by Dani Pettrey
He pulled in, Roxy’s porch light switching on. He was so thankful Brooke had a close neighbor, one she could rely on. Roxy stepped onto the porch, a white lounge outfit on, then Brooke behind her, in a navy blue Coast Guard polo and pair of gray utility pants.
“Stay there while I check things out,” he called over as he climbed out of his car.
Only the front room and kitchen lights were on, so he moved through Brooke’s home, gun in his right hand, flashlight in his left—his right wrist crossed over the left. Once the main part of the house had been cleared, he opened the door leading off the kitchen to the garage. Maneuvering through the doorway, keeping his back flush with the wall, he scanned the area. Deeming it safe, he flipped the wall switch and stared at the level of destruction with a lead weight in his gut. Poor Brooke.
A classic VW bus was riddled with dents—the sort you’d get from a swift beating with a baseball bat—its windows all shattered. He stiffened at the message scrolled across the side in red spray paint. You think he can protect you from me? You’re mine, and you’re going to pay.
Once Noah had called Emmy and Logan to come run the place again—this time focusing on the garage and backyard—he let Brooke know it was safe to come back over. Roxy joined them.
“I’m so glad you’re here for our Brooke,” Roxy said.
Color flushed Brooke’s cheeks. “He’s just helping out his sister. I mean, she asked him to help while she’s out of town.”
He swallowed. She wasn’t wrong about the reasons he’d started with this investigation, but now he was here for her. How that had happened, he had no clue. “I’m happy to be here. I mean, not happy with what Brodie is doing, but I want to help.”
“See. He wants to be here,” Roxy said, a pink-and-white polka-dot headband thing in her thick red hair.
He narrowed his eyes. Were those streaks of pink?
“You like?” Roxy asked, patting her hair. “My granddaughter said streaks of color are all the rage, so I figured why not.” She smiled, and it was contagious. Roxy had the ability to add an air of levity to any situation and he was grateful. Brooke had gone through enough. She needed a spark of joy in the darkness.
And, Roxy was right. He did want to be here, and not just as a favor to his sister. His thoughts had shifted. Brooke lived in them far more than he was prepared for. He knew he needed to stall those feelings in their tracks, but something deep inside said he didn’t care if he was ready or not. And that scared him more than anything.
“You okay, handsome?” Roxy asked, peering up at him—her eyelids caked with blue eyeshadow. It suited her.
“Yep. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Just processing.” He turned his attention on Brooke. “Let’s start at the beginning. Did you notice anything amiss when you pulled up?”
She paced her living room rug. “Well, I thought I saw a shadow wisp by the garage window when I got out of the car, but I told myself I was just being paranoid. I figured, or tried to convince myself, it was just a reflection off the windowpane.”
“And then?” he asked, surprised at the ache pulsing inside to wrap her in his arms and comfort her.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I came inside, and everything looked normal. I moved into the kitchen to grab a drink, and that’s when I heard it. . . .”
“It?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Loud. Explosive. Like glass shattering. I looked to the door leading into the garage.” She rubbed her arms. “It was cracked open. I always, always lock that door, so I bolted to Roxy’s. As I ran by my fence, I heard footsteps. Someone running fast. I looked up and saw a man in black hop over the back wall of my fence.”
Noah stilled. “You saw someone?”
She nodded.
“You should have told me right away. We need to start a search.” Pulling out his phone, he dialed the local police, who had a larger force and could canvas more area. They answered, he identified himself, and then handed the phone to Brooke. He listened intently while she described the flash of black she saw. His muscles tightened at the very thought of someone being so near. Of someone . . . He cut those thoughts off before his heated anger got the best of him.
Brooke ended the call and handed the phone back to Noah. “The officer said they’d send a few patrol cars to canvas the area, but with the lack of description and the time lapsed, it was unlikely they’d be able to find him.”
“So it was a him?”
She sank down and grabbed a throw pillow, her fingers fidgeting with the cream tassels fringing it. “I don’t know.” She shook her head, her brow creased. “I’m so sorry. I should have thought to tell you about the intruder. I was just so startled.”
He sank down beside her on the couch and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m sure it was very unsettling.”
She looked up at him and blinked. The hurt on her face radiated in his chest, his muscles squeezing tight.
“Thank you,” she said. “For being here.”
He nodded, fearful of what might leave his mouth if he opened it. As soon as Brodie was stopped, he needed to keep his distance from Brooke Kesler. Not because of her. She was wonderful. Rather because of his reaction when he was around her. One he’d vowed never to feel again.
After a deep exhale, Brooke straightened, and he pulled his arm back to his side, an electric sensation pulsing through it. He cleared his throat, somehow managing to get back on task. “Have you been in the garage yet?”
She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “No.”
“I know this isn’t easy, but—”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, standing.
He followed her to the garage, and Roxy bounded after them.
“Not the VW!” Brooke shrieked, lunging off the lone concrete step.
“Whoa!” Noah hooked her around the waist before her feet hit the floor and yanked her back. She fell into his hold, the top of her head cresting the bottom of his chin. He startled at how good she felt.
“There’s broken glass all over the floor,” he said on a clarifying exhale. “We can’t touch anything until Emmy runs it.”
A quiver of a sob racked through her, but she nodded.
He let go, and she stepped from his embrace. An empty hollowness clung to his arms.
Dude, get your head in the game. This isn’t you. Not anymore.
“I’m so sorry, love,” Roxy said, hugging Brooke in her slender arms, her hot pink athletic top a stark contrast to Brooke’s blue shirt. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
“Thanks.” As Roxy headed toward the kitchen, Brooke wiped her eyes and let her gaze run over the destruction.
Noah wondered why the classic VW meant so much to her, but between Roxy’s comment and Brooke’s reaction, it clearly did. “I will figure out a way to prove Brodie did this.” His jaw tensed. He wouldn’t stop until he did. “And I promise I’ll keep you safe until he’s behind bars.”
“Thanks.” She sniffed. “But it’s not that. That’s not why . . .” She gestured to her tear-filled eyes.
Confusion riddled through him. If she wasn’t upset about Brodie’s break-in . . . “Then, what?”
“That was my grandparents’ VW bus,” she said, her voice cracking. “We spent summers in it road-tripping.” A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “We had the best adventures in it.” Her shoulders dipped. “I was planning to restore it.”
“You still can,” he said, his voice more of a hushed whisper than he’d intended.
“Yeah.” She exhaled. “I just can’t believe Brodie would go this far. He knew how much the bus meant to me. Even promised to help me fix it up before we broke up.” She raked a hand through her hair. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Some men get angry, even violent, when they don’t get things their way. He wants you, and he’s blistering mad you don’t want him back.”
“Why would I? He’s controlling, loses his temper, and—” She stopped short.
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Noah’s jaw clenched. Had Brodie touched her? His muscles tightened. The very thought of a man laying a hand on a woman burned his blood. If that was the case, his next meeting with Brodie would be far from polite. He didn’t want to Hulk-out on her, but that’s how he felt—ready to throttle the man who’d hurt her. He worked to keep his voice even, his temper in check. “Is that why you have the restraining order against him? Because of his . . . temper?” he asked, refusing to force her to share something she wasn’t ready to.
Her right foot rolled in and her jaw shifted in that way his sister Kenzie’s did when she was trying not to cry. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, but he’d heard it, and thoughts of throttling Brodie flashed in his brain.
He crooked his finger ever-so-gently under her chin and angled her head up.
Shame wallowed in her eyes as her gaze locked on his.
“You are a very strong woman.” He admired her a great deal.
Confusion misted in her eyes, spreading across her pinched face. “What?”
“You broke it off with Brodie. You got a restraining order on him. You’re the brave one. Brodie is a pig.”
She looked down, then back up at him. “Just so you know . . . it wasn’t like that. . . .” She cleared her throat, rolling her right foot in again. It was the cutest nervous tell he’d ever seen.
“I mean,” she continued, and he just listened, giving her the time and space she deserved. “It could have been.” She released a shaky exhale. “Brodie touched me once, and I ended it.”
A mix of emotions tracked through him—rage for what Brodie did, compassion for the amazingly brave woman standing before him. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share that with me.”
“You’re one of the most trustworthy men I know.”
“Me?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Your reputation around base aside, the faith and trust your sisters have in you says it all.”
Warmth spread through him that after all she’d been through she trusted him with something very personal and painful.
She exhaled. “I just wish . . .”
“Wish?” he prompted.
“Wish I’d never dated Brodie in the first place.”
He leaned against the doorframe, slipping his hands into his tactical-pants pockets. “It’s easy to regret the past or choices we’ve made. Believe me, I understand.” Those bad memories liked to resurface, never quite leaving him. “But,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping back to her side, “living in the past only gives people who’ve hurt you more power over you. It’s best to forget them and move forward, never looking back.” Now, if only he could practice what he preached.
A question dangled on the edge of her tongue. He could read it in her fidgeting hands and more so in her softly narrowed eyes. “You understand?” she finally asked.
He usually bypassed answering by changing the subject, but she’d trusted him enough to share what fully happened between her and Brodie.
He brushed a hand over his buzzed-cut hair—some active-duty habits died hard. “Understand about bad choices?”
She nodded.
“Yeah. I’m sorry to say I do.” He gestured to the VW. “But I’ll be happy to help you restore it.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You will?”
“Sure. I restored my ’87 Jeep Sahara.”
“That would be awesome. Thanks.”
“Absolutely, but for now, my first priority is keeping you safe.”
“I’ll lock up good and set the alarm.” She tilted her head.
“What is it?”
“I set the alarm when I left.”
“Did it go off when you got home?”
“No.” Her face pinched. “How could he . . . ?”
“Did you have the alarm while you and Brodie were dating?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I put it in after we broke up and he started harassing me.”
Not good. “When Em gets here to process the place, I’ll make sure she runs prints and diagnostics on the alarm. Is your code something familiar like your birthday or—” He stopped short as she grimaced. “Your birthday?”
She gave a full-tooth oops smile. “I wanted to make it easy to remember.”
“I get it, but unfortunately that makes it easier for other people to figure out.” Which meant the intruder most likely knew her well enough to know her birthday. “Brodie knows your birthday?”
She nodded.
His and Brodie’s next talk definitely wouldn’t be as cordial as the last.
Brooke rolled over in bed, stretching out. She’d lit a lavender and eucalyptus candle on her dresser and sprayed a relaxation mist she’d picked up last week. Anything that could help the drumming of her heart settle.
Emmy and Logan had come out and processed the house, alarm system, and garage. They found numerous prints, some belonging to Brodie in the garage, but as he’d spent time there while they were dating, that couldn’t prove anything. But they didn’t have to let him know that, according to Noah, who was going to pay him another visit in the morning.
But tonight, Noah was on her couch. He’d insisted on staying, not liking the escalation of the threat. Not only had Brodie been in her home, he’d caused a lot of damage, and his intrusion was a clear sign that he wanted her to doubt that she was truly safe in Noah’s care. But it hadn’t worked—at least not the latter. Noah was the first man she felt secure with in longer than she could remember. He was as stable as they came. A good agent and a good man.
Brooke blinked at the flame’s shadow dancing along the ceiling. Rumor around base was that Noah wasn’t much for dating. Sort of a self-proclaimed bachelor. She’d met a few in her day, but they were rare. She’d just assumed he was committed to his job or not the relationship type, but tonight when he’d talked about understanding making bad choices when it came to relationships, his face had an edge of hurt to it. Perhaps Mr. Handsome had more reasons for remaining single than she knew.
Fluffing the pillow and resituating, she looked to the window. She always kept it cracked, but not tonight. Noah recommended everything be locked up tight, and considering someone had hacked her alarm system, she couldn’t agree more.
She stared at the drawn shade, wondering if Brodie was out there watching, planning his next point of attack. Her jaw clenched, heat burning through her. She was done allowing him to scare, hurt, or intimidate her. He knew how much she loved that VW, all the memories of adventures and fun it held for her. He’d hit her where it hurt, but contrary to what he’d tried to accomplish, he’d only ticked her off. Lifting her pillow, she looked at her service weapon and smiled. Next time he came, she’d be ready. If Noah didn’t kill him first.
The branch scraped his forearm as he shifted, sweeping leaves to the side for a better view. The main light in Brooke’s bedroom shut off a while ago, but something flickered through the drawn shade. He’d gotten to her. Good.
He smiled. “Sleep well, Brooke,” he whispered, his exhale warm in the cool night air. “You’re going to need it for tomorrow.”
Extricating himself from his camouflaged position, he moved down the silent street, a near whistle dancing across his tongue.
At first, he’d floundered, but now he had purpose.
Make Brooke suffer like he had.
THIRTY-SIX
Mason hopped out of his Impala and walked around to Rissi’s side of the car.
“Other than the follow,” he said as she climbed out and shut the door behind her, “I had a great time today. Thanks for introducing me to sand surfing.”
“I’m glad you had fun, and that was some impressive driving, losing the follow like that.”
“I just hope Emmy can find who the car belongs to.”
“Me too.”
But for the brief moment they had left together, he didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think about anything but her. “And you?” he asked, stepping less than a foot from her.
“Me?”
He dipped his chin. “Did you have fun?”
She smiled. “Of course I did.”
“I’m glad.” He took a step closer until nothing separated them but the air. “It’s good to see you happy. To see you free.”
“Same,” she said, her eyes locked on his.
The day had been perfect, but he wasn’t ready for it to end. Not yet. She needed sleep. They both did, but after a decade apart, saying good-bye, even for just the night, was painful. “I’m still pumped up from the day,” he said, knowing it was the fact he’d spent the day with her that had him amped. “You wanna come up for a cup of coffee? I’m pretty sure I have some decaf.” He’d completely understand if she passed.
“Okay,” she said, “but I’ll take regular.”
“Living on the edge, huh?” he said at her caffeine-fueled choice so late at night.
“Actually, caffeine doesn’t keep me awake at night. No clue why.”
“Interesting. Yet one more thing I learned about you today.”
“Is that right?” she asked, following him up his front steps. “And what else did you learn?”
He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. “Animals like you, and you have a really gentle nature with them. Both Socks and . . . Mags, was it?”
“Yep,” she said, ducking under his arm to enter. “Maggie is such a cool dog. She goes surfing on the front of Ashley’s board.”
“Seriously?” He followed her inside and shut the door behind them.
“You’ll have to see it sometime,” she said, leaning back against his front table.
“I’d like that.” He reached around her for the table lamp.
She didn’t move, just stood there as his arm wrapped around her. He clicked on the lamp, and it emitted a soft glow. The rest of the cottage remained shadowed in darkness. He knew he should move, but he couldn’t. Not when he was this close to her. “Maybe next time we go sand surfing?” He stood directly in front of her, his knees brushing hers.