“No, sweetheart, because firing you would mean I have to let you out of my sight, and that is never, ever going to happen again.”
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound like she believes me.
Too bad for her, I’m already making plans.
Mandy takes a shuddering breath. “I live on 83rdStreet. No, it’s the other direction,” she adds as I turn on Canal Street, which takes us down to the waterfront.
“I’m not taking you back to whatever shithole you live in. I’m taking you home. With me.” The promise comes out before I can stop it.
“To the penthouse?”
I glance over at her. She looks confused in the dark, her eyes shimmery with tears.
“No, that’s not my home,” I say. “That’s just where I sleep during the week since it’s closer to the office.”
I swore I’d never let my emotions be controlled like this, yet here I am, taking Mandy home with me.
But there is no way I am leaving her alone.
Her shivering has subsided as the warm air blasts in the car. Pepper’s ears are flicked forward, and the dog makes horrible licking noises as she grooms her muddy paws.
When I park at the marina, Mandy peers out the window in concern.
A crew member with an umbrella opens her door.
I don’t wait for him to open my door—I need to be right next to Mandy.
“Good evening, sir,” he says.
Nodding to him and accepting an offered umbrella, I tuck Mandy against my side.
She blinks in the dark. “Wait, you live on a boat?”
I huff out a laugh before I can stop it.
“No, I don’t live on a boat. The boat takes us to my home. Additionally, the captain would prefer you call it a yacht. He’s sensitive. ‘Boat’ sounds demeaning. This yacht costs more than most people will earn in a lifetime, but I use it as a glorified gondola, so I’m already on thin ice with him.” My tone is conversational, trying to keep her from descending into a panic attack.
My hand on the curve of her waist, I help her up the gangplank, greeting the rest of the crew.
On the upper deck of the yacht, there’s hot tea waiting.
“I can’t sit on that,” Mandy protests when I try to usher her onto one of the plush cream-colored seats. “I’ll get it dirty.”
“Mandy…”
“No.” By the way her pupils are dilated, she’s in shock, fixating on something unimportant to try to claw back some semblance of control.
“Fine, sit down and drink your tea.”
She collapses down to sit cross-legged on the polished-teak floor. Pepper curls up in her lap.
Pulling up an ottoman next to her, I sit, coaxing her to drink the hot beverage.
Mandy stares blankly out at the receding Seattle skyline through the oversized glass doors that lead to the deck.
Reaching out, I carefully, slowly, run my fingers through her tangled curls.
It’s all I can do not to demand that she tell me who is after her and spend all night in the rain looking for the man. Finding somewhere to bury him.
