Today it’ll be especially great to see Tavi because her visits always include hugs, cocktails, and laughing so hard my sides ache. Ineedthat.
Hurrying to the door, I compose myself to look welcoming. When I peer out, though, I don’t see Tavi’s face. There’s nothing but camel-colored fabric. Which is not a Tavi color. Also, she’d have to be standing on a step ladder to fill the peephole view with her sweater. The figure is too close for me to tell, but I’m guessing it’s a man.
Taking a reflexive step back, I scrutinize my door.
Brayden, maybe. I remain silent. I’ve waited him out before. He’s not patient, so it won’t take long before he skulks off, cursing.
The loud second knock makes my body jerk, even though it shouldn’t startle me.
For fuck’s sake. Pull your shit together, Peralta.
An instant later, a wave of annoyance crashes through me. The asshole banging on my door has no right to be here.
Stalking over to the table, I purse my lips as I pick up my phone. I bring up the emergency call icon. I don’t give a shit if the police think I’m a lunatic or not. Before I open the door even a crack, I want the call to police on speed dial.
As I hook the security chain in place, a deep male voice announces, “It’s Sorensen. Open the door.”
My hand freezes.Sorensen.What the hell is he doing here?
My gaze narrows on the door, but I don’t unbolt it. Instead, I step back.
If the Viking expects to interview me about the crime scene in The Rat Run, he’s out of his mind. He can get the details from his partner.
My feet stay planted on the living room carpet as I call out, “What do you want?”
“Open the door, and I’ll tell you.” His placating tone grates on my nerves.
“Arrogant fucking prick,” I mutter as I drop my phone into the pocket of my robe.
I leave the security chain in place. After opening the door a few inches, I stare out at him. Camel-colored sweater and sheepskin-lined coat, jeans, and hiking boots. Mountain man meets Norse god.
When I speak, my tone is terse. “I don’t want to see you right now. Or ever, really.”
His icy blue eyes lock with mine. “I heard about your morning.”
Blowing out an exhausted breath, I scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His voice is slower and lower when he speaks again. “You don’t need to.” Shockingly, he manages to infuse his tone with a little compassion. “Have you talked to your father?”
He’s speaking perfect English, but the words don’t compute. “My dad? What do you mean?”
“Has he called?”
“Maybe.” My answer is noncommittal, but the vagueness is a lie. There’s a voicemail from my dad I haven’t had a chance to listen to. Why the hell does Erik Sorensen know he called?
“What are you doing here, Sorensen?”
“Your dad asked my uncle for a favor. Until the Casanova threat is over, I’m your bodyguard.”
My muscles lock, making me as stiff as a board.What the hell?
I start to close the door, so I can listen to my dad’s message in private. But Sorensen’s giant bear paw catches the top and stops its closure.
“It’s twenty-eight degrees, Arya. Let me in.”
His being cold is not my problem. I didn’t invite him over, and he shouldn’t show up unannounced.
“Arya.” The impatience in his voice causes me to scowl.
