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“You don’t sound happy for me.” The tone had switched from chipper to the disapproving one she used when she felt slighted or put upon. “Really, Zoe. You’re an adult. You shouldn’t need me to hold your hand. This is my chance at love.”
Tired of the bullshit, she shot back, “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for myfriendnot to abandon me every other time we go out for an evening.” Giving silent thanks to the coffee gods, she removed the mug, dumped in two spoonfuls of sugar, stirred, and then took her first swallow of the life-giving brew. French vanilla had never tasted so good. She might scrimp on food, if necessary, but never coffee. She had her priorities straight.
“Please be happy for me,” she cajoled.
This was where she usually caved and allowed Brenda to wax on about whatever guy was her latest obsession. “I’m glad you’re happy.” Her tone was wooden. Enthusiasm was asking too much.
“You don’t sound it.”
Mug in hand, she walked to the window and peered out. Brenda was still talking, but she no longer heard a word the woman was saying. A tall, familiar figure leaned against a building across the street, garnering glances from passersby. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Don’t you swear at me.”
“Listen, I have bigger worries than your latest conquest.” If he was like the rest, he’d last a couple of weeks, at most. Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Maybe he was the one who’d stick. Either way, it didn’t change her and Brenda’s relationship. “You didn’t ask what happened after you left last night. Or don’t you care?”
“You got home safely. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be talking.”
“Wow, thanks for caring. What if I hadn’t answered? Would you have worried? Maybe come to check on me?” The answer was painfully clear. The other woman didn’t think about Zoe beyond what she could do for her, which was to be a supportive sounding board and wingman, or in this case, wingwoman.
“You’ve killed my good mood. I’m done. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Don’t bother—” It was too late. Brenda had already hung up. Zoe downed her coffee and slammed the mug down on the desk, furious with herself for being so desperate for a friend she’d put up with being mistreated for so long. “I’d rather be alone than be a doormat, useful but forgotten the moment it’s stepped over.” Not once in all the time they’d known each other had Brenda asked about her day. Whenever Zoe started talking about it, she always found a way to turn it back around to her.
This latest episode was the last straw. The callous disregard for her and her feelings was never going to change. After last night, losing her lone friend was the least of her worries.
“To hell with her. And to hell with Devlin.”
Yesterday, Devlin had saved her from serious injury and possibly death, not to mention protected her at the subway station last night. There was no denying she’d willingly kissed him at the club. While there was no tangible proof he’d sent that large wolf-like creature to terrorize her last night, the odds of it being random were slim to none.
“Argh.” The scream of frustration didn’t help. Spinning around, she stomped to the bathroom. The man was making her crazy. If he thought he could send that vicious creature to her door and then hang around outside her home, he was mistaken. Righteous fury carried her through a quick wash and primping. If she was going to face him down, she was going to look damn good doing it.
Ten minutes later, dressed in her favorite jeans and a sleeveless silk shirt in bold yellow, her purple Converse sneakers on her feet, and her bag over her shoulder, she yanked open her front door and stopped cold.
Four long gouges had been dug through the wooden panel. Raising her hand, she spread her fingers as wide as they would go. They fell short. Sweat beaded on her brow. “I don’t know what the hell his game is, but I’m done playing.” If this was his idea of a joke, she wasn’t laughing. When she got through with him, neither would he.
I shouldn’t engage him.
That’s what a therapist or the police would counsel, but rational thought was smothered by pure rage. “How dare he?” Focusing on anger instead of the knot in her stomach, she stomped out of the building and down to the corner. The way her luck was going, a truck would run her over if she tried to jaywalk. Foot tapping, she waited for the light to change.
Dressed all in black, he leaned against the outside of the coffee shop as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He hadn’t even cracked a sweat, despite the growing heat. Her gaze narrowed. Was that the same outfit he had on last night or did he own a dozen T-shirts in that color? Surely he hadn’t been hanging around outside all this time.
He’d homed in on her the second she’d stepped outside, tracking her movements. He made no motion to walk toward her, making her go to him. Second-guessing herself, she hesitated when the light changed. People surged around her, in a hurry to get where they were going. He uncrossed his arms and straightened. If she balked, he’d come after her. She’d started this, now she had to finish it.
Taking a deep breath, she strode determinedly across the street and up the sidewalk, coming to a halt in front of him. Sunglasses covered his eyes, his face impassive. “Are you going to tell me you just happened to be hanging around outside my door? That it’s a coincidence like the first two times our paths crossed?”
“No.”
One word. After everything she’d been through, that’s all she got. Heat slashed across her face. She thought for sure steam must be coming out her ears. If she’d ever been angrier, she couldn’t remember.
It was irrational to confront a man as dangerous as Devlin. And he was dangerous. It would be stupid to pretend otherwise. Even though he appeared relaxed, there was an air of alertness about him, as if he was assessing the threat level of every person who passed them, ready to spring into action.
She rubbed her hand over her eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“To keep you safe.” He reminded her of the terminator character from the movies—stoic, unemotional, and deadly.
“Take off your sunglasses.” They were black, like the rest of his clothing. And like them, they were pricey. Oakley, if she wasn’t mistaken. She might frequent thrift stores, but she’d educated herself about brands and quality and shopped for the best they had.
A muscle in his jaw clenched. “My glasses?”
