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Don’t kill him.
“Is that her dog?” I glanced back at the house as the thought occurred to me. That seemed like the kind of thing that Diana would have talked about. She was such a gentle spirit—I couldn’t imagine her leaving a puppy behind easily.
“Who? That’s my dog. Just got him. I’m sorry I forgot to pooper-scoop yesterday!”
I scowled. “Do I look like I’m from the fucking homeowners’ association? I don’t care about your dog’s poop. I’m here because of Diana.”
Corbin dragged in a greedy breath as soon as my grip relaxed a bit. “Who? Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just came home to walk my dog.”
“You don’t know who I’m talking about? You don’t remember kicking Diana so hard a few weeks ago that you bruised her ribs?”
I waited for the inevitable sniveling and excuses. When they didn’t come, I looked down into the man’s confused expression.
“Diana who? Man, I don’t even know who that is!”
“Of course you don’t.”
Corbin shook his head and then winced. He put a hand to his throat where purple bruises from my fingers were already forming.
These assholes never took responsibility for their actions. I’d seen this sort of thing back in my neighborhood, but I’d been too young to do much to help back then. Once I’d started training Noah, we’d been happy to use our skills to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
Noah had kept up the practice when he started his own security firm, something that made me proud. Even after I’d been out of Noah’s life, the things I’d instilled in the kid had stuck and guided him into becoming the kind of man that I had always known he could be. It was good to see that something I’d done had turned out right.
Corbin used my inattention to back away, crab walking backward until he bumped into the small table on the patio. “Just take my wallet. I have a lot of cash in there!”
I kicked one of the chairs out of my way. “I don’t want money. What I want is to make sure you never hurt Diana or any other woman again.”
Corbin tripped over his own feet trying to get away. I caught him by the back of the shirt and yanked him back.
“Diana Renquist. Doesn’t ring any bells, right? Let me guess, you conveniently forget every woman after you use her as a punching bag.”
Corbin held up his hands. “Punching bag? Man, do I look like I would punch anyone?”
I paused, looking at the man’s long, thin, clearly manicured fingers. Was that— Wait, was that nail polish? The dude had hands that looked like they belonged in a lotion commercial, pale and smooth. Although that didn’t mean anything. There were plenty of abusive men who put on an elegant façade in public while living their lives as monsters at night.
“Wait, Renquist? You mean the chick who lived here before me?”
“Huh?” I loosened his grip slightly.
The other man gulped. “Yeah. There was some lady with that name who lived here before me. I still get her mail sometimes.”
I had a long history of dealing with liars, which was how I knew that Corbin James was very likely telling the truth. But that meant that along the way, I’d gotten something very wrong.
But then, who was she running from? And who the hell had hurt her? Had she not told me because she feared something like this would happen? Feared what I would do?
I’d almost killed this guy. Based on what? An overheard conversation and a hunch?
It’s no wonder she doesn’t trust me with the whole story.
* * *
Diana
When I walked down the sidewalk to reach Charisse’s house, I found her waiting for me at the door.
After a quick hug, I followed her inside. There was a soft, nubby throw blanket over the back of the couch and a colorful painting on the wall that I’d never seen before.
“I see you’ve made a few changes since I’ve been gone.”
