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After the three weeks in Cape Town, she’d never see him again.
Sure, they lived in the same building, but Ty had managed to go years without her ever knowing he was a resident there.
She had no doubt he’d be a ghost come December.
This was self-preservation, pure and simple.
She shrugged into her denim jacket—ignoring his attempt to take the garment from her to help her into it—and looked for her bag.
He reached out and tugged her hair from beneath her collar, his hand lingering in the curls for a moment.
“Ready?”
“I forgot my bag in the office. I’ll just…”
“I’ll get it,” he said, looking relieved to have an excuse to get away from her for a few moments. She didn’t protest and watched as he strode toward the office.
A movement at the front door caught her attention. That man was back. Without flowers. Which probably meant he hadn’t had much luck finding anything he liked at Tesco. He placed his hands together in prayer.
Vicki rolled her eyes and laughed. The poor guy truly was desperate.
She unlatched the door, dragged it open, and was stunned when he struck with the speed of a snake. He pushed the door back so hard, it glanced off Vicki’s forehead, dazing her.
“Where’s the fucking money, bitch?”
“We don’t k-keep money in the—”
“Liar!”
He swiped wildly at her, and she cried out when felt a sharp sting on her arm.
“Vicki!” She heard Ty’s voice above the loud throbbing in her head, followed by the high-pitched scream of the man who had entered her store so violently.
Ty—with his dangerous knowledge of hand-to-hand combat—had grabbed hold of the intruder almost instantly. He slammed the guy against Vicki’s sturdy worktable and leveled him with a brutal punch to the jaw before instantly shifting the entirety of his focus to Vicki. He pitched toward her, both hands to cupping her jaw with infinite tenderness. He lifted her face and inspected her features intently.
She had never seen him so angry or lethally intense before. He was a little frightening. But that rage was focused inward.
He was all gentleness with her.
“You okay?” he asked on a growl.
She blinked, her eyes going to the crumpled form of the man lying on the floor of her shop.
Ty ducked his head until his concerned face was all she could see. “Hey, hey, honey. Look at me. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“I-I…” She frowned. Feeling sluggish. “I’m not sure.” Her eyes drifted back to the man. “Is he alive?” She’d never seen someone so still.
“He’s fine. I pulled my punch. God, your head. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“The door slammed against my head. And he…” She tried to focus, not entirely sure what had happened after that. “My arm hurts.”
His eyes instantly shifted downward, and she was rather stunned by how very pale he went. She was almost certain he swayed.
“Aah, fuck!” He lifted her throbbing arm, and she stared at it, a little confused to see the pale blue sleeve of her jacket covered in red.
“Oh. It’s blood,” she heard herself saying in disbelief. Her voice sounded tinny and distant, and she lurched. “Is it my blood?”
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” His palm was tightly clamped over her bloody arm, hurting a bit. No, hurting a lot.
“You’re hurting me,” she complained, and he shook his head.
“I’m applying pressure. It’s deep.” He dragged a pristine white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and covered the cut with it. The hankie was soaked in seconds.
“Shit. Honey, I’m taking you to your office, okay? I have to call the police, and I have to call Chance. We need an ambulance to take you to the ER…uh, the A&E, to check out that lump on your head—you may have a concussion—and to get you stitched up.”
“An ambulance? That doesn’t seem necessary. You can take me.”
“I have to stay here and deal with this. Chance will go with you.”
Her eyes flooded, and he made a distressed sound at the sight of her tears. “I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened to you. I should have been paying closer attention. God, you could have been killed.”
He shuddered and shook his head again, as if he was forcibly trying to remove that thought from his head. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to her office. Once there, he made sure she was comfortable and warm before digging his phone out of his pocket. He left the office to make his phone calls, and probably to keep an eye on the intruder. He looked irate as he retreated, already on his first call, running agitated fingers through his hair.
What if he got into trouble because of this? What if he got fired? She couldn’t stand that thought. It wasn’t his fault.
He checked on her every few minutes while he waited for the police, his eyes skidding away from hers every time she tried to maintain eye contact. He only stayed a few seconds at a time, filled with restless, brooding energy.
