He laid the phone in her palm. “If I’m not back out in two minutes, make that call to 911.”
She nodded, her fingers curling around the cell phone. “But you’ll be back, won’t you?”
His lips curled up on one side. “I will. But hold onto that, just in case.”
Then he leaned over her, opened the glove compartment and extracted a handgun.
Kimo’s pulse fluttered. The shit was getting real when her bodyguard armed himself. “You always carry one of those?”
“When needed.” He released the magazine, checked the bullets inside and slammed it back into the handle of the weapon. “Close and lock the door. I’ll be right back.”
“Hopefully,” she murmured beneath her breath as she did as he’d said and closed and locked the door.
Rex tapped the glass. “Duck down.”
Kimo slumped in her seat until she could barely see over the dashboard.
Rex hesitated for a moment and then hurried toward her house, the gun at the ready.
Again, he climbed the porch steps, approaching the door from the side, providing no clear target for anyone who might be inside.
Kimo’s eyes rounded and her breath caught in her throat as Rex eased the door wider, then dove inside.
For what felt like an eternity, he remained inside.
Kimo strained her ears, listening for the sound of gunfire.
Just when she lifted the cell phone to punch in the three numbers, Rex, with his broad shoulders and imposing stature, stepped through the front door. He’d shoved the gun into his belt.
Kimo let go of the breath she’d held and sat up straighter. She couldn’t lie to herself. She was remarkably glad to see him again.
As the former Delta Force operative descended the steps, Kimo unlocked her door and pushed it open. She waited for him to help her down.
“All clear.” Rex reached into the truck and lifted her into his arms. When she opened her mouth to protest, he beat her to it with, “Just until we get you into some shoes. It’s not safe to walk in there barefoot.”
She frowned as he tucked his cell phone into his front shirt pocket and draped her arm around his neck. “So, it was breaking and entering?”
He nodded. “Emphasis on breaking.”
Her heart sank, but she put it in perspective. “They’re just things,” she said. “I don’t care about them. I care about Alana.”
He nodded. “Hold that thought.”
Rex carried her up the steps and into the house. “Where do you keep your shoes?”
“In the closet in my bedroom.” As her gaze swept through the little house, her chest tightened. Furniture had been knocked over, the cushions on her couch slashed, knick-knacks and photo frames lay in splintered pieces and shattered shards around the room.
Rex strode with her down the hallway to the last door at the end of the hallway. When he stepped through, Kimo gasped.
The bedframe had been broken, and her mattress slashed down the middle. The dresser she’d purchased at a flea market and refinished lay in pieces on its side, all the drawers removed, dumped and broken. “Why would someone destroy my things?” she whispered. “They aren’t worth anything to anyone but me.”
“Could they have been looking for something?”
“I don’t own anything important but my cameras.” Her eyes widened. “My cameras.”
“Where do you keep them?”
“In the spare bedroom on the right side of the hall.”
