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She cleared her dry throat and took the steaming mug he held out. “Thank you,” she rasped. Her demon pushed against her skin and eyed him closely. Devon got the impression of … respect from it. Well, the guy had come to Devon’s aid—psychically and physically—when she’d needed help in a mega way, living up to his promise to keep her safe.
Parched, she would have chugged down the coffee if it wasn’t so hot. She settled for taking a few sips. “How long was I out?”
“Just over four and a half hours.” He slanted his head. “Do you remember what happened?”
Oh yeah, her memories were crystal clear. She nodded. “Are all the bastards dead?”
“Yes. We haven’t yet identified them, but we’ll have their names soon. Did you recognize any of them?”
“No.” Devon glanced around the room. “So … this is your apartment?”
He only nodded.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I trust that you’re safe here.”
Well, that was nice … although being in a confined space with Tanner Cole did not feel “safe” to her on an emotional level. “I, um …” She scratched at her head and blurted out, “Thank you. For helping me.”
He inclined his head. No rubbing it in her face. No “ha, I told you that you needed my protection.” Just a quiet acceptance of her thanks. She appreciated that.
“I need to call—”
“Nobody,” he finished. “Most of the people who are worried about you are gathered in my living room. And they won’t go until they’ve spoken with you and are satisfied that you’re okay.”
If she hadn’t been so surprised by his statement, she’d have laughed at the put-out look on his face. “What people?”
“Jolene, your parents, Harper, Khloë, Raini, Ciaran—the list goes on. Are you up to seeing them?”
She frowned at her torn sweater. “If you’ll lend me a shirt.”
He crossed to the built-in wardrobe and opened one of the mirrored doors. Hangers clanged together as he pulled out a crisp white shirt. He gently lay it on the mattress, putting it within her reach. “It’ll be a bit big on you.”
Tanner watched her throat work as she swallowed her coffee, and that sent all sorts of X-rated thoughts racing through his brain. She couldn’t know it, but he’d lay in bed with her for a while, watching her sleep; wishing she’d wake, even though he’d known it was better for her to get her rest. Then people had started to arrive, and he’d had to leave her alone.
He’d checked on her several times but always found her sound asleep. It had been a relief to walk in and see her up and awake.
His hound didn’t like that she looked so fragile; knew she was far from it. The demon had begun to see just how much it had underestimated her strength in the past. Bloodthirsty, it respected the dark power she wielded; respected how hard and mercilessly she’d fought earlier.
“Hey, did Jolene pay Lockwood a visit without us?” she asked.
“She went to the office after she heard someone tried to take you again. Her mood was so foul I think she would have killed him for sport. But he wasn’t there, and it didn’t look as if he’d been there in days. Ciaran went to the guy’s apartment and found that a lot of Lockwood’s shit is gone. Looks like he packed up his essentials and took off.”
Devon hummed. “Guilty conscience?”
“If you mean, do I think he did in fact broker the deal made for you? Then, yes, I think he’s guilty of that. I’m not so sure he feels guilty about it, though. I think he panicked when the first kidnapping failed. I think he was scared we’d trace it back to him and so he fled as a precaution.” Tanner shrugged. “Someone will find him.”
Devon felt her brow wrinkle. “You’re not planning to track him yourself?”
“And leave you? No.” He loomed over her, his golden eyes smoldering with something hot and intense that made her itch to take a step back and yet also made her want to move closer. “I wasn’t sure I’d get to you in time earlier. You gave me a scare, kitten. Don’t do it again.” And then he was gone.
Blinking at the door he’d closed behind him, Devon cursed herself for being disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her. She was her own worst enemy.
Ready to face the world, she clumsily exchanged her torn sweater for his shirt, drained her mug, slipped on her shoes, and then left the room. Arms hanging limply at her sides, she followed the sound of voices, passing an extra bedroom, the master bathroom, a workout room, and an office/library. Everything in sight was top-of-the-line. Damn, the place was awesome.
It was also kept meticulously clean.
Paintings and mirrors adorned the walls, but there were no photographs, just as there were no knick-knacks in sight. Either he wasn’t a particularly sentimental person, or he was too private to put the objects on display.
