Page 4 of The Man I Hate

“You were a soldier?”

“A Marine,” he replied.

His fast hands and calm demeanor now made perfect sense. I wanted to thank him for his service but didn’t want to sound like the countless others who I was sure had already done so. I glanced at his feet and then looked up.

“I like your shoes,” I murmured.

Where the hell did that come from?

He laughed. “Thank you.”

Before I could continue to make a fool of myself, a fast-approaching police car screeched to a stop behind Braxton’s SUV. The driver, a young-looking officer with closely cropped red hair thrust open the door and strutted toward the driveway.

His much younger partner cautiously followed close behind.

The first officer immediately recognized my handsome neighbor. “Braxton Rourke,” the officer announced, seeming amused. “Didn’t know what he was in for when he tried to carjack you, did he?”

“It wasn’t me he was after,” Braxton replied, tilting his head in my direction as he spoke. “He was trying to steal her Mercedes.”

The officer glanced at me. “I’m officer O’Malley. Are you okay?”

“I’m just…yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He offered a shallow smile and then looked at Braxton. He pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Braxton shook his head.

It appeared the police were privy of Braxton’s ability to disarm criminals. A blanket of intrigue encompassed me. I wanted to know more about the soft-spoken, suit-wearing, Range Rover driving badass.

O’Malley glanced left and then right. “Where is he?”

Braxton nodded toward my car. “He’s in the trunk.”

“Handcuffed?” the officer asked.

Braxton shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”

O’Malley gestured toward the carjacker’s gun. “Is that his piece behind you?”

“It is,” Braxton replied dryly. “Glock .40 cal. It’s loaded.”

“Secure that weapon,” O’Malley said, directing his request to his partner. “Take pictures before you do.” He walked to the back of my car, drew his weapon, and looked at me. “Ma’am, would you mind opening the trunk?”

A police officer had his gun drawn and was waiting for me to reveal the wild-eyed tattooed lunatic that my handsome neighbor tossed into my trunk. Beyond him, his partner was carefully picking up a gun from my driveway with a pencil.

The entire event was utter madness. Nevertheless, I forced myself to smile and took hesitant steps toward the car. “Sure.”

I pulled the trunk release and quickly stepped to Braxton’s side.

O’Malley peered inside the trunk. Upon seeing the thief, he let out a laugh. “Nathan fucking Travis. How long you been out? Two weeks?” He slammed the trunk closed and shook his head. “This asshole’s been out of the joint for two weeks, tops. This’ll be his third strike. He’ll do twenty-five to life for this one.”

A mental sigh of relief escaped me.

“Listen, O’Malley.” Braxton cleared his throat. “She’s kind of shaken up by all of this. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get to breakfast. We can stop by the station and fill out the report on our way back.”

“I don’t suppose that’d hurt anything,” the officer replied. He looked at me. “Enjoy your breakfast, ma’am.”

My emotions were riding a runaway rollercoaster. In ten minutes, I’d been carjacked and saved by a handsome stranger. Now, I was accompanying him to breakfast. While I tried to process just what was happening, Braxton got my purse out of the car and handed it to me.