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Part 2

Blinking her eyes, Gillian quickly took in her environment and tried to orientate herself. Light streamed through two large windows and she rolled to her side, burying her face momentarily in a pillow to ward off the unwelcome glare. The smell of freshly percolated coffee and crisping bacon wafted toward her helped quickly transition her from sleep to waking. In a flood of realisation, she rolled over again; lying on her back and stretching fully out on the sofa whilst she rubbed at the sleep in her eyes.

Cal had literally dragged her away from the office just before midnight and with one of his hands in hers and the other open palm on the small of her back, she was powerless to refuse. Not that any alternatives were available, but she despised needing to be protected. The end of her marriage had returned an autonomy that she had long forgotten and feminist principles that she hadn't considered since her early college years. And then so suddenly she found herself fearful again and in need of support.

They hadn't spoken much about the threat and Gillian supposed her expression voided Cal's need for additional information. She assumed he was curious but she also knew that he respected her and her need to control at least something in her life. When everything was unpredictable, it was what she did; she fought to control something, anything else. Usually it was herself, if she could influence nothing else; she could always dictate how she behaved. But for Cal, ultimately, he had found out that she was in trouble and for the moment, having her with him alleviated the immediate threat. He was briefly contented.

It was his voice and the sound of plates and pans being tossed into the kitchen sink that drew her out of her flashback a few minutes later. "Breakfast is five minutes away…" he grinned purposely towards her, but Gillian went oblivious with her hands still covering her face.

She eventually nodded and drew herself into a sitting position, tucking wayward pieces of hair behind her ears. "I'll ah, freshen up," she offered slowly. "And since when are you a morning person?"

"I've always been a morning person – rise and shine and all that."

"I seem to recall dragging you to 9am meetings when we've been out of town…and come to think of it, I remember a certain conference presentation that you would have missed if it weren't for me phoning you three times and picking you up."

"Ah," Cal said with a laugh, "My drinking days don't count. They were hangovers not a personal hatred for sunlight. Now, stop debating and get ready, this is clearly the best bacon and eggs you will ever eat."

There was a quick smirk and a distinct roll of her eyes, but Gillian diligently traced the path to the bathroom. She knew her way around enough these days and knew where the fresh hand towels were kept and the stash of women's bathroom products, which on finding a few months earlier, wondered if they were there specifically for her. Between Emily and work, it left little time for extravagant socialising – for both of them really. They bantered often, hinting at the presence of a love life, or lack of, as was most often the case; but with long hours and complicated relationship history, they both played it safer than they would be willing to admit. She couldn't imagine other women having the same access as Cal afforded her.

Today, she was particularly grateful for the moisturiser and deodorant; and the perfume that was unopened on the shelf matched her favourite, the one that she wore most days. Combined with the new toothbrush, still in it box on the basin, she felt strangely comfortable. She thought back to the days when Cal was married and she was seldom welcome in their home. He would make an effort to bring Emily to the office, just frequent enough that Emily felt at ease with Gillian – the chubby smiles and tight hugs, games of chase and help with homework. It was easy now that she was a welcome guest; Emily thought nothing of finding Gillian sipping wine at the kitchen bench or deep in work at the dining room table. It was platonic and it was easy. After marriages that were such hard work for both of them, the comfort of a relationship that wasn't forced seemed a blessing. The line suddenly didn't seem so important any more.

She padded out barefoot a few minutes later, dressed in the jeans and blouse she had found folded over the towel rack in the bathroom. "Cal?" she asked, sliding in to a chair at the table. "How did you get my clothes?"

He looked at her briefly for a moment, spatula held stationary in the air, lingering over a plate of steaming bacon. Her eyes were innocently confused, awaiting his answer. "We stopped at your place," he replied, resuming his final food preparation and trying to hide his concern. "On our way home. You forgotten?"

"I guess," Gillian shrugged, her forehead creased in concern. "From the office?"

Cal nodded slowly. "It was only a quick stop, you were tired," he offered to ease her mild panic. The image of her as they entered her apartment had remained in his mind all night, her eyes searching the dark corners of each room and the startled noise she made when he had accidentally knocked over a lamp.

She nodded after a prolonged silence, her face relaxing slightly. "I guess I remember the drive, sorry. Of course we stopped."

"Here you go," Cal stated, sliding the conversation into a more relaxed tone. "Help yourself." He placed two plates in between the place settings, one filled with rashes of bacon and the other with scrambled eggs lightly covered with basil and mozzarella cheese.

"I'm impressed although disappointed that you're not wearing an apron." She smiled warmly and he laughed, this was the woman that he would do anything for. Do anything to protect.

"One day some photographic evidence will show up and that would ruin my image. My bad boy persona has been carefully crafted."

"One of the biggest rules in psychology – the past is merely an indication of the present, not a certainty. You're one of the good guys these days."

"Hmmm," he nodded in agreement, matching her speed and style as he slid into a chair across from her and started to fill his plate. "I'm not sure," he stated, placing a large forkful of egg in his mouth and chewing before continuing. "Whether that has been good luck or good management."

"Usually a combination of both isn't it?"

"Probably; I, of course, had you to keep me out of too much trouble and on the straight and narrow."

She thought for a few minutes, continuing her assault on breakfast before resting her cutlery and toying with her coffee mug. "I knew you know," she began but Cal simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in confusion. "That he was using again. When we were together."

"Yeah, you mentioned something one day. When I thought Alec was having an affair."

She smiled sadly. "I thought it was only occasional use. I should have known that he didn't have it under control. He was having an affair, you were right of course. I should have been willing to hear that too. I just wanted my marriage to work, like we're told to. We're told that marriage is forever."

"Good in theory, not so good in practice. The only good thing that came out of my marriage was Emily."

"Not good, brilliant. I walked away with nothing, a few reasonable memories overshadowed by the lies. Ironic isn't it?"

Cal shook his head and reached across the table, lightly trailing his fingertips over her forearm before resting back. "We see so much, sometimes we just want to believe blindly like all the rest of 'em out there."

"But what do I do now, Cal? Alec, he's really messed up. And I can't hide here forever – these people, they…they're criminals."

He forced his breathing to be controlled and relaxed his expression; he wanted Gillian to feel confident in one thing – his capacity and willingness to protect her. "We'll get Reynolds involved, we'll hire additional security, and we'll start by figuring out how else we can get them out of your life. We can track down Alec; get him back to sort out his own bloody debts. But I will not let anyone hurt you, alright?" She stared back at him, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "Alright?" he repeated.

"They have my cell number, my direct line at work, my email…" she trailed off shakily. "They'll find a way," she added in a whisper.

"Gillian," he stated, rising out of seat and walking around the table to sit on the edge of the chair next to her. She stared at her plate, brushing away a few solitary tears that trailed slowly down her pale cheeks. His hand shadowed hers at her cheek and he drew it away, curling their fingers together. "I won't let them." His enunciation was stronger than usual, the words clear and distinct, where usually he would let the syllables waft together.

"You can't stop them," she insisted, "And I don't want you to get hurt. I didn't want you in this. I didn't want you to have to be involved. I just want this to go away."

He squeezed her hand and she responded involuntarily by gripping back. Her head hung low and her stomach contracted as she fought to control the emotion that threatened to take over. "Men in white coats couldn't drag me away," he muttered, pulling her into his chest. "I'll figure it out – no one will hurt you."

Gillian pressed her forehead into his clavicle, exhaling a rush of air she hadn't realised she was holding. Her fingernails dug into his hand that she refused to release and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "But it's too late," she said in a gasped whisper, barely audible.

His heart raced. He had missed it. Her expression, the panic, the fear. He had mistaken it; misread it.

He couldn't prevent it; only stop it.

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TBC...