“That’s not the technical term the psychoanalyst we have on staff used. We believe he has some sort of personality disorder which makes him dangerous, fellas,” JJ declares. “From what she told us, he let her know he’d been watching her for a long time now. Following her from one town to the other. He even dated one of her friends to get intel on her.”
“That’s fucked up,” Riptide says, whistling.
“Have you had a profile made for him?” I ask.
“We have, but it’s not ready to be shared just yet. It’s still a work in progress and needs some tweaking, but we think we’re close to nailing it down,” the detective shares.
“What’s the plan?” Riptide inquires. “You have to have one, otherwise, you wouldn’t have her under lockdown.”
“Our only goal is to keep her out of his sight and make it impossible for him to find her,” he informs us.
“You want to put her in a safe house,” I accuse, not liking that idea whatsoever.
“We presented that to her and she refused. She’ll only agree to go home with you,” the detective says, pointing his finger at me.
“That’s good, because the only place she’s going to be staying is mine,” I state.
“Kinda figured that too,” he says, grinning. “I’m going to assume you won’t allow police presence at your club?”
“Absolutely not,” Riptide barks out. “We have security in place and nobody will lay a finger on her. However, we will make sure you have access to her if you need to ask her any further questions.”
“I’ll be glued to her side until you’ve rounded up this psycho,” I vow.
“She’s already written out her statement, but until she’s been released by the doctors, we will be keeping a man at her door,” he states, looking unrepentant. “Will y’all need an escort back to your hometown because we’ll be happy to provide that service?”
“Nope. We’ve got that covered,” Riptide states.
“Now that we’re done chit chatting, can you show me where my woman is?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Yes, but before we leave this room, I’m going to need all of your contact information,” JJ advises.
“You tell LoneStar where Britton is and clear it so he can go in her room without restriction, and I’ll take care of that,” Riptide orders.
“She’s in room 302. It’s the third door on the left on the third floor, I’ll let my guys know you’re headed that way.”
I don’t say thank you, as a matter of fact, I give him no polite attention as I swing the door open and head to the elevator. Manners be damned, all I give a rat’s ass about is eating up the distance separating me from Britton.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Britton
The machinesI’m hooked up to are beeping incessantly and it’s beginning to grate on my nerves. Thankfully, I’m not malnourished or dehydrated, but according to the doctor, they’re taking preventative measures by monitoring my heart rate and oxygen levels in case there’s something lingering that hasn’t been detected yet. He also put me on a venturi mask since when I was rescued, we had to traipse through an area where fires had just been extinguished and I got a few lungfuls of smoke.
I also received other news when my labs came back, I’m definitely expecting and I’m both nervous and excited about the doctor’s confirmation. More often than not, my hand ends up cupping my belly, feeling overly protective of this little one. He or she may not have been planned but they’re a blessing in disguise. I find my way of thinking shifting in another direction.
For once, I don’t want to run, I want to stay. As much as I want that to be with LoneStar, I don’t want him to feel pressuredeither. We don’t have to be a couple in order to co-parent our kid, we just need to be respectful of each other and make sure we’re on the same page when it comes to our morals and beliefs. That thought causes me to snort because I don’t have any idea outside of what I’ve read of what those moralities entail.
I know lying is wrong because honesty matters. I know mental, emotional, and physical abuse can leave lasting scars and triggers that surface in an instant. And I know inserting yourself into someone else’s business can end badly. Beyond that, I’m mostly clueless.
But LoneStar feels like my true north, so I’ll use him as my compass and trust his guidance to get me where I need to be.
There’s a disturbance outside my room. It sounds less like a scuffle and more like a tense conversation, and my heart begins to pound. The voices are muffled by the thick door, so I can’t make out who they belong to. Still, one of them sounds familiar, and a spark of anticipation flares inside me. When the door swings open, the first thing I see is that infamous cream-colored Stetson. LoneStar steps in right behind it, and tears spill from my eyes. God, he looks good. I’ve missed him and his presence more than I’ll ever be able to express.
“LoneStar,” I croak.
“Hey, beautiful. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he replies, his long legs stride through the room and before I know it, he has his arms wrapped around me, making me feel safe, and I break. I sob big, fat, ugly tears, soaking his shirt. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He rocks me from side to side, comforting me.
