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"And if you end up dead?" he asked her. "At least you'll have a life when this is over if you let me take care of it. Take shooting lessons after I leave. Take self-defense courses. . . ."
"They can't teach you in a class what I'll learn just watching you, being with you," she stated, determination glittering in her eyes. "And I won't have you in those classes, Nik. I'm not a child, and I'm not helpless. I won't be pushed into a corner with a pat on the head."
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"You're too damned stubborn," he snapped.
"Fine, I'm too damned stubborn, but in this case you know I'm right; otherwise you would have already locked me in my room while you do whatever the hell it is that you do while you're away through the day. I want to be with you. I want to look these people in the eye, and if one of them is the one shooting at me then I want him to have to face me. I'm finished hiding."
She was finished hiding. "You mean you're finished being safe," he snapped back, an edge of anger slipping free in his voice.
"If that's how you want to see it, then fine. I'm tired of being safe," she countered.
"But you can't look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong, either." No, he couldn't, and that just fucking pissed him off.
"What did you do today?" She lifted her drink and sipped at it as though the tension in the air weren't thick enough to strangle them both. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he glared back at her.
"Come on, Nik." Fairy sweet and as innocent as a spring morning, she stared back at him reprovingly. "Let's see how it works. If it doesn't work out, then we'll reassess the situation."
"In other words, you'll redefine your argument," he grunted. A cheeky smile curled her lips. "That's an option. But I really don't want to die, so I'll always at least consider your side of the situation." Well, at least he had that much. Shaking his head, he leaned back on the couch and stared at her as he attempted to find some damned way to counter her objections to staying safe.
It wasn't going to happen tonight.
"I questioned the new foreman, Jack Wallace," he told her. "He had some information I hadn't come across so far. I was going to check it out tomorrow. I haven't been able to confirm your friend Cronin's information, though." Interest gleamed in her eyes. "And what information is that?" He ran through it succinctly, finishing off with the information that he intended to question the disgruntled employee the next day.
"That should be safe enough for me to go with you." She smiled sweetly. "I know Jarvis Dalton. He's harmless."
"That's what neighbors said about the Son of Sam," Nik informed her as he tried to hold back his irritation.
The smile faded. Rising to her feet, she silently cleared the food away while he sat there and watched her, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do about her. Any other woman he could walk away from. He would have put a bodyguard on her, done what he had to do, then left town just as silently as he had arrived. But she wasn't any other woman.
She was his woman. Even if it was only for a little while. She was his.
"I'm going to bed." She stood at the kitchen doorway.
"I'll be in later." After she had gone to sleep. After he'd, he hoped, found a way to rebuild at least a few of the shields around his heart.
If she was going to deliberately place herself in danger, then he needed to prepare himself for the worst.
He wasn't prepared for the wounded look in those pretty eyes, though, before she 143
turned and headed for the bedroom.
Moving to the guest bedroom, he collected his laptop and notes before returning to the couch to pull up as much information as possible on Jarvis Dalton. He was going to have to find a killer faster than he'd ever imagined if he was going to keep his fairy safe and his soul from being destroyed. 144
Chapter 15
Something was different the next morning. Mikayla could sense it, feel it, as she stepped into the kitchen to find Nik preparing coffee and laying out a small platter of sweet breakfast rolls on the table.
"You didn't come to bed last night," she remarked as she watched him put the right amount of sugar in her cup, then creamer. Giving it a quick stir, he placed it on the small kitchen table before turning back for his own.
"I had work to do." His voice was as cool as a winter morning, his eyes as icy as the frozen North.
What had changed? she wondered. How did he manage to go from desperate lover to cold, hard mercenary in the space of a few short hours?
"What type of work?" She sat down at the table, watching carefully as he took his seat across from her and pulled a file from the other chair.
"Jarvis Dalton." The file was thick, heavy. "It seems he has problems holding down a job for long. He's worked for several construction firms between here and D.C., and if my information is correct he even worked for your father for a few months. He's a career misdemeanor criminal. Penny ante theft, shoplifting, burglary, terroristic threatening. The man has a rap sheet that proves his stupidity as well as his ineptitude."
