn the wrench to the right and then insert the pick and press up gently. I feel my way until I find the one pin that doesn't move like the others. I push that one up with a little more force and then set the others. Then I turn the wrench all the way to the right and the door opens with a soft click.

Just like riding a bike, I think.

Sasha is sitting up now, staring at me. The light coming in from the open door spills across her, illuminating the room. "Gabe, what are you doing?"

I slip the pick and wrench into the inner pocket of my jacket and kneel next to her on the floor. There's dust all over her face and in her hair. "I saw you passed out on the floor."

"How did you get in here?"

I extend my hand and help her stand. She sways against me. When she buries her face against my shoulder, the heat coming from her skin shocks me. I put a hand to her forehead. Her skin is burning up.

"Sasha, we need to get you to a doctor. You're sick."

A soft sigh escapes. "Did you pick the lock on the door? I saw you but I couldn't tell what you were doing."

Shit. I'd hoped she was too out of it to see that part. But I'll never lie to her. "Yes, I did. I told you I'm a very bad influence."

"Can you teach me to do that?" She grins up at me but her eyes are slightly unfocused. She doesn't look good at all.

"No, I'm not going to teach you how to do illegal things. Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Okay, okay but that sounds way more boring than learning to pick a lock."

*   *   *   *   *

Sasha refuses to go to the hospital but agrees to go to the clinic at a pharmacy near her house. I roam the store while she's seen by the nurse practitioner on call. Twenty minutes later she comes out looking miserable.