Well, that could certainly explain the search for good and evil and the nearly pathological need to right the scales. Even if it meant hunting down his own brother and putting him away for life. Angus slipped his phone back into his pocket while the wind tried to freeze his hand off. “Sounds like we have much to discuss.”
Millie shoved her way out from under the vehicle, a small button held triumphantly in her hand. “Whoever set this is good. Really good. I’m better.” Rolling, she came up on her feet and plopped the silver device into Angus’s hand. “It’s a tracker. Very well placed.”
Angus flipped it up in the air and then caught it. “Jethro?”
Nothing. Noteven a blink.
Damn it.
Chapter Sixteen
Gemma paced by her window, listening to the house quiet around her as Trudy slept. They’d had bath time, playtime, and reading time. Now Trudy was out, and Gemma couldn’t stop thinking about Jethro and his handling of the three attackers. He hadn’t lost his temper once. How was that possible? How was he possible? Maybe he was a professor trained in martial arts? Even so, the attacker had mentioned taking out whoever was with Jethro. So he was targeted? None ofit made sense.
Usually when something troubled her, she packed up her daughterand left town.
But the danger had been aimed at Jethro, not at her. Obviously they couldn’t spend any more time together. She had enough problems of her own.
The knock on the door didn’t surprise her. She’d kept the colored contacts in her eyes and the blond wig on her head, just in case. A quick look through the peephole confirmed that Jethro was on the other side, snow on his dark blond hair.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
“I brought ice cream.” He held up a gallon of vanilla and then drew a bottle of B&B from behind his back. “And B&B. We can makeB-52 bombers.”
She blinked. That was not what she’d expected. Taken off guard, she slid to the side, allowinghim entrance.
“Thank you.” He moved beyond her, heading straight for the kitchen, which was visible from the entry.
She shut and locked the door. With Jethro in the house, the place felt different. His energy, calm and strong, smoothed out the edges of the place. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He stood on the other side of the tall counter, at the sink. “That’s supposed to be my question.” In the darkened kitchen, his eyes looked more sapphire than blue topaz.
She studied him. While she’d noticed his height and the breadth of his chest before, she hadn’t considered him truly dangerous. Now she knew better. He was a brilliant man who was an expert at fighting. If what had happened could even be considered a fight. He’d basically reduced three other men, two of them armed, to unconsciousness. Withlittle effort.
He started opening cupboards. “Blender?”
“Left of the sink,” she said, staying across the living room. What was she thinking, allowing him inside?
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, finding the blender andplugging it in.
She’d heard those words before and she’d believed them. Even if she thought Jethro would be true to his word, she wasn’t staying in town for long. Whatever this was between them—and it was something—had toend. Right now.
He looked around and unerringly chose the utensil drawer, pulling out an ice cream scoop. “Apparently I have some issues with which to deal, so we can’t spend time together any longer.” He finished scooping the ice cream into the blender and then looked up, his gaze piercing across the distance. “But I thought one last drinkmight be nice.”
She opened her mouth but didn’thave any words.
He poured alcohol into the blender and pressed the button, mixing the concoction with a grinding noise that made it impossible to speak. He fetched two glasses from a cupboard, stopped the blender, and poured the thick white liquid into the glasses. Then he brought them around the counter and moved toward the thick chair by the sofa, holdingout one glass.
She accepted the cup and sat on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath her. This was all surreal. “Who were those men and why did they have different-coloredski masks on?”
“They wore different ski masks because they’re morons. As to their identities, I neither know nor care.” He took a drink of the grown-up milkshake and didn’t even get any onhis upper lip.
She sipped, allowing the cold sugar to fill her. “It’s good.”
“Yes.” He put the cup on a coaster on the coffee table and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it to the floor. “Areyou all right?”
She held both hands around the mug. “Not really. Why were those men looking for you, why did they want to kidnap me, and where did you learn to fight like that?” The questions burst out of her, and if she didn’t get answers, her heart was going to do the same. She would not notice how big and strong and solid…and sexy he looked. No. A badass Indiana Jones with a British accent wasn’t her type. But she had been looking for raw, and maybe raw was calmly deadly. Sheshook her head.
He retrieved his cup and drank, his lips full and firm on the glass. Well, what she assumed to be firm. What the heck was going on in her head? She hated violence. The man in front of her had transitioned from calm to violent in a heartbeat. Yet he’d been in control the entire time. Was that it? Was that why she wasn’t terrified right now? Because he’d not only controlled the violence but himself and everyone around him?
