Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,16
grasp. “Of course not.”
“Was anyone following you back in D.C.?”
Come on, Noelle. Tell me about your missing roommate. Tell me about your ransacked apartment. Trust me.
Her deep blue eyes flickered, but she shook her head. “No.”
“Any enemies here?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Your half brother?”
“Why would he spy on me?”
“He wants the ranch. He wants to keep an eye on you.”
She shivered and yanked on the sash of her robe. “I—I don’t think so.”
“You’ve shot down every suggestion I made.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, the chill of the night causing goose bumps to march across his flesh. “What do you think? Why did you run over here if not for my advice?”
“I’m not sure. Finding that thing scared the heck out of me.” Her cheeks flamed.
She’d come to the guesthouse ready to spill everything, but something had stopped her. He rubbed his arms. She didn’t trust him...yet. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“You came here looking for some comfort, and I’m giving you the third degree.” He yanked on the ties of her robe, pulling her into his realm.
Her body stiffened, so he stopped short of dragging her into his arms. He brushed the back of his hand along her smooth cheek. “What do you want me to do?”
“If you could just—” her gaze finally dropped from his eyes to his chest, continuing down to the unbuttoned fly of the jeans he’d hastily pulled on when she’d pounded on his door “—come back to the house.”
His skin heated beneath her bold inventory. Despite the electric current between them, this was the first time she’d looked at him like a woman looked at a man. He liked it.
He shoved his personal attraction to her into a little corner of his brain. She must be scared if she trusted him enough to invite him to spend the night in her house, and he had to honor that trust.
He cupped her face with one hand. “I’d be happy to bunk on the couch. I’m not sure the furnace is working in this place, anyway.”
He also knew if Zendaris’s men had placed a hidden camera in her bedroom, they’d probably outfitted the other rooms as well, and he had just the device to detect any other cameras. He held up one finger. “Hang on while I gather a few things.”
She nodded and wedged a shoulder against the doorjamb.
J.D. grabbed the black backpack he’d retrieved from his truck before he’d turned in and shoved several items inside, making sure to include his weapon.
Noelle had brought another flashlight with her. Now two beams of light bobbed across the dirt and gravel back to the main house.
If she’d just open up to him about the disappearance of Abby Warren and the break-in at her D.C. place, he could confirm to Prospero that she didn’t know a thing about Zendaris or Abby’s involvement in his plans. Maybe a few more weeks with him playing the helpful cowboy would loosen her tongue.
They got back to the house and she locked the front door. “I was thinking your first order of business could be a dead bolt on this door.”
“I was thinking the same thing, along with those motion-sensor lights I mentioned earlier. You need to tell the sheriff about this recent development. He needs to look beyond the local junkies. Someone’s stalking you.”
“I can’t imagine why, unless...” She wrapped her ponytail around her hand.
“Unless what?” He held his breath.
“Maybe you’d better sit down for this.”
You show me yours, Noelle, and I’ll show you mine.
He followed her to the couch and sat on the opposite end—time enough to move closer.
She clasped her hands between her knees. “I’m a widow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My husband was murdered two years ago at the art gallery where he worked.”
“Burglars?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, and a spasm of pain crossed her face.
She must’ve loved him. No wonder she couldn’t warm up to another man.
“That’s terrible, Noelle, but what does that have to do with your present situation?”
Her eyes flew open and she pinned him with a blue-violet gaze. “I was there. I witnessed his murder, and his killers got away. The police never did catch them.”
He knew all of it, but he raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw. “That must’ve been traumatic for you.”
“It was, but don’t you see?” She hunched forward. “Maybe the men who killed my husband are after me now.”
He eased back against the sofa cushion. If this was what she thought, she’d had no inclination of what her roommate was up to.
“Why would