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No more than fifteen minutes could have passed before Ronan burst into my apartment and pulled me into his arms. He had no words for Adam, no questions, not until he inspected me from head to toe to make sure I was intact. I held his face and inspected him right back. I wasn’t the only victim this time.
“They took a picture of us, Ronan,” I rasped. “Someone stood outside my bedroom window and took a fucking picture while we were asleep.”
His arms trembled as he held me. His leg bounced. Fury radiated from him, but he was as gentle as could be, stroking my hair and murmuring reassurances that I was safe with him. I knew that. I had never doubted that.
Adam caught Ronan up on the picture and where we’d found it, then he left quietly, promising to call later.
“Do you think it was the kids who broke in?” I asked.
“I don’t. The cops questioned them about the letter left here a few weeks ago and they denied responsibility. The detective I spoke to believed them since they were singing like canaries about the break-in, which is far more serious.”
I exhaled. “Okay. It could be Logan, right?”
“It could be. Or Megan Mills.” Ronan’s jaw ticked. His hands were balled into tight fists at my waist. He was barely looking at me as he comforted me.
“It’s not.” I shook my head. It wasn’t Megan. “It’s either Logan or...I guess a stranger.” I really hoped it was Logan. The idea of a stranger knowing where I lived and hating me so much they were leaving letters and taking pictures sent a shiver down my spine.Better the devil you know.
“I’m going to call the detective.” He patted my leg and moved me off his lap. “Pack a bag while I’m on the phone.” He strode into the kitchen, his phone to his ear.
I went into my bedroom, mechanically following his command. I took out an overnight bag and went to my dresser to find clothes. As I slid the drawer open, I stopped.
What the hell am I doing?
This was my home. I wasn’t leaving. I’d get thicker curtains—or shutters. I’d take extra precautions. If I left, when would I come back? Would Ronan ever think it was safe enough for me to be here on my own?
Why did he get to decide that?
I sat down on the end of my bed, taking stock of my bedroom. I’d chosen the light teal after staring at five different shades for two weeks. I absolutely loved it. My windows were long, the curtains bordering them dramatically pooling on the floor. I crossed to the window beside my bed and yanked the curtains all the way shut, blocking out the afternoon sun.
Ronan appeared at the door. “Are you ready?”
“What did the detective say?”
He scrubbed at his jaw. “I’m taking the picture down to the station. But he doesn’t believe the boys were behind this. I mentioned Logan and Megan, and he said he’ll look into them too.”
“Just Logan,” I repeated.
He tipped his chin. “Where’s your bag?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going. I closed my curtains. Everything’s fine now.”
His brow pinched tight in the center. “Nothing is fine, Iris. You’re not staying here. Not until we know exactly who did this and can ensure they’re going to stay far, far away from you. Now, pack.”
“No, Ronan. I have my alarm system. You set it up yourself. I’m safe here. They didn’t get in, I just forgot to close my curtains all the way. I won’t do it again. But I’m not leaving because Logan is still a bitter asshole.”
Ronan’s chest rumbled as he stalked toward me. “You can’t know it’s Logan. You were certain he was behind the break-in, but he wasn’t. He’s a weasel and I’d like to smash his smug face into a brick wall, but you can’t know he did this.”
I stared back at him, blinking as his nostrils flared. A thick wall of tension separated us. I was being stubborn, but so was he. The harder he pressed me, the deeper my heels would dig in. This was my home. If he thought it was so easy for me to leave it at the drop of a hat, he hadn’t been listening to me.
“Meala,” he pleaded.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No. You can stay here with me, but I—”
With a low roar, Ronan stepped forward and scooped me up and over his shoulder. “You obstinate woman.” He smacked my butt, and once I snapped out of my stunned stupor, I kicked and clawed at his back. Not enough to hurt—I could never hurt him, no matter how angry he made me—but to draw his attention so he’d stop and think. Except he didn’t seem to be in the mood to stoporthink. He strode through my apartment, grabbing my keys and my phone, and exited with me dangling like a rag doll from his shoulder.
“I hate you, Ronan. I really hate you. Put medown!” Blood rushed to my head as fast as my righteous anger.
Ronan smacked me again. “No, you don’t. You’re not thinking straight right now.”
