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“Ohhh,whatare you doing? Why are you touching my things?” She took the frame out of his hand and set it back on the table. Then she faced him, hand on one hip that jutted outward. He’d seen that look plenty of times on his momma too—enough to know that Bronte was about to give him a piece of her mind and he had to get his point made fast.
“Look, I’m not leaving. And I need to know more about you if I’m going to be guarding you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Guarding me? From what?”
He shook his head, amused by the dismay crossing her features. He had a hard time looking away. “Bronte, someone tried to hurt you.”
She scrubbed a fingertip between her brows. “I don’t know about all that. I think the driver might have been in some trouble and trying to get away.”
“By kidnapping us as passengers?” His tone oozed with incredulity.
“Exactly. He was making a statement.”
He started to shake his head when she burst out, “You can go to your hotel now. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Dismissing him, she headed for the kitchen.
Jace stepped in front of her, blocking her path and forcing her to tip her head back in order to meet his stare. “There won’t be a hotel, Bronte. I’m stayingright herewhere I can protect you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not okay for you to stay here with me. I never have men stay the night.”
He couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face. “Remember sweetness…we’re engaged.”
With a pointed glare, she sidestepped him. “Yeah, about that.”
“The engagement idea is genius really, and I didn’t even know it when it popped out of my mouth.”
She hurried across the small kitchen and went on tiptoe to reach a high shelf. When her fingertips only grazed the basket, he reached over her head and plucked it from the shelf, placing it into her hands.
She stared at it as if he’d performed a magic act. “Thanks,” she said absently and started rummaging around the contents. She pulled out a bottle and shook two pills into her palm.
He watched her, taking in her reaction to him and to the situation. He was trained extensively to recognize signs of distress in a ward. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that Bronte hadn’t fully processed what happened to her back in that car or just how close she’d come to losing her life.
And she definitely hadn’t begun to consider who was targeting her or why.
She walked to the refrigerator and held a glass under a water dispenser set in the door. As she swallowed the pills, she eyed him. “Tell me again why it was genius that you told my client we’re engaged?”
“If your head hurts, you should lie down. I’m going to check out the rest of your condo.” He took off to search the place, his first priority making sure the condo was an impenetrable fortress.
When he circled back to the living room, he found Bronte seated on a pink leather sofa with the cat in her lap. Her hand moved from his head, over his back and to his tail, which she let slide through her palm before doing it all over again.
Her gaze locked on Jace, and guilt flooded through his system. The burn of worry in her eyes and the pucker between her brows showed him just how frightened she was.
He crossed the hardwood floor and stepped onto a plush area rug marking out the seating area. Sinking into a low-slung chair the color of creamy milk, he leaned toward Bronte, elbows on knees.
“We need to talk about what happened.”
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again.
He waited, one brow arched. When she didn’t speak, he took the lead. “Someone replaced your driver, and the guy attempted to hurt you, Bronte.”
She shook her head. “He couldn’t have been targeting me.”
Denial. He’d heard of wards going into denial before but hadn’t personally encountered it.
“He knew he was coming to pick you up.”
“Maybe he only intended to rob us.”
He tightened his lips. “I don’t think so.”
