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She stared at him.
The blue lights swirled around them. Firefighters shouted orders. Neighbors kept right on gaping.
“I want to protect you.” Always had, always would. The years hadn’t changed that. She didn’t get it. She was his one good thing. The person he’d saved. The person who looked at him and didn’t see a monster or criminal or—hell, evil. She saw more.
“You followed me,” she repeated.
Sweetheart, I’ve been following you for years. Not the time for that particular confession. From the corner of his eye, he saw that uniformed cops were closing in on him. “You’re in danger. I can protect you.”
“How?”
It’s what I do. “Let’s get rid of the cops, and you’ll find out.”
She still had his shirtfront fisted in her hand.
He waited, barely breathing and…
She nodded.
Fuck, yes.
Then she shot onto her toes. Her hand released his shirt but only so she could wrap her fingers around the nape of his neck and tug him toward her. Then, against his ear, she whispered, “I don’t trust you, Beau LeBlanc.”
Surprisingly, the words hurt. But he ignored the ache in his chest. She was right not to trust him. “Good for you.”
She sucked in a swift breath and eased back.
Staring into her eyes, he felt it was only fair to warn her, “Trusting me can prove to be a fatal mistake.”
Chapter Five
Even for someone who spent her days interviewing killers and studying crime scenes, the day had been…a bit much.
More like a waking nightmare.
Avalon swiped her keycard over the lock at the hotel suite—the presidential suite because Beau had insisted that she be put in that particular suite at the ritzy hotel—and when the light flashed green, she shoved open the door.
Weary beyond belief, Avalon walked over the threshold. She was far too conscious of Beau trailing in behind her. “You didn’t have to pay for the room.” Completely unnecessary. She had plenty of her own money.
“Your house is currently soaked, ash covered, and it reeks of smoke. Not like you could have stayed there. It’s also a crime scene.”
Yes, it was. Because a man had been murdered there. Or, technically, right in front of her home. Beau had seen the attack. Blessedly, she hadn’t because she’d been tossed over his shoulder at the moment of impact. But she’d still heard the gut-wrenching sounds. The pain-filled scream that had choked off. The crunch of bones.
What she hadn’t heard? The sound of a car screeching to a stop as the driver tried to brake. According to Beau, the driver had never braked. Instead, the driver had been lying in wait and he’d deliberately plowed down her attacker.
He looked barely eighteen.
She put her precious laptop on the table near the couch. The suite had a sitting area, a small kitchen, a freaking grand piano—the piano caught her attention and she frowned at it for a moment—then she ignored the suite and turned to confront Beau. “I meant you didn’t have to actually pay for the suite. I have my own money. I could have taken care of the bill.” Thanks to her parents and her own career, she had quite a bit of money. One of the firefighters had managed to get her purse and her phone out of the house for her.
Beau crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her. “I wanted to help.”
“You’ve saved my life—twice now—so I think that counts as you helping me plenty. Way more than should be expected.” Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly as she thanked him again and again. When he’d come bursting into her bedroom, the relief she’d felt had made her nearly light-headed. And, weirdly enough, she’d…known he would come.
She’d actually looked up and thought…
Running a little late, are you? But, of course, that was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
