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Sean ached seeing Lucy so withdrawn. By the time he’d driven into his garage, she’d gone from tears into a trancelike state, her big brown eyes full of anguish. He’d do anything to erase her pain.
He’d sat her on the couch in the family room, then sat down next to her, her hands in his. “Luce, can I get you anything?”
She shook her head, but looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red. “Hold me?”
Sean pulled her into his lap and cradled her. She shouldn’t have had to ask. He should have known she needed to be held, to be assured that she was safe when everything around her was crashing down.
Rare, deep anger burned his chest, directed at the bastard who was sitting in FBI headquarters right now. Mallory had started this chain of events. He’d started it when he turned vigilante. And all for what? Because of his fucking guilt that he hadn’t defended Lucy six years ago?
Rage was foreign to Sean, and he couldn’t explain the fury tearing him apart inside. The deep need to protect Lucy from this pain battled with his near-primal urge to pummel Mick Mallory. Vigilante justice was sounding good right now.
“Sean?”
He kissed her forehead. “You want something? Just name it.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I can feel your anger.” She put a hand on his chest and tilted her head back to look into his face. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this.”
“Don’t.” He kissed her deeply, his hands splayed on her back. “Don’t think.” He kissed her over and over, no sweet savoring of her lips, but possession. His hands moved upward, touching her soft, tear-stained face. And he continued to kiss her, hating that his rage at both Mallory and Cody Lorenzo upset her.
“Do not apologize,” he said, his lips skimming across hers. “Do not tell me you’re sorry for anything.” He kissed her cheeks, her chin, her neck, her ear. She tasted sweet and salty, and if she wore perfume it was subtle and floral, something soft and springlike and beautiful.
He whispered into her ear, “I’m here, Lucy. I’m not leaving.”
Her arms tightened around his neck and she turned her head so she could kiss him. “I’ve been so lost,” she whispered.
His chest tightened. That she could feel lost and alone when she had a family who loved her so much was a testament that she still kept her true emotions under lock and key.
A phone vibrated on the table in front of them, and Sean wanted to ignore it. He glanced at the caller ID and handed it to Lucy. “It’s Dillon.”
“Hello?” she said.
Sean could tell by the way her body began to shake that it was bad news.
“I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up and said, “Mallory wants to talk to me.”
Sean was shaking his head as she spoke. “No. No!”
“He’ll tell me the truth. He promised.”
“The guy is a freak! Did you know he has a picture of you in his house? Right next to his dead wife and son?”
Lucy flinched, and Sean rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You didn’t tell me you were in his house.”
“Dillon and I went out to Herndon and I searched his place. I knew he was watching—sensed it—so we waited until he left, then apprehended him. But—” He hesitated.
“And?”
“I left before the police came. Dillon didn’t tell anyone I was there.”
“They must know.”
“Probably, but right now the important thing is you. The guy was obsessed with you. Maybe not in a sexual way, but it’s so wrong.”
