Page 32 of Protect My Heart

“We should be out there.” He petted Tig’s head as the dog leaned against his leg. “But we’re here for now. Thank God we don’t have to stay in the house that much.”

He lifted his mug to his lips and turned to survey the inside of the house. Warm wood, comfortable furniture, but too big. Why did two people need four thousand square feet of house? His eyes landed on the box in the corner. Doc hadn’t touched it since he set it there the day before. His cop senses sizzled, and his fingers itched to open it. He’d bet his lucky mug collection there was a clue to Doc’s stalker in that box.

“Open it, if you want.” Doc stood in the opening to the hallway wearing Winnie the Pooh pajama pants and the best fitting tank top he’d ever seen, one of his cop mugs in her hand.

Well, she didn’t chuck it at him. That was a good thing. Jim canvased her face for signs she would kick him out. He found none.

She shrugged. “I know you want to.”

He did, but the way her eyes darted everywhere but to the box told him she didn’t. He wanted to push, but instead he nodded to the mug in her hand. “See you found my mugs.”

“I find it interesting that you brought a set with you. I like them.” She cocked her head and raised a brow. Her highly educated brain was trying to puzzle him out. Good luck with that, Doc.

“You got one of those fancy coffee machines, so I figured I might as well leave my mugs in here so I don’t have to keep running outside for one.”

Lifting the mug to her lips, she closed her eyes, and sipped. “Ah, good coffee, and the perfect size.”

Jim bit back a groan. Seeing her lips on one of his favorite mugs, standing there in her PJs, he liked it. A lot. “That’s one my sister Renae got me last Christmas.”

“Feel safe tonight, sleep with a cop,” she read it out loud, then took another drink. Her gaze locked with his over the rim.

“Good advice.” Jim wiggled his brows, making her laugh. He never thought drinking coffee could be sexy, but Doc could make anything sexy.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Then she took another sip.

Yup, that just became his favorite mug.

Doc strolled past him, glancing over her shoulder at him as she passed. She sat on the couch, the box by her right foot. She set her cup on the side table and pulled the box closer. “Well, no time like the present.”

Jim knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He sat on the sofa beside her. Her hands grasped the lid, but she didn’t open it.

He watched and waited.

The emotions she kept tuck away skimmed close to the surface. Jim read the hurt, fear, and grief on her face.

Gently, he placed his hand over hers. “You don’t have to do this now.”

“Yes, I do. There could be a clue to the stalker.” Her watery brown eyes pulled at Jim, he wanted to hold her close until her pain subsided. “I need to do it for me. That’s the reason I came back. I’m done running away, feeling like a child.”

“Doc, you’re a talented professional. Watching you with Luis, you have a gift. And trust me, you’re not a child.” He laced their fingers together. “Maybe you ran away years ago, but you’re here now and you’re not alone.”

Her lips tipped up, she leaned in, and pressed them to his. A sweet kiss, a thank you. “Under that cranky exterior, you have a huge heart, Detective Swenson.”

Heat flooded his face. What could he say? Nothing, so he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, then slipped her fingers free and pulled the lid from the box.

She ripped it off like a Band-Aid. The box lid flew from her hands.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” Jim’s voice broke through her panic.

“No.”

His low chuckle touched her ears.

Liz squeezed her eyes tight. She sucked in a breath in anticipation. Through the musty smell, a faint tinge of sweat reached her nose. Papi. Her eyes opened and she scanned the few items inside the box. Her father’s suit sat on the top. Reaching in, she pulled the wool jacket out and raised it to her face. She inhaled the underlying scent of his cologne. Memories of her youth rushed her. His dusty, sweaty smell when he came home at the end of the day. His rough hands as he picked her up and hugged her close. Tears rolling down her face each night while he was away. The elation when they picked him up after one of his deployments.

A smile ghosted Liz’s lips.

Darker memories crept in. As the years passed, he smelled of cigarettes and beer. Before the onset of visions started a panic attack, she slammed the door shut on them. Setting the garment aside, she pulled his shoes from the box. Her face reflected back at her in the high polish shine. At the bottom was a bag with his personal effects. His old flip phone and wallet, his keys and watch. Tears misted her vision as she thought of her father’s life being condensed to the contents of this cardboard box.