More Than Protect You (More Than Words #6.5) - Shayla Black Page 0,6

on Maui? I’ve only been here eight days.

Cursing under my breath, I head out the back of the house, glimpse more evidence of the angry crowd, then head for Trace. He’s still talking to Harlow and Nia when I stroll up.

“How did it go with Amanda?”

“Fine.” What else am I supposed to say? Why didn’t you tell me she’s so gorgeous it would fuck with my head?

“Good.” Trace nods. “I’ve been giving the safe house situation some thought. I have an idea, but I need to talk to someone. Give me a couple of hours?”

“Sure.” I figure no one will come back in broad daylight. Bitching mobs are usually made up of cowards who prefer to slink under the cover of dark. “We just need to get out of here before sundown.”

Trace grimaces. “You think that’s soon enough? The guy who broke into the house last night—”

“What?” That’s the first I’m hearing of an intruder.

“Yeah.”

Nia adds her two cents. “He cornered Amanda in the hall and threatened her. He had a knife. If she hadn’t—”

“Knife? Fuck! We need to leave—now.”

“And go where?” Trace asks.

No idea. “I’ll think of something.” I turn to Nia. “I need a connection for a crib or playpen. She won’t take yours.”

“I figured. I’ll make some phone calls. I think Griff and Britta have a spare.”

No idea who they are, and right now, I don’t care. “Thanks. One of you let me know when you have some information.”

“Sure.” Trace nods.

I’m barely listening as I haul ass back inside. Amanda shouldn’t be alone right now. Neither should Oliver, not until the threat is behind bars.

I find Amanda in the kitchen, watching the drip of the coffeemaker. “You didn’t tell me there was an intruder.”

She raises her brows at my accusing tone. “You didn’t ask. Besides, I handled him with a swift kick to the balls and a vase over the head.”

This little thing took on someone unhinged enough to break in with a knife and the intent to kill? “You what?”

“Yes. What was I supposed to do?” She cocks a hand on her hip. “I wasn’t letting him anywhere near my son.”

I’m both horrified and impressed. “Call 911 before they’re in your face.”

Amanda shakes her head. “Even if I had, the police would have come too late.”

I see her point…I just don’t like it. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m here. Get your stuff. We’re going.”

“But Oliver—”

“Can sleep later. Get it. I’ll stand over you until you’re done. Now move.”

Chapter Two

In fifteen minutes, Amanda manages to pack everything up in two rolling suitcases and a diaper bag. She hugs Nia and Harlow, both of whom glare suspiciously. Now that I’m hustling Amanda out the door, they’re obviously skeptical that calling me was a good idea. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but they don’t understand. A nut job willing to break in and kill with a knife is far more serious than a chanting, flower-trampling mob.

“Is this everything?” I ask, taking hold of Amanda’s luggage.

She hoists her son against her chest. He’s obviously going to be a big boy. Against her small frame, he looks massive. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

When I turn, Nia grabs my sleeve. “Where are you taking her?”

“Someplace temporary.”

“You need to be more forthcoming. I can’t let you just take her wherever when there’s someone out to kill her.”

“With all due respect, if this would-be killer comes for her again, he’ll come here first. If he thinks you know where she is, he’ll threaten you. Since Amanda thwarted him the first time, he’ll come more prepared. Trace says your husband is in London.”

“Yes.”

Nia clearly doesn’t like what I’m saying. Too bad. That won’t change my message.

“Then I suggest you find somewhere else to stay until he comes home. You’re not safe, either.” Then I reach for Amanda, put a guiding hand to the small of her back, and nudge her toward the Mustang.

“Be careful. I’ll call you,” she promises Nia over her shoulder.

“Please. I’ll be worried. We’re supposed to have lunch with Skye and Stephen today. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Damn it. Um, tell them Oliver has the sniffles.” She turns to me. “Is the car seat set up?”

Trace said he’d do it before he left. I assume he knows how. I sure as hell don’t. “Should be.”

A minute later, Amanda straps in her sleepy son, then slips into the front seat. As I get behind the wheel, she sticks her head out the window at Nia, now