Page 30 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

As far as he was concerned, anyone who harmed women deserved the worst kind of pain, and he was eager to find this asshole—make sure he felt it.

Eleanor finally blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. Fine.”

He deflated, glad this wasn’t about to become a battle of wills.

A yowl sounded, followed by a series of hisses. He spun on his heel right as Eleanor dashed forward, pushing past him. “Oh my, God. Teddy?!” She reached for the white cat currently being carried from Peter’s apartment. “Stop. That’s—give him to me,” she insisted.

The WBI employee eyed Bastian a moment, as if asking for help. He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, better listen to the woman, and the investigator relented.

The cat tumbled into Eleanor’s arms, immediately wedging its head beneath her chin. He gawked at her. What the fuck?! She closed his leather jacket around the frightened creature.

Oh, hell fucking no. Now he’d get it back covered in cat fur. Great.

“You poor thing. Poor baby,” she cooed, nuzzling it. Her eyes filled with tears and she squeezed them shut. “I’m going to take care of you from now on, okay? Everything’s going to be all right,” she whispered, bouncing the damn thing like it was a baby.

He grumbled, forcing himself to focus on the sight of her cuddling it. If she wanted something to cuddle, he was standing right fucking here. His jaw ticked. Jealous of a goddamn cat. What the fuck was wrong with him?

All he could think to say was, “Sugar, we are not taking a cat home.”

She rounded on him, expression morphing to anger. “Oh yes, we are! Teddy’s coming with us. Otherwise, I’m not going.”

“Mother fucking fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, all five foot eight inches of her. Her fierce expression silenced him from further protest. “Fine. Go get your shit. We’re leaving.”

“I’ll need to get Teddy’s stuff too, his litter box and whatnot.”

His head lolled back, gaze lifting toward the ceiling. This fucking female. She went from cute to irritating at the drop of a hat. “Get whatever you need,” he bit out, straightening up, willing patience into his tone. “I need to talk to a few more people before we go.”

She nodded, then hesitated. "Bastian?" He turned back. "Are you sure about this? Me staying with you?"

The vulnerability in her voice caught him off guard, softening him. "I'm sure, sugar. Now go pack."

Ten minutes later, Teddy was in his cat carrier. Bastian held the carrier in one hand, a duffle bag of cat things thrown over his shoulder—fucking cat things!—while guiding Eleanor by the elbow through the gathered crowd. She wheeled a massive suitcase behind her in one hand and carried an empty litter box in the other.

A few camera crews had been allowed on the scene. Their equipment was already set up to capture whatever they could. Newscasters held mics to their mouths, explaining what had happened. It would be all over TV by the evening.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” he warned, tipping his head low to her ear. The scent of her shampoo—the stuff he kept in the guest bathroom—swirled around him. It smelled good on her. He’d been doing that a lot lately, putting himself close to her, closer than necessary.

He steered her toward the truck, putting Teddy’s carrier into the bed⁠—

“Don't you dare put him back there! Teddy rides with us.”

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, giving a jerk of his head. Grabbing the carrier, he flung the truck doors open and deposited a yowling Teddy into the back seat, tossing the duffle in after him. Then he hauled up the massive—unnecessarily massive—suitcase of Eleanor’s things. His gaze shot skyward, begging for mercy. What the fuck had she brought? Her entire damn wardrobe?

Once they were situated in the vehicle, she buckled herself in. He reached over and gave her belt a tug, ensuring it was latched, which earned him another glare. Fuck. All right, then.

The engine revved to life. Minutes later, they were driving through the city in silence, punctuated by periodic sighs from a certain female in the passenger seat, and the pathetic mews of an unhappy cat behind him. He had no interest in conversation.

A vibrating phone broke the silence. Eleanor jerked, then pressed her phone to her ear. “Vivi?”

He inhaled sharply. His hand shot out, reaching for her phone. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Heat shot up his arm, her touch burning through every rational thought. Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved. Her pulse hammered against his skin where their bodies connected.

“I won’t say anything sensitive, Mr. Paranoid,” she bit out. “What are you, my bodyguard?”

Bodyguard. It made his chest expand. Protecting her, keeping her safe, being responsible for her body—fuck. He yanked his hand back, out of her grip.

“No, no,” she said into the phone. “Sorry, that was…this guy I’m with. No, God no! You know, the one I mentioned from the coffee shop? Yes, that one.” His head jerked in her direction. “No, Vivi. I’m okay. Yes, someone broke into the apartment. I know, I was just there… No, I don’t know much yet. No! Of course I’m not staying there. I’m not an idiot.” She sank lower in the seat. “I know, I thought about Kaylee… No. He said I can’t stay with any friends.”