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He peered around them. “Emma.” His tone was almost as if he were pained.
And that did nothing for the turmoil that had been bubbling up in her gut the past few days. “What? How is you hanging around outside my house every night leaving it at that? Isn’t that what you said?”
“There’s something you need to know.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, which was when she noticed that they were bright red and raw.
Concern for him stirred within her, but she was too angry to give it the voice it deserved. “Oh, if it’s that you’ve been prowling around on my back porch, I’ve seen the footprints in the snow. I’m quite aware, thank you.”
A storm rolled in over his expression. If she’d ever thought him intense or intimidating or a little scary, it was nothing compared to how he looked at that moment. He came at her until they were nearly chest to chest. “There are new footprints?”
The agitation rolling off of him took her aback. “Uh, no, not new. I saw them yesterday.”
He nodded. “That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Seriousness. Anger. Regret. Those were what she heard in his voice.
“Tell me,” she said, hugging herself against the cold—and against whatever it was he was about to say.
He tucked a strand of her blowing waves behind her ear, and the little touch was so unlike him that she nearly leaned into it. But what she most noticed was how painfully cold his hand was. “Jesus, Caine.”
He flinched and yanked his hand back. “Fuck, sorry.”
“No, no,” she reached for him, and he angled away, his whole posture going rigid. He stuffed his hand in his pocket. She ached at the possibility that he thought she hadn’t liked his touch, so she did the touching instead. Slowly, carefully, she took that harsh face in her hands, her thumbs stroking over frozen cheeks, her fingers cradling high, pronounced cheekbones. “How long have you been out here? You’re like ice.”
His gaze blazed at her. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here for however long it takes.”
“However long what takes?” she asked.
“Catching whoever’s been prowling around your house,” he said with a swallow that sounded thick and hard, full of regret. “Those weren’t my footsteps in your yard and on your porch. My money is on your attacker, and since I let him get away, I’m gonna take care of him. Once and for fucking all.”
Emma’s heart tripped into a sprint and her belly took a sickly tumble. “You think someone’s prowling around my house?”
A single nod. “I didn’t leave your kitchen window open, Emma. And someone opened your gate that night that Chewy got out. And in addition to those footsteps…” His hesitation almost killed her, but finally he continued. “…someone tried to break into your basement.”
“What?” She whirled and looked at the house, as if a giant neon arrow might suddenly appear to point out all the things that had been done to the place in her absence. But of course, no such signs existed. And everything looked just like she expected. The big tree in front of the red brick façade of the 1940s-era row house, Christmas lights glowing from the double front windows, the carved wooden door festive with its big, round wreath.
“Through the rear window well,” Caine said. “He put the well cover back in place to hide what he’d done, but I found the window broken while you were out on Sunday. The opening was probably too small for a man to get through, though.”
Emma could barely process everything Caine was saying. “I…I have to call the police.”
“I already have,” he said. She peered over her shoulder at him. “Henry Martin is a friend of mine. I know you talked to him. He’s apprised of the situation, but he’s out of town until Wednesday. In the meantime, I bolted down the well cover and one of Martin’s men is riding regular patrols. And I’ll be out here watching.”
She shook her head. “No, Caine. No, you won’t.”
Chapter 10
Caine’s blood turned to ice as Emma rejected his help. He supposed he deserved that after the way he’d walked out on her the other night, but he wasn’t leaving her vulnerable—when it was his failing that had created the vulnerability in the first place.
“Emma, I know I fucked up in how I treated you. But you need to hear me. I’m not leaving.”
“Okay, fine. I hear you. But hear me. You’re not staying out here while you do it.” She arched a brow over those warm blue eyes.
He frowned. “Meaning?”
She tilted her head like he was confusing her. Which, right back at ya. “Meaning you’re coming in. If you’re going to keep an eye out for this guy for me, then you’re not going to stand in a snowstorm ‘til your skin turns red and raw to do it. On Christmas Eve, no less. You’re coming in the damn house.”
