Page 7
But the cold felt different now. No longer clean or quiet.
His surroundings felt…off.
He gave Pirate’s scruff a rub and straightened up.
“Come on. Let’s get inside. We’ll have meat loaf for breakfast.”
His gaze lingered on the street one more second before they jogged back to the duplex. He leaned the shovel against a porch column and picked up the casserole before following the dog into the house.
Something had spooked Polly last night. And even though he hadn’t seen anyone, he’d bet money that she’d sensed someone watching her.
And now, he sensed it, too. Someone watching. But why? Had whoever she was worried about identified him and followed him home?
It was a damned coincidence that two different people in two different locations were being tracked by some unknown stalker.
Daniel didn’t like coincidences.
He didn’t like his limited vision, his grumpy paranoia or the idea that Polly Cooper might be feeling even a fraction of the unease he’d felt just minutes earlier.
He set the meat loaf on the table beside the door as Pirate tracked wet, slushy paw prints through the living room to his water bowl in the kitchen to get a drink. He’d clean the mess up later.
Right now, he was more worried about something else—about someone else. He unzipped his coat and pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He tucked away his gloves and scrolled through his contacts before he muttered a curse.
“Hell.” He didn’t have Polly’s number. She’d never given it to him, and he hadn’t dared to ask for it.
He could call the hospital to make sure she was okay, to ask if she knew of anyone who drove a brown car. But, even if she could answer while working, a call like that from him would probably just scare her more.
He’d have to plan on getting to the hospital early enough to talk to her, to let her know he was available and willing to walk her to her car if she wanted that. And if for some reason she didn’t—like she had a date or was meeting a friend—then he’d ask if she didn’t mind him lurking in the background and keeping his eye open for anything that looked like it might be a threat to her.
As frustrated as he was by the inability to contact her, Daniel also felt a determination he hadn’t known since he was serving with the Corps. He hung up his coat and followed Pirate into the kitchen to set the meat loaf on the counter. There wasn’t a PTSD meeting scheduled for tonight, but he’d be at the hospital anyway.
He’d get her damn number and give her his, and he’d tell her to call or text him if anything weird or unsettling happened to her again.
He might not be relationship material, but he knew how to be a protector.
And whether she knew it or not, Polly Cooper was his to protect.
Chapter Three
The new snow made everything look better.
Polly Cooper pulled into the St. Luke’s parking garage and turned off her windshield wipers, watching the fine flakes settle gently against the concrete barrier outside her window. The fresh powder had covered last week’s grime—gray slush, oil-streaked puddles, boot tracks and cigarette butts. But for one morning, at least, the world looked clean again.
Hopeful.
Like maybe something broken and sad could still be made beautiful.
She sat for another moment, letting the heater blow across her face as she wrapped her coat tighter. Her shift didn’t start for twenty more minutes. Just enough time to compose herself. Just enough time to think about him.
Daniel Travis.
Tall, so very scarred, brooding. Built like a brick wall with sad eyes and a quiet, deep, raspy voice that said little, but that curled around her like a warm blanket and stayed there when he did speak.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how right his presence had felt beside her last night in the parking lot. How steady his strides had been with Pirate walking beside him. How safe she’d felt walking with him, even though his past—his injuries, his losses—and, she believed, the man himself, were anything but safe.
They hadn’t touched, hadn’t said much beyond polite exchanges and necessary instructions to where she’d parked. Still, she’d felt surrounded by him as they walked, as if the bubble of personal space surrounding him like invisible armor had expanded to include her within its intimidating, yet sheltering, vibe.
She’d noticed the way he braced for judgment when she’d looked at his face outside the ER. She’d noticed the way his right fist curled just a second before he said something that might reveal vulnerability. He was scary. Dangerous. A damaged shell of a man.
