“My job is to be professional.”
“You can be professionalandnice.”
“Get back to work,” I grumble, and his laughter fills the line as I disconnect the call. It’s ridiculous the things I let him get away with.
But he’s family.
And damn good at his job.
So I’ll let his little words of wisdom slide…for now.
Parking my SUV, I push everything from my mind as I step out, scanning the street as I move toward the mailbox and pull a stack of packages and letters from inside.
“I would have gotten that,” Kat calls but I don’t respond, my gaze taking in the standard junk mail, promotional flyers, and bills before landing on a large, blank white envelope with Kat’s name printed on the label and nothing else.
It’s the kind of thing that has my hackles rising as I quicken my pace toward the garage where she’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest.
Annoyed.
My go bag will have to wait.
I need to get her inside.
Because my gut is telling me that whatever is in this envelope is going to solidify what I already know.
Kat Harrington is in danger.
And that danger may be closer than we think.
6
KAT
“Get back in your car and lock the doors,” Tom says, his head on a swivel like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at any moment. It’s ridiculous; I’m safe here.
Then why did you stay at your brother’s after the incident with the fire?
“Why are you—” He hustles me back toward my car and pulls the handle, ushering me to take a seat.
“Inside. Do not open your door for anyone but me; do you understand? I have to clear the house but I need you safe while I do that.”
Why would he need to clear the house?
It’s not something I want to think about.
Without arguing, I do as I’m told and depress the lock, watching as he nods in approval before entering the house. Heart racing, it feels like hours pass before the door swings open, making me jump in my seat as Tom descends the two stairs toward me.
“Let’s get you inside,” he says, his voice calm even as he hustles me up the couple of steps and into the house, the garage door closed by the time he’s made it into the entryway andflipped the lock. Tom doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, just sets the mail on the kitchen counter and pulls a pair of black latex gloves from his pocket as he pushes everything to one side except a nondescript white envelope with only myrealname on the front.
“What is that?”
“When was the last time you checked your mail?”
“Not since I left for my writing retreat. I forgot to ask them to hold my mail and I didn’t want to bother Colt.”
I blush as Tom turns back to the envelope. Getting the mail seemed so trivial when I left.
My heart beats faster in my chest as he takes a few pictures before pulling a knife from his pocket and slicing off the end of the envelope.
