Sierra ran into the kitchen area, her backpack strapped on.
A loud bang on the front windows had both of them turning around. It sounded as if someone was hitting the glass with their fist. A few seconds later, a muffled voice called out.
“Sierra, it’s me. Esteban. Open the door. No one’s going to hurt you.”
She glanced up at Beau, her dark eyes full of indecision.
“No, Sierra,” he warned. “Don’t—”
She took off running.
He ran after her, backing up against the door to keep her from opening it. But she didn’t head to the door. Instead, she flipped the blinds open on the window.
And stared into the eyes of her brother.
Esteban pressed the flat of his hand against the glass.
Sierra did the same from the other side with only the thickness of the windowpane separating them.
“I can explain everything,” Esteban shouted to be heard through the window. “Open the door. We need to talk.”
Beau grabbed her shoulders and turned her to look at him. “We can’t trust him, Sierra. God knows I’d love to prove that your brother doesn’t want to hurt you. But every time the bullets start flying, who shows up? Esteban. The one who let you think he was dead. And now that you know otherwise, he’s again with men who are shooting at us. Think. Use that beautiful brain of yours. Are you willing to bet your life that you can trust him?”
She looked back at the window. Her brother still stood there, peering through the blinds, an imploring look on his face.
“I’m not asking you to condemn him or even hate him,” Beau continued, “or turn your back on him forever. I’m asking you to be careful, to not risk your life again by hoping he can control the men he hasn’t managed to control before. There are two possibilities here. Either he wants you dead—” he held up a hand to stop her when she began to argue “—or he wants to protect you against whatever’s going on. Either way, he’s already proven, over and over, that he can’t keep you safe. I’ve proven the opposite. I can, and will, protect you. No matter what. But you have to trust me.”
The window thumped repeatedly as her brother slammed his fist against it, his face scrunched up in anger. He abruptly stopped and yelled, “Sierra, don’t trust the cop.”
Beau wanted to throw open the door and slam his fist against the man’s jaw. Instead, he forced a calmness he was far from feeling into his voice and focused on the woman whose life he knew, without a doubt, was in imminent danger. He just didn’t know why.
“I can get us out of here. Come with me, Sierra. Let’s find the truth together.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling as she hesitated. The pounding and shouting started again, startlingher. She turned away from the window, away from her brother, and faced Beau again.
“Sierra,” Esteban yelled, his voice muffled through the thick glass. “Sierra, come with me. I’ll protect you, explain everything.”
Beau flipped the blinds closed, his large warm hand gently grasping hers.
She flinched with each pound of her brother’s fists. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go with you, but only so I can prove you wrong about my brother. Hopefully Esteban will forgive me one day for literally turning my back on him.” Her voice choked on the last word.
Unable to resist the urge to offer comfort, he pulled her into his arms, not even sure she’d let him. But she did. More than that, she melted against him, a sob escaping her as she turned her face against his chest.
Beau whispered in broken Spanish against the top of her head as he tried to soothe her. It was as if the world outside, the danger on their doorstep, faded away as he held her. All he wanted to do was take away the grief and fear he’d seen in her eyes, take away the hurt she felt over her brother’s betrayal. And over Beau’s betrayal in not telling her earlier what he’d found out, that her brother was alive.
Knowing he shouldn’t, but helpless not to, he pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her dark silky hair. When she only held him tighter, he realized they both were in trouble. The danger, the trauma, everything that had happened since they’d met had woven a tenuous bond between them. And now he was doing what he’d told her not to do: feeling, letting his emotions guide his actions instead of his head.
He forced himself to gently push her back. Guilt rode him hard as the sound of Esteban’s fists against the window finally caught his attention again. They’d spent precious secondsstanding there, comforting each other. Time that could mean the difference between life and death.
“We’re wasting time. We have to go.” His voice came out harder than he’d intended, and the words were all wrong.
She jerked back, turning away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes.
He shook his head. Nothing was going as planned. He wanted to protect this woman. Instead, he’d hurt her. And he was making poor decisions. He’d have to be far more careful to guard himself against the attraction he’d tried to deny until now. If he didn’t, he’d continue to make foolish decisions.
Like standing here even one more second when she was in danger.
He shrugged his backpack on, then leaned past her and grabbed his go bag, slinging the strap crosswise over his chest.
