Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,78

something precious, something priceless. I’m so numb at this moment, I don’t question it. I just turn my head into his neck and let his strong arms absorb my body’s relentless shakes.

***

Time passes.

I’m not sure how much — in fact, I only really notice because suddenly, we’re on the landing outside my apartment and Knox is there, his face set in a severe frown as he strides toward us and surveys the apartment with intent, angry eyes.

“No forced entry,” he says flatly.

Chase’s arms tighten around me. “Police are on their way.”

“I’ll talk to them. You get out of here, take care of her. I’ll check in later with an update.”

“Thanks.”

The men exchange nods, and then we’re moving again. My whole body bounces with Chase’s steps as he carries me down the flight of stairs, never breaking stride, as though my weight is barely worthy of consideration.

“I can walk,” I tell him, sounding shaky despite my best efforts.

He ignores me.

“Chase, put me down.”

“No.”

He sounds so pissed off, I decide not to fight him.

We push through the front doors just as two police cruisers pull to a stop outside my building. The officers nod to Chase as they climb from their vehicles, and before I know it, they’ve flanked us on all sides. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re clearing a path from the doors to the curb, where the Porsche is parked, so the paparazzi can’t get close to us.

Evidently, Chase wasn’t exaggerating the cachet of the Croft name.

I’m back on my feet for the blink of an eye while he yanks open the passenger door, but before I can get my bearings, he’s scooped me up once more, settled my body on the seat, and closed me inside the car. I hear him thanking the officers, watch him stride around the front and slide into the driver’s seat. His door has barely slammed closed when the engine turns over and we peal away from the curb, leaving behind the wreckage of my old life.

I don’t look back.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cherished

“Drink.”

Chase presses a short tumbler of amber liquid into my hand, then settles in on the sectional across from me. The loft is dark — only firelight from soft flames in the gas mantle illuminates the space. Dark shadows dance on Chase’s chiseled features, lending him a haunted look. Not that he needs it — he looks haunted enough, after the events of tonight.

Fingers curling around the glass, I lift it to my lips and take a hesitant sip. The warm burn of scotch slides down my throat and spreads through my empty stomach, soothing me instantly.

“None for you?” I ask, staring across the fire at him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t drink very often.”

I nod, remembering his story about Vanessa.

The drinking was just for fun, at first, but then… it spiraled into something more. Something darker.

I glance down at the glass in my hands. “Does it bother you if I do?”

“No.”

I take another sip, feeling less shaky than I have in hours as the alcohol spreads through my system.

“Gemma.”

I look up when he says my name.

“We’re going to take care of this.” His words are a promise. “Knox is dealing with the police, and he’s the best in the business. Whoever did this, he’ll find out.”

“I don’t think we need to look very far,” I mutter darkly.

Silence descends and, after a moment, Chase clears his throat roughly. “Do you know who did this?”

I drop my eyes from his, not liking the scary-intense look in them. “I don’t know anything other than the fact that suddenly, my quiet little life has imploded and I’ve got enemies coming out of the woodwork.” I take another sip of scotch. “Between your crazy cousin and your crazy ex…”

“This isn’t Brett’s style.” His words are definite — he’s speaking from experience. “And, sunshine, if anyone’s crazy ex is responsible for this… it’s not mine. The lock wasn’t broken. Someone had a key.”

“Um…” I wince, staring at my hands. “There’s a teensy, tiny chance I forgot to take the key out from under my mat.”

“Dammit, Gemma,” Chase growls. “I told you to take care of that days ago.”

“Well, I forgot!” My voice is defensive. “Things have been a little crazy this week, if you haven’t noticed!”

Likely hearing the hysteria creeping back into my voice, he gives me a pass and doesn’t push further. “Nothing was taken. Your laptop was sitting right there on the floor, smashed to bits. That, coupled with the spray paint and