SOMEONE TRIED TO KILLTHEM. Clasping her hands in front of her to stop the tremors running through her, Sophie rolled the idea around in her head. It didn’t get any better the more she thought about it. Given his line of work, it made sense for Emerson to have enemies, but he seemed certain the shots were intended for her. With the break-in at the store and the attack at her apartment, it was hard to argue with him, but the idea that someone hated her enough to try to kill her sent a chill down her spine. She’d been cold since she got the breath knocked out of her when she hit the gravel. Even Emerson’s body covering her hadn’t warmed her. It had knocked the terror back to almost manageable, though, and made it possible for her to lay still without screaming.
She glanced over to where he stood, talking to the police. He’d stayed with her through the detective’s never-ending questions, shielding her from the stress the same way he’d shielded her body from the bullets. He hadn’t left her side until he made sure someone else was there to care for her. She must have looked shaky enough for them to call the paramedics. Thankfully, they’d settled for letting her sit in the back of the open ambulance instead of hauling her back to the hospital. She didn’t want to go back there, but she didn’t want to go home either. For the first time in her life, she was scared to be alone in her own apartment, and she hated it.
Emerson had been ready to die for her. He barely knew her, and he’d been willing to use his body as a shield to protect her. Most guys she’d known had a hard time committing to dinner a week into the future. Okay, that might be a bit melodramatic but not far from the truth. Which said a lot both about the men—boys really—she’d dated and the man standing across the parking lot sorting things out for her. Neither of which helped her with the most pressing problem facing her. What was she going to do when Emerson finished with the cops and decided it was time to hit the road? She couldn’t expect him to hang around. Not when he wasn’t getting anything out of the arrangement.
Even with the little bit of money she’d managed to squirrel away, there was no way in hell she could afford to pay him for his services. She didn’t know how much he charged, but she’d seen the way he’d handled himself when the bullets were flying. That kind of competence didn’t come cheap. He glanced over as if he sensed her watching him or maybe to make sure she was still there. Since he walked over to talk to the officers, he’d kept checking in every couple of minutes, just a glance and what she was pretty sure was his version of a reassuring smile. That’s the effect it had on her, anyway.
Gravel crunched as what felt like a fleet of black SUVs pulled into the parking lot. Adrenalin made her nerves fire to life and the officer talking to Emerson immediately shifted his stance, readying himself for an invasion. Emerson motioned toward the vehicles and the cop relaxed, but it did nothing for her nerves. Especially when a team of huge guys, each seemingly bigger than the previous one, dressed like Australian commandos and moving like the Rebel Alliance, piled out of the vehicles.
Emerson made a motion with his hand and one of the smaller guys—small being relative—peeled away from the group and headed straight for her. Not feeling its warmth, she pulled the blanket the paramedics had given her tighter around her and sat up, ready to bolt if it came to it. It was an irrational reaction, but at the moment, her body didn’t seem to care all that much about rationality.
There was something familiar, even reassuring about the man, and as he got closer, she realized he and Emerson must be related.Brothers maybe?That would make sense. It might be the only thing in the last forty-eight hours that did.
“You must be Sophie.” The man offered his hand, wrapping her fingers in his strong grip. He held them for a moment longer than was necessary for a polite greeting, and she wondered if her hands felt as cold to him as they did to her. “I’m Gabe Southerland.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Or it would be if it weren’t because of...” She waved a hand around her as her words trailed off. It was stupid. She was babbling; she’d never have met him if it wasn’t for the shooting.
He searched her gaze, and she put some extra effort into appearing normal. Or at least as normal as someone could look after being attacked twice in the same week. The last thing she wanted was for them to think she needed extra medical attention.
“Hang here for just a minute. Let me check in with my brother and make sure the officers don’t need you for anything and then we’ll get you upstairs and get you something to eat. Pizza okay?”
“God, yes,” she groaned, shocked to realize she was actually hungry.
It felt like hours since they’d eaten. Apparently, adrenaline burned calories. She gave a wistful thought to the takeout box of pancakes laying somewhere in the parking lot, probably crushed under one of the dozens of police cars and Southerland Security vehicles.Greasy cheesy pizza sounded better anyway.
“A woman after my own heart. Back in a minute.” Gabe gave her a playful grin, completely at odds with Emerson’s serious expression.
The similarities in their features made the differences more obvious. She’d bet Gabe had a lot more fun than his older brother. The thought made her curious and a little sad. She glanced in Emerson’s direction and found him giving instructions to his waiting men. Everything in his mannerism telegraphed he was clearly the one in charge. He glanced up as Gabe approached and then immediately shifted his gaze to her. She tried to smile and might actually have managed it, because the corner of his mouth curved in answer. Gabe said something and Emerson’s expression changed, a crease forming in the center of his forehead. She had a sudden, completely irrational urge to smooth the crease out with her finger.
Before she had time to wonder what caused the inconvenient crease and even more inconvenient feelings—on her part, at least—Emerson nodded. Gabe headed back in her direction, a smile lighting his face in a way that made it seem like he was crossing a bar instead of a crime scene.
“Come on, beautiful,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s get you into your apartment and fed.”
She imagined he called every woman he ran intobeautiful, but he had such a warm, easygoing manner, she couldn’t muster the energy to care. She headed for the stairs, with Gabe following right behind her. Her steps faltered as she neared the place where Emerson had pushed her to the ground and saw the yellow police tape.
“We’ll go in the front.” A strong hand took her by the elbow and led her away from the tape. She glanced up to see Emerson staring down at her, concern clear in his expression. She hadn’t heard him approach them, a testament to how badly the police tape shook her, but she exhaled in relief at the feel of his hand on her arm. She’d already developed a pretty strong codependent thing where he was concerned. It was going to make it even harder when she had to say good-bye.
“There might still be an officer upstairs, but they didn’t find any evidence of a break-in.” Emerson kept a hand on her elbow and the other on the small of her back.
She’d have prickled at the controlling way he led her to the front of her apartment building if his touch hadn’t felt so damn good—so reassuring. Gabe took the lead while she and Emerson climbed the short flight of steps to her apartment in tandem. There was barely room enough for the two of them in the stairwell, but she’d happily squeeze into tighter spaces to stay next to him. She’d never been dependent on a man—other than her brother—and not since she was an adult. The thought scared her, but not half as much as the attack had.
“Hey, Officer. We need to get into Sophie’s apartment.” Gabe greeted the uniformed cop standing outside the door to her apartment with the same kind of enthusiasm he might use for a guy sitting next to him at a ball game.
The cop wasn’t buying it. Instead of stepping to the side, he positioned himself squarely in the doorway.
“Not now, you aren’t. It’s an active crime scene.”
That couldn’t be right. Whoever tried to kill her—she wasn’t ever going to get used to that thought—shot at them outside her building. Her place couldn’t be a crime scene. Emerson asked her about letting the police into her apartment to check things out and she remembered nodding her approval. But it hadn’t felt real until that moment.
“Call Detective Westfield.” Emerson didn’t bother with a greeting or explanation. Unlike Gabe, there was nothing casual about his tone.
Reluctantly, the officer reached for the radio at his belt. He asked the question and a static-filled reply came back. She only managed to catch a few words—all clearandSoutherland—but it must have been enough to convince him Emerson was telling the truth. He stepped out of the doorway, letting them pass before heading for the stairway.
Everything looked the same as it had when they’d left—could it have just been that morning? It felt like days ago.
“Are you okay?” Emerson asked as soon as they entered the apartment.
He waited for her answering nod before moving through the space, repeating the search the police had already done. It was overkill. If there had been anyone there; the cops would have found them, but there was something reassuring in knowing he wanted to be sure himself. It was one of the traits of being the older, more responsible brother.
