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“It’s me.” She paused, and added, “Lauren.”
“Yeah. I see that.” He glanced at his phone again. “It’s after midnight. Why the hell are you still awake?”
She breathed heavily. “I just got out of the shower, and I hear something out in my living room. Footsteps.”
He gripped the phone tightly. He couldn’t drive, but he had legs—and he could sure as hell haul ass to her place. “Lock the door. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks.”
The numbing effect of the whiskey was gone, and his stomach churned with fear he wouldn’t make it to her in time. That something would happen to her…and he’d fucking lose it. He hung up and glanced up at the street sign, then took off, full speed.
As he ran, he tried to slip into a battle-like calm, a mask he wore all too well. It didn’t work. There was no calming down—not when Lauren was in danger. He’d fought insurgents, ISIS agents, and every kind of monster one could imagine.
But someone hurting Lauren?
It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It made him want to hurl, shoot someone, pound his chest, and scream in agony—all at the same time.
It made him lose his motherfucking mind.
He reached her road in record time, his breathing still even and labored, as he counted it off in his head. Brick exterior. Four concrete stairs. Wrought iron railing and window bars. Lauren’s red Mazda he’d helped her buy. To thank him, she’d made him his favorite cupcakes. Red velvet.
He took the stairs two at a time, and turned the knob. It didn’t budge. Backing up, he was just about to throw himself into the damn door when it swung inward. His breath caught in his throat for the second time that night. When he’d first met her as a kid, he’d thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
After all these years, and lots of women, his opinion hadn’t changed.
She wore a tiny blue towel. There were no visible bruises or cuts. Her bright blue eyes were wide and she breathed heavily, clinging to the towel with white knuckles. Her dark brown hair was still damp from the shower, and she was devoid of makeup. She bit down on her trembling lower lip—soft, pink lips that were more tempting than he’d ever imagined possible—and watched him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
She’s okay.
Breathing easily for the first time since he hung up that damn phone, he yanked her into his arms and hugged her, incapable of even trying to resist. She’d scared the shit out of him, and he needed to make sure she was okay. Needed to feel it. Her small frame only reached his chest, reminding him why he called her cupcake. Her size and her fondness for baking—hell, she even owned a small bakery in town now that she was all grown up—had sealed that years ago. But tonight she seemed smaller. More frail.
He would die to protect her.
But first, he had to find out what he was protecting her from.
He breathed in her sweet cupcake scent one last time. Letting go of her, he gave her what he hoped was a small, reassuring smile, and asked, “What happened? Did anyone actually—” He cut off. A few lamps were knocked over, and a broken vase lay on the floor. “Shit. I’m calling the cops.”
Her lower lip trembled again, and she shook her head. “Don’t.”
“What the hell do you mean, don’t?”
“When I heard the crash, at first I thought it was Loki. But I heard the footsteps, and I panicked. That’s when I called you. But then the front door closed, and he was gone, so I came out. And stuff was missing.”
He frowned at the cat in question, which sat licking his paw and staring at him with condescension. That creature hated him. He was sure of it. “Then why the hell aren’t we calling the cops?”
She shifted on her feet. He got the distinct impression she was hiding something from him, or maybe even lying, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure she had a tic. But she knew how he felt about liars. It had to be something else. “I don’t want them here. I want you.”
He blinked, feeling like he was in some sort of fucked up twilight zone. “Why?”
“Because…I…” She covered her face. “I think it was Brian. He took a few things, but they were all his, so there’s no real crime to report. He snuck in while I was in the shower, and left.”
“Why didn’t he just knock?” He tugged her hands down and studied her beautiful face—trying his best not to picture her naked and wet in the shower. It was like trying to outrun an erupting volcano, though. Sooner or later, you were going to get burned. “Why would he sneak in like a thief while you were showering?”
She hesitated. “Well, we didn’t exactly end on the best terms.”
“Yeah. He slept with his secretary.”
“And he…he was jealous of you.” She glanced at Steven, but quickly lowered her head. “Maybe he saw us together earlier, and got angry. He probably knocked, but when I didn’t answer, he came in and got his stuff. Maybe he didn’t even think I was home.”
