Page 47
“Seriously?” Blake frowned. “You used my lap as a pillow on the flight here. I thought we bonded.”
Devon smiled. “Give her time.”
The prissy feline finally emerged. Willow took her time stretching before walking away without acknowledging either of them.
Blake muttered a low, “Rude.”
Exhaustion dragged at Devon as she laughed.
It had been such a long, strange night. Blake’s surprise visit. An evening she enjoyed more than she cared to admit.
Then a man broke into her apartment.
Blake had fought him, but the guy managed to escape. Rather than involve local authorities he didn’t know, Blake had called Draven to fill him in and get the jet prepared while Devon went to her room and packed.
She’d half-listened when he briefed Emmett on speaker during the drive to the private airstrip, picking up a few of the key details Blake had shared.
Professional entry. Skilled fighter. Unknown motive. Possible surveillance beforehand.
That last possibility still chilled her.
Draven was waiting outside his hotel lobby when they arrived. Soon after, they were airborne, with Draven in the cockpit and Blake, Devon, and Willow in the cabin.
They spent most of the flight discussing what they knew, which wasn’t much. But one thing was painfully clear.
If Blake hadn’t decided to surprise her, she most likely wouldn’t be alive.
He could have died trying to keep you safe.
The gunshot she’d heard inside her apartment replayed inside her head, followed by the sickening possibility that Blake had been killed. Terrifying scenes based on what-ifs filled her mind’s eye.
What if Blake had been shot? What if she’d been alone when the man broke into her apartment? What if Blake had never come to St. Louis?
Time vanished as she became lost in the darkness of her own thoughts.
“You okay?”
Devon blinked and turned Blake’s way. Surprise jolted through her.
Holy crap. How long have I been standing here?
Apparently, long enough for him to have showered and changed.
Blake had traded yesterday’s jeans and long-sleeved shirt for gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair was still damp, and a bruise was darkening the area along one side of his jaw.
Her gaze dropped to his scraped knuckles. “You should probably put some ice on those.”
“I will.”
She doubted that.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Blake studied her closely.
Devon looked back out to the city below. “Honestly? I don’t know what I am.”
Blake joined her at the windows. She expected him to press for more, but thankfully, he didn’t.
Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been worrying about a dining chair that had moved a few inches. Now she was hundreds of miles away because a man had come into her home.
