She shakes her head, lips pursed. “Okay. So, if I tell you I want to stay over and for you to pick me up in the morning?”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under my hands. “You can’t sleep at his place. There’s no security there.” The thought of her spending the night with him makes my blood boil.
“I think he has an alarm, and I have the panic button you gave me. It’ll be just like at home.”
“I vetted your house, and I’m nearby, within a minute’s reach. It’s not the same thing.”
“You can check out his house if you’re so worried and make sure it’s safe.” She shrugs. “Maybe I could even arrange a room for you.”
“No. It’s not enough,” I say, my tone harsher than I intended. The idea of being in the same house while they… It’s more than I can bear. “Safety first.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Safety first? That’s the problem? Not something else, maybe?”
“No. Only your safety matters.”
“I see.”
“So you’re not staying there.” I keep my eyes fixed on the road, but my skin prickles with awareness, as if her gaze is a physical touch trailing across my jaw, down my neck.
I park in front of Arlo’s house, a modest two-story in a quiet neighborhood, and survey the street. At this time of day, it’s deserted, the silence broken only by the distant bark of a dog. “You’re not staying.”
She gets out of the truck without a word, slamming the door hard enough to make the vehicle shake.
I get out of the truck and move around to catch her. It's my job to escort her safely to the entrance, no matter how much it pains me.
As we walk up the driveway, her heels clicking on the concrete, I fight the urge to reach out and touch her. The space between us feels charged, electric. Every step is a battle against my instincts, my desires.
We reach the front door, and Cora turns to face me. For a moment, we stand there, the air heavy with unspoken words. I could say something, tell her not to go in, beg her to come back with me. But I don't. I can't.
Her eyes meet mine for a brief, intense moment before she turns and disappears into the house.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, long after the door has closed behind her. The pain in my chest spreads, a dull ache that threatens to consume me.
She’s not mine. I have no right to tell her to leave him. No right to tell her to be with me instead. I can’t. And I have no right to tell her what to do. But God, I want to. I want tomarch in there, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her away from him.
I wait, the minutes ticking by like hours. I don’t know if she even intends to come back out or if she’ll decide to stay there, but no matter how hard it is to sit here and imagine what they’re doing inside, her safety is the only thing that matters.
I try to focus on that, on my job, but all I can think about is her in his arms. And if she stays, I need to prepare to spend the night in the truck outside his house. The thought makes me want to put my fist through something. I rest my head on the steering wheel, the cool leather offering little comfort.
The moment Zane gets back from his mission, I’m requesting a transfer. I have no problem with protection detail, but let him give me someone else to protect.
“Stop!” Cora’s scream pierces through the open window. “I said enough.”
My body moves before my mind can catch up, propelling me out of the car. The cool metal of my gun is in my hand before I realize I’ve drawn it, its weight an extension of my arm. I sprint toward the front door.
The door opens to my touch, and I push it inward, peering inside. The entryway is empty, shadows dancing on the walls from a light upstairs. Cora’s nowhere in sight.
I advance, each step measured and silent. I shouldn’t have let her go in alone.
I strain my ears, catching the faintest sounds from upstairs. A muffled voice, a choked sob. My jaw clenches, anger burning hot in my veins.
I ascend, testing each step before committing my weight. The carpet swallows the sound of my boots.
The bedroom door is open, and I press myself against thewall. I peer around the doorframe, the scene before me not what I expected.
Cora stands on one side of the room, arms wrapped around herself, looking small and vulnerable. She’s crying, tears streaming down her face, and for that alone, I’m ready to shoot him on the spot. But Arlo stands on the other side of the room, and I don’t see an immediate threat. His hands are visible, and he’s talking. No weapon in sight.
I lower my gun but keep it ready. The situation may not be what I feared, but it’s far from over. My muscles remain coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.
