I don’t want to let her go, but if this goes on much longer, I won’t be able to walk away from this woman. Easing back, I pick up my fork and manage to scoop up a halfway decent bite of lasagna. “A puzzle?”
"Yes. You’re almost like…two different people. The Dax who’s protective, who makes jokes, who seems to actually like people, or at least…likes me. And then there’s the other Dax. The one who hates himself. Who thinks he’s damaged. Worthless. The one who’s ashamed to be who he is.” Evianna picks up her wine glass and her voice muffles slightly. “I wish I could convince that second guy he’s every bit as worthy as the first one.”
“Boss?” Vasquez says as we exit the restaurant. “Ten o’clock. Got the Land Rover today.”
I slide into the backseat after Evianna and turn to face her. “Are you sure about this? Vasquez can go on his own.”
“I’m sure. Kyle was a good kid. I hired him. He was my top developer. But I looked at his stats today. For the past three weeks, his bug resolution rate fell to almost nothing. He started assigning his work to the other devs so he could spend all day, every day, combing through the code. But I don’t know what he was looking for.” Evianna slips her hand over mine. “We need to get inside his apartment, Dax. Please.”
With a sigh, I tell Vasquez to head for Kyle’s, then link my fingers with hers. This is a bad idea. Going somewhere I’ve never been? With a woman I have…feelings for?
But if we can’t find out who’s after her, it won’t be long before I’ll have to hand her protection over to someone else. And then…will she still want me?
The fifteen minute drive to Kyle’s apartment passes in silence, and when Vasquez opens the back door, I climb out and hold out my hand for Evianna’s. I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not when I don’t know how much longer I have to be close to her.
Kyle lives on the third floor, and this building doesn’t have an elevator. Instead, the cast iron stair rails wind around the center of the building. Vasquez’s footsteps echo on the floors, and Evianna holds my free hand.
A door opens behind me, then shuts a second later, but I swear I heard a muffled groan.
“Shit. Boss…that was the guy. Louie,” Vasquez says. “He just shoved somebody into a stairwell down the hall and started for the street.”
“Go! Get him!” I wrap my arm around Evianna and urge her up the stairs. “We’re getting into Kyle’s apartment right now.”
Up another floor, and Evianna squeezes my hand. “His door’s right here. But…it’s locked.”
From the pocket of my jacket, I withdraw a pair of black gloves, tug them on, then pull out my wallet.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking the lock.” The tiny kit fits in one of the credit card slots in my billfold, and I break it apart, holding up the thin metal pieces.
After I find the key hole, it takes me less than a minute to open the door.
“You’re…scary,” Evianna says.
I lace our fingers together. “You’re my eyes, darlin’. And you have to see everything. Do not let go of my hand, no matter what. Anything out of the ordinary, you tell me immediately.”
20
Evianna
Dax pushes the door open, and I stare. “Oh my God.”
“What?” His fingers tighten on mine. “Evianna? You’re my eyes, remember?”
His sharp tone pulls me out of my shock. “It’s been…uh…tossed. Be careful. The floor’s a mess.” I take two steps forward, then use my foot to shove the fallen coat rack over. “Stay right behind me and I’ll make sure there’s a path.”
Transferring his hand to my waist, I shuffle forward a few steps.
“Don’t touch anything. Fingerprints,” he warns.
“Um, can I have one of your gloves?”
After he’s passed me one of the thin black gloves, I reach down and pick up Kyle’s broken laptop. “They took the hard drive out of his computer. And I think stomped on the screen.”
“What do you see? Just stop and look around. Is there a pattern? Anywhere the damage is…concentrated?” He’s tense, the rigid muscles of his chest pressing against my back.
Scanning the small living room and tiny kitchen, I try to figure out what might be important. “The couch cushions are ripped open. There’s a desk in the corner. The drawers are halfway across the room—and empty. One of them’s broken—again, like the guy slammed his foot down on the particle board.
