“Take your time.” He headed toward the kitchen, tossing his baseball cap onto the counter. His dark hair skimmed his shoulders, and, hell, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit the look worked for him.
Elizabeth forced one foot in front of the other. Space. She needed space. Away from him. The lighttan-colored walls passed in a blur as she escaped to the nearest bedroom. She wasn’t sure if this was the room he’d meant for her to take, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Tossing her duffel onto the floor, she exhaled hard and ran a hand through her hair.
It’d been four months since she’d made the worst mistake of her life by climbing under the sheets with Braxton. That should’ve been long enough to get control of her physical reactions. Damn it. This wasn’t the plan. She’d accepted there would be a bottomless hole in her heart where she’d shove everything she felt for Braxton Levitt in order to raise their daughter on her own. But he’d come back. To protect her. Still, while she might have to stay within physical proximity of him, she wouldn’t let him hurt her again. Keeping her emotional distance would have to do. That, and a securely locked bedroom door. “Just a few days, baby girl. We’ve got this.”
The bedroom came into focus. Single queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser with some papers settled on top, same type of photography on the walls as she’d noticed in the living room. And a cardboard box full of phones stashed in the corner. She fished out a phone from the middle of pile and studied the room again. Groceries delivered, a box of phones, surveillance setup. How long had Braxton planned on staying here?
She swiped her thumb across the screen and dialed Vincent Kalani’s number from memory. She’d left her phone with the SUV about a mile west of here. Anyone who tried pinging it for a location would only find disappointment. Blackhawk Security training 101. The other line rang three times. Then four. “Come on, Vincent. Pick up the phone.” Another ring. If he hadn’t made it out of the building alive, she’d never forgive herself for leaving the forensics expert in the middle of a crime scene. “Pick up the damn—”
“Kalani.” Vincent’s usually smooth voice sounded rough, damaged.
“You’re alive.” Relief flooded through her. She exhaled hard, closing her eyes with a hand on her forehead. Turning her back to the door, she ignored the burn in her lower lash line. Hormones. Crying came too easy these days. “I was beginning to worry I’d be stuck with your vengeful ghost for the rest of my life.”
“No thanks to your new bodyguard there.” Muffled static reached through his end of the line. “What number are you calling from?”
“A burner I picked up out of a box full of phones. Consider this my new number for the time being.” She chewed on the end of her thumbnail. They shouldn’t have left him behind. She could’ve fought Braxton harder, could’ve done something. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m good,” Vincent said. “Confirm you’re safe and give me permission to punch your ex in the face the next time I see him.”
“I’m safe. For now. And permission granted.” She dropped her hand and rolled her shoulders back. Pain shot through the right side of her rib cage, and she doubled over with a rough exhale. “But you’ll have to get in line.”
“Liz?” Vincent asked. “You okay?”
“Fine for someone who took an eight-foot oak door to the right side.” She breathed through the pain. “Listen, whoever set that bomb tried to finish the job in the garage. I pulled three slugs out of Elliot’s windshield, but I’m not sure how to hand them off to you without putting myself back in the open.”
“Stay put,” Vincent said. “I’ll have Anchorage PD’s crime scene unit check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky on a stray casing. If that doesn’t work, we’ll set something up to get me those slugs. You should know, as of right now the Sovereign Army is taking credit for the bombing.”
“The privacy activists? Explosives aren’t usually their forte.” Headlines had taken over national news with the group’s intent to sell and publish congressmen and women’s browsing histories and darkest secrets, but setting a bomb at a security company? Although if the extremist group discovered she’d helped the federal government create a surveillance system to spy on them for the past year, who knew how far they’d escalate. Still, something about that didn’t sit well. A knock at the door pushed her pulse higher. Braxton. She nodded, even though Vincent couldn’t possibly see it, and turned as the bedroom door cracked open. “Thanks for the intel. Call me if you find anything else.”
She ended the call, nervous energy skittering up her spine.
Green-gray eyes locked on her and, suddenly, the last four months disappeared to the back of her mind. Braxton made his way inside, a white box in one hand and a steaming bowl of something intoxicating in the other. “Your team?”
“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind I borrowed one of your phones to make the call.” She tossed the burner onto the bed, crossing her arms over her midsection. Grinding her teeth, she fought against the pain ripping through her side. “Looks like Sovereign Army took credit for the bombing. Vincent’s sending Anchorage PD to analyze the scene in the garage. He’ll call back if he finds something. He’s very much looking forward to punching you in the face when he sees you again.”
“Fair enough.” A smile curled at one edge of his mouth, and his all-too-familiar pull hooked into her. Damn it. When would he stop affecting her like this? Braxton closed the space between them, coming within mere inches of her. Her breath caught in her throat as he maneuvered around her to set the bowl on the nightstand. Straightening, he backed away slowly, that mesmerizing gaze steady on her. “So now that there’s nothing more we can do tonight, take off your shirt.”
EXPERTS SAID TIME healed old wounds, but what the hell did they know? Braxton popped open the first aid kit beside him on the bed. How many times had he called her over the last month from this very same safe house only to hang up when she answered? Two? Five? Maybe more. She wouldn’t have spoken to him if he’d opened his mouth. That was clear now. More than likely, she would’ve demanded a trace on the call the second she’d realized who was on the other line and sent any resource available his way. His disappearance obviously hadn’t torn her apart as much as it had him. But, hell, he deserved it. Even if leaving had been to protect her.
“Excuse me?” Liz cradled her rib cage. Her features contorted but smoothed almost instantly. As though she’d caught herself in a moment of weakness.
Stubborn woman. On a scale from one to ten, he pegged her pain around a seven. Yet she hadn’t said a word. He’d noticed the way she favored that side, the small flinches in her expression. She’d been lucky to survive that explosion. If it weren’t for the very same oak door that’d possibly cracked her ribs protecting her from most of the shrapnel, she might not be standing here. The ache under his sternum, the one connected with the woman standing mere feet away, refused to subside as he studied the fast tick of her pulse at the base of her throat. “The only way for me to see if your ribs are broken is you taking off your shirt.”
“I’m fine. I’m sure it’s a rib out of place. It’ll either pop back when it’s ready, or this girl will kick it back where it belongs in the next few months.” She stared up at the ceiling, her fingers prodding into her side. Small lines creased her expression, and his gut clenched. In her next breath, she took back control. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re just looking for a way back under my shirt. Which isn’t going to happen.”
A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. Exhaustion played a wicked game across her expression, but she’d keep going until they identified the unsub responsible for that bomb. That’d been