“I’ll talk to him and get back to you. Go home. Relax.”
“Relax, he says.” Rawley smirked. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Alright. Be careful going home. Cool down first.”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks, Killian.”
“Anytime.”
Rawley yanked open the door of his truck, climbed inside and turned the key. The engine roared to life, then he pulled out of the parking lot. During a break in the late afternoon traffic, he pulled onto Main Street, the setting sun glinting off his rearview mirror as he decided to stop at Skylar’s to see if she was okay. He tried to call her first, his thumb jabbing at the phone screen, but she didn’t answer.
“Damn it,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he pressed the accelerator to the floor, the truck surging forward with a throaty rumble.
He eased his pickup into her driveway, the engine’s rumble dying as he killed the ignition. In front of his truck, he spotted only her SUV. He paused, his hand brushing the holster at his hip, then opened the door and stepped onto the gravel. At the door, he glanced around then knocked.
Just as he turned to head back to the truck, he heard the latch click. The door swung open, and Skylar stood framed in the doorway, hands on her hips, brow arched.
“Did you look to see who it was first?” he asked in a low growl, ducking his head to hide the grin threatening his lips.
“No,” she said coolly. “I just figured whoever it was would be a jerk.”
He straightened. “I’m sorry. It’s been one hell of a day.”
She checked her watch. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Dave got angry and told me to take the rest of the week off.” He shrugged. “Not suspended, yet.”
“Come inside.” She stepped aside. He removed his hat, tapped the dirt from his boots on the welcome mat, and followed her into the living room, where soft sunlight warmed the hardwood floors. He placed his hat on the arm of the sofa.
“Thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Can I get you something?”
“Water, please.” As she turned, he reached out and caught her wrist, gently drawing her around. She met his gaze.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
She softened. On tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his. He inhaled the faint scent of vanilla and deepened the kiss, then wrapped her in his arms.
She broke away, smiling. “Please, sit. I’ll get your water.”
He nodded but remained standing. He heard the ice clinking and the water hitting glass. When she returned, she set the cold glass on the coffee table and slipped onto the couch.
“Rawley, sit.”
He sat beside her. Her warm hand settled over his.
“Tell me.”
He drew a breath. “After the night they followed us, I went back for their plates, wanted to make sure they weren’t circling your neighborhood. They weren’t at the bar. Scarlett heard one of them mention the motel.” He met her eyes. “There’s only one motel in Clifton. I drove by the lot, saw the truck, took photos of the plate and tire treads. Couldn’t run them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m worried now.”
He lowered his gaze to the floorboards. “I know. I should’ve told you sooner.” He sighed. “I didn’t think they were anything more than a few punks trying to impress a beautiful woman. Ican guarantee that most women don’t fall for it. But, when they followed us, I knew there was something more to it. I believed they were in Clifton to cause trouble, but what kind, I wasn’t sure.”
