“What if you find him and he won’t talk? He’s as invested in finding me as you are in stopping him. Do you think you can intimidate him into talking?”
“I know I can,” he responds curtly. His voice is a steady current. “Fear is the only language men like him understand.”
I swallow hard, worrying about what happens if Neal gets the drop on him. “Are you taking backup?”
“Why? Are you worried I can’t best him in a fair fight?”
“No, I’m worried that he won’t fight fair.”
He responds tightly, “His kind never do. But don’t worry, I know how to handle myself. And rest assured, I’m taking a handful of my club brothers.”
This is the part of him I remember all too well. It’s the part that would walk into fire if it means protecting someone he cares about. I have missed being with him more than I want to admit.
“I didn’t want to drag you into my problems,” I say. It slips out before I can stop it.
His eyes narrow with no shift towards warmth. “No, but you felt totally comfortable taking my daughter on the run from this stalker. She’s not just your daughter. She’s mine too. When you realized you were in danger, you should have called me.”
I feel myself getting emotional. “You’re not just the big scary thing I throw at trouble. You’re the man I love. My own anxiety and insecurities might have kept me from coming to you but don’t ever doubt that I care about you.”
Some of the frostiness leaves his expression but he doesn’t say it back. Instead, he turns towards the door. Just as he gets to the door, he looks over his shoulder and tells me, “If you care about me, then prove it.”
“Slate,” I whisper, struggling to get my head around the fact that he’s giving me another chance to prove myself.
Before I can figure out what to say, he adds gruffly, “Rivera is staying here with you. Don’t leave the compound without him. Do you understand?”
I nod, “Yeah, I’m not trying to cause any more trouble.”
“You’re not trouble. You’re the woman I could love back if only you could find it in your heart to tell me the truth, to reach out when you need help, instead of keeping me at arm’s length.”
Just then the puppy stretches in the blankets and lets out a tiny growling yawn. Katie moves in her sleep, snugging closer into the pillow. When he looks at her, his eyes soften into the most tender expression I’ve seen on his face. Then he turns back to me, and the walls go back up again.
“We’ll be back when we have him.”
Then in an instant he’s gone.
I can’t help but worry about him. He’s been through so much already. I don’t want to see him hurt because of me. I sink back down onto the edge of the bed. And the puppy clamors over and climbs into my lap, all clumsy with big paws and a wet nose. He pushes his face against my stomach, wanting cuddles. When I scoop him up and hold him close, he calms down almost immediately.
Slate is going to be out there chasing a man who’s haunted every step Katie and I have taken for over four years. And I can’t lose him, not now that we’ve reconnected.
I run my fingers over the soft fur of the puppy’s neck and try to decide what I can do to help get us free of this mess. Rivera is outside in the hallway or down in the main room. If I am ever going to be the woman who stands beside Slate instead of hiding behind him, I need to learn to fight my own battles instead of running or hiding behind him.
An idea comes to mind. It’s something I wrote in my notebook and circled so many times the paper feels worn in that spot.
I set the puppy aside and reach for my notebook in the nightstand drawer. I flip it open, running my fingers over the messy ink lines. There are dozens of short notes, addresses, and strange names I didn’t remember writing down after the coma. This notebook represents the fragments of a life I was piecing together when my life went to hell in a handbasket.
I scan page after page until I find the one that has been niggling at the back of my mind since last night. It’s a circlearound a company name and address that’s been underlined twice. I put a small star in the corner of this notation.
The address is local, just a couple of hours away. Something about this is important. I can feel it all the way down to my bones.
I climb out of bed for a second time and grab a shower. Slate is chasing his lead. I think that I have one too. This might turn out to be nothing. But then again, it might be something that breaks the investigation wide open. I won’t know until I check it out. The bottom line is if I want a life here, I need to earn it. I need to finish what I started four years ago. I need to be more than the woman he found trembling with a child on her hip.
Prove I can do it, to myself and Slate.
I get dressed, slip the notebook under my arm and take one last look at the bed. My daughter is safe. She is finally somewhere she belongs, we both are. And I need to protect that at all costs.
I walk to the front door of Slate’s suite and go in search of Queenie. I cross the hall and knock on her door.
Queenie opens the door, and the moment she sees me, her expression lights up. If she can be accused of having a super skill, it’s that she can read a person in seconds. Therefore, her next words don’t surprise me at all.
