Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,55

cut through all the adrenaline. Tugged at something in my chest.

“I’ve got her,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

Mr. Miller—seemed like he was the manager—nodded and left.

The door was still open and a woman peeked out from the apartment across the hall. Something about the guilty look on her face caught my attention. She glanced up and down the hallway, then turned and whispered to someone behind her. I could have sworn she said, I think he’s gone.

She stepped into the hall, smoothed down her hair, and straightened her skintight dress. Her eyes darted toward Sophie’s open door, but she looked away quickly, then hurried in the opposite direction.

“I think I just saw Brenda,” I said.

Sophie put her hands on her hips. “Damn it, Brian. That’s the second time an angry husband has come up here looking for his wife. Apparently my jerk neighbor has a thing for married women.”

I wasn’t worried about Brian, or Brenda, or the drunk asshole. I was worried about Sophie. I stepped in close and slid my hands around her waist. “Sugar, are you okay?”

“I think so.” Her gaze darted to the side and her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”

She slipped out of my grasp and crouched next to the overturned shelf. “Oh no, please no.”

“What are you looking for?”

Kneeling on the floor, she picked up something and choked out a little sob. It looked like an old music box. The dark wood was faded and dull, but I had a feeling the lid hadn’t been broken before it had hit the floor. She dug through the mess and pulled out a small metal handle.

“This was my mom’s.”

I crouched next to her and gently rubbed her back. A fury of emotions whipped through me like a tornado, mostly anger at the dumbfuck who’d done this. “Oh, honey.”

She sniffed and swiped beneath her eyes, then stood, still holding the broken music box and handle. I wanted to gather her in my arms and do anything to make her feel better, but the cop came back to get her contact information. He asked her a couple of questions—the whole thing was pretty straightforward—and said he’d be in touch if they needed anything else.

“I don’t even want to look in the bedroom,” she said after the cop left.

“Let’s not,” I said. “Leave it for now and come stay at my place tonight.”

I didn’t phrase it as a question because it wasn’t one. There was no way she was staying here tonight—or maybe ever, but I’d cross that bridge later. Even if I had to get her a hotel, I was making sure she was safe in a place other than this fucking apartment.

But I really wanted her to come home with me.

I brushed her curls away from her face. “Or if you’d rather, I can get you a hotel room.”

“No. I don’t think I want to be alone tonight.” She clutched the music box to her chest and glanced around again.

“Don’t worry about all this right now.”

“Oh Cox, your hand.” She lifted my right hand and stroked my fingers with her thumb. My knuckles were red and a little swollen. “Is it broken?”

I flexed my fingers and made a fist. It hurt, but not much. “Nah. Just a little bruised. I only wish I’d hit him twice.”

She took my hand again and brought it to her lips, then pressed feather-light kisses along my knuckles. Her eyes lifted to meet mine. “Better?”

My heart did a strange skip, making it hard to take my next breath. “Yeah, sugar. All better.”

Mr. Miller came back with the maintenance guy and said he’d lock up when they finished. Sophie carried the music box with her, and I picked up the bag of leftover food so it wouldn’t be yet another thing to clean up later. Then I led her downstairs to my car.

We were both quiet on the way to my place. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened to her if I hadn’t gone up there. Would that crazy asshole have hurt her? Would that Mr. Miller guy and the cop have gotten there in time to protect her?

Who would she have called first when it was over?

Probably not me. She had her dad, and her friends.

That didn’t sit well with me, and I wasn’t sure why. I was attracted to Sophie—had been since the first time I saw her. From the get-go, I had every intention of coaxing her into bed with me. Giving her a night—or a