He always asked her that question, and she always gave him that answer. He'd been with her father's company as long as she could remember. He was older than her father, which put him right in his mid-seventies. But he was wise. She knew her father had often confided in him, shared things. They'd talked about things.
Henry not only walked her down to the elevator, he accompanied her to the car, and then on the way home. Henry was her security now. After her father's demise, the security had started watching her house at night, which she both liked and hated. When she complained about it, Henry told her it was an outside security company. He knew that she didn't want him staying up late at night. He always kicked off about ten, he toldher, which worked out because another guy named Timothy escorted her to the office and stayed there until two, when Henry came in. So it worked out.
She rode in the back of the car in silence, just lost in her thoughts. It was a twenty-minute drive outside of the city to her suburb, which was gated. The car went inside the community and then up a long driveway.
Her father and she had built the house together.
After her divorce, he told her she needed a place to call her own that no man could ever take from her. It was beautiful, with ten acres and a four-thousand square foot home. She had a little lake so she could row in the mornings if she wanted. It had a path around it, plenty of trees, shrubbery. It was breathtaking.
As they drove up, she asked the driver to just open the garage. He dropped her off, and Henry watched her go inside until the garage closed.
She walked into the house. There was a warm meal on the stove. This had been a thing when she'd taken over from her father—her mother had stepped in and hired a private chef for her.
It worked out because the chef knew what she liked, and he just designed meals for her. The first two years, he'd wanted feedback, and he would ask if she liked it or not. Now, he just went with his gut. He always did a great job. The meal was covered, still warm. She put her bag down, washed her hands, went to her room, and changed into her nightgown, which consisted of sweats and a T-shirt. She didn't know if she would try and run on her treadmill. Sometimes that helped her when she couldn't sleep.
She went back to the oven and pulled the warm chicken pot pie out from under the foil. She moved into the little parlor off the kitchen. It was already set up with the TV tray and the remote, a glass of water. She wasn't sure who set this upevery night. Probably the chef. She leaned back into the chair, breathed in the aroma of the food before turning on the light—and she nearly fell off the chair.
"Hey, Sabrina," the man said softly.
"Oh my gosh!" She jolted. She hit the leg of the TV tray, and her whole meal collapsed onto the floor with the glass of water.
The side of the man's lip tucked up. The man was weathered, tan, with toe-headed blond hair. It had grown out, and he had facial hair, but those eyes, those piercing blue eyes.
"Oh my gosh, Walker?" she asked quickly and stood. She pressed her hand to her heart. "Do you know what you just did to me?" She yelled at him, trying to process that Walker Star was here and that she'd nearly had a heart attack.
He leaned back, his eyes looking her up and down. "You reached out to my brother, right?"
"Right, right." She sat back down. "Yeah, okay, I didn't know you would just show up at my house." She was confused. Her mind raced. "Aren't you, like, a Navy SEAL or something? When I talked to your brother, he said that all you guys were serving."
Walker shrugged. "Well, retirement came early."
She had no idea what he meant. She was still trying to process the fact that he was here in her home. "Okay," she said, walking in a little circle, still pressing her hand into her heart.
Walker stood and looked at the mess on the floor. "Let's go into another room."
She sucked in a long breath and then blew it out. "I seriously don't think you realize that you gave me a huge scare."
Walker moved past her, smelling of leather, soap, and something else manly. She was attracted to him still. She hadn't seen him in a long time—since they were both at her college graduation. Their families had gotten together, and he'd just gotten out of SEAL training. He looked a lot different now—older, wiser, more dangerous.
He walked into the kitchen and gestured to the oven. There were two more pot pies. "Do you mind if I have one?" he asked quietly.
She threw her hand up at him. "Sure." This whole thing felt ridiculous. "I mean, why not come to my house and scare the crap out of me and then have a pot pie? I mean, why not, Walker?"
He gave her a smile, a different smile than before, one not so jaded. "Well, you do know I like to eat." He picked up both pot pies and put them on the counter. "Let's both eat." He turned back and grabbed two glasses, filled them up with water, and then made his way through the kitchen, looking for the silverware until she pointed to a drawer. He grabbed two forks and put them down. "Shall we?"
She eyed him. "How about you just eat? I'll try and recover from nearly dying."
He moved to the counter and shrugged again. "Suit yourself."
It didn't take a lot of bites for him to wolf the whole thing down. She was floored. "What, do they starve you wherever you've been?"
He rolled his eyes and then drank his whole glass of water. He put it down. "Tell me about the problem you called my brother about."
She was finally calming down. She picked up the glass of water and took a sip. "What did he tell you?"
Walker looked bored. "He told me that your father died a year ago, that you've been drowning in running a company and trying to figure out who killed him, and now the bodies are piling up."
She moved to the seat next to him and sat. "That about sums it up."
