The Bad Boy Next Door (Kendrick Place)

by Jody Holford

  What Wyatt hadn’t signed up for—and something he’d never seen coming—was falling for someone while undercover and having her run a game on him. He’d thought he was saving Maria. He actually thought he could get her out of the life, and then they’d start one together. But instead, she’d taken him for a ride and sold him out to her brother. Not Wyatt Daniels, but Wyatt Rochester, the man he’d pretended to be. He’d nearly screwed up his job in the process, which thankfully his captain never got wind of. But Wyatt didn’t let himself forget how he’d been fooled. He disappeared from Maria’s shady circle the next day. Six months ago now, and it still tormented him. The drug deals he’d had to turn a blind eye to for the sake of the bigger picture. He’d known after the first few weeks that undercover wasn’t for him. It was too much waiting and not enough action. Which was exactly how he felt right this second. All waiting, no action.

  He shook off his mood and the memories. Brady hadn’t known her any longer than Wyatt had, and who the hell did that guy think he was—warning Shay off him? From what he’d seen of her, she could make her own choices. Not that he was an option for her. But he could damn well be her friend, couldn’t he? Did he still remember how to be a friend to someone? He’d never been one to a gorgeous woman who got under his skin in quite this way. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t try. And the wallet was a peace offering. Nothing more.

  That thought brought him to her door. He raised his hand to knock, not enjoying the nerves dive bombing his stomach. Peace offering. Maybe he should have brought back her Tupperware. Would that have been a better reason for stopping by? Shit. Stop it. You do not need excuses to see her. He was just coming to say hi, sorry for being a jerk. Here, have this wallet. He certainly wasn’t coming by to stare at those gorgeous eyes or full lips. His life was finally peaceful—other than his sister and mother hounding him about spending more time together and about how he needed to see more of his nephew, Jonah.

  The door flew open, and for the second time, Brady managed to leave Wyatt speechless. His face was dark and angry. Like a switch had been flicked, Wyatt’s instincts kicked in.

  “What’s wrong?” He stepped forward, crowding Brady and looking over his shoulder for Shay.

  “Hey. You can’t just barge in,” Brady complained, but there was no heat in it. He shut the door behind Wyatt.

  “Why are you here?” Wyatt stopped before the end of the hallway and turned, all of his senses on high alert. A thin, long table rested against the wall. Shay’s keys sat in a colored bowl. He put the Target bag there and looked back at Brady.

  Brady’s eyes registered surprise, but his tone was even when he responded. “Why are you?”

  “None of your business,” Wyatt replied. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and tension turned his stomach. Something is wrong. “Shay?”

  “Shh… She’s lying on the couch,” Brady said.

  Wyatt’s eyes nearly crossed. Had they been lying on the couch together? Why the hell did the thought of that twist him into knots?

  “I was actually going to come see you in a little bit after I got her settled.”

  Nerves and frustration made his tone curt. “Settled from what?”

  He pointed to the living room. “Come on.”

  Shay was curled on her side on a sleek, and obviously new, couch. Her hair was a mess, and Wyatt couldn’t completely tell, but it looked like there was some bruising on her cheek.

  “What the hell happened?” His voice came out raw as he stalked toward her and kneeled beside the couch.

  Shay stirred, moaned, and opened her eyes. “Wyatt?”

  “She’s okay.”

  Wyatt ignored Brady’s assurance and the tone in his voice that said he was very aware of the possessiveness Wyatt was feeling. Instead of worrying about the intense pressure in his chest or feelings, he focused on Shay. He tried to slow the erratic pace of his heart by breathing slowly through his nose. He gently touched her cheek where blackish gray marks marred her pale skin.

  “What happened?” It took serious effort to keep the rage out of his voice.

  “Someone attacked her,” Brady said. His voice was as dark as Wyatt’s mood.

  What!? Wyatt surged to his feet and whirled on Brady. “Who?”

  Shay struggled to sit up, and Wyatt went back to her side. “Just lie back down. Brady will tell me what happened.” He ran his hand up and down her arm. His stomach clutched at the way her eyes filled with tears. Wyatt wanted to pick her up and hug her, which should have sent warning signals to his brain, telling him to get a handle on his ridiculous feelings. You’re allowed to be mad on her behalf. She was attacked at her own home. And Wyatt couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone innocent being harmed. That it was someone in his own building was literally too close to home.

  “She went down to store some boxes and someone hit her from behind. Hard. I don’t know with what and she said she didn’t, either. The storage room is trashed.” Brady shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.

  Wyatt looked at Shay and kept his voice soft. “You didn’t see anyone?” Shay shook her head gently. He sat on the edge of the couch, keeping one hand on her arm. Looking up at Brady, he asked, “Did you call the police? Has she seen a doctor?”

  Shay fidgeted and put her hand on top of Wyatt’s free one. “I don’t want to go to the doctor. I just have a headache, and I feel stupid. It’s not really your problem.”

  His jaw tightened, and he squeezed her hand lightly. Anger—at himself and at the situation—made him feel too hot. She should be safe in her own goddamn building. All of them should. “You have nothing to feel stupid about. At all. And I’m making it my problem. Did you see anything?”

  Before she could answer, Brady stalked closer. “Let her rest, man. She doesn’t need you harassing her, too.”

  “Brady,” Shay said, her voice small.

  Wyatt took no offense. He understood the desire to look out for her or anyone else that could have been put in the same position. “Did you call the police?”

  Brady’s eyes lowered sheepishly. “No. She asked me not to.”

  Wyatt pulled out his phone, sending Brady a hard look. “This is Detective Daniels. I need a couple of uniforms at my apartment building. 3574 Oliver Street. Unit 302. Thanks. Okay.” He hung up. Making the call settled his heart rate.

  This time, when Shay tried to sit up, he helped her, grateful she let him assist. His heart twisted in his chest when her face went green. “You going to throw up?”

  Despite her pallor and the tangled hair, she managed to give him an evil glare. “No.” Offense colored her tone, but he figured it would be a bad idea to smile or laugh. She’d been hurt, but it hadn’t dented the tough armor she wore.

  Wyatt looked up at Brady. “Levi McVale in apartment 201. He’s a doctor. Go see if he’s home and can come check her out.”

  Brady put his hands on his hips, his feet spread apart. “I’m sorry. When did we put you in charge?”

  Wyatt’s jaw tightened, and when he spoke, he had to work at keeping the frustration out of his tone. He knew how to adapt and roll with the persona that was necessary. He’d made himself into an entirely different person for eight months, so he could paste a smile on his face now if it would help Shay.

  “Sorry, man. We’re both obviously worried about her. I just thought it would be better if I was here to meet the police. But I can go get Levi.” Wyatt started to get up as Brady’s posture changed, softened.

  “No. You’re right. Stupid thing to argue over. I’ll go get him. Shay, you okay with that?”

  She nodded then winced. Brady left and Wyatt gave all his attention to Shay, turning toward her and gently touching her face. The urge to cradle her against him surprised the hell out of him.

  Her weary eyes held a spark of amusement. “Impressive,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your Oscar-winning performance of the nice-guy neighbor. Well played. It’s almost like you ca
re,” Shay muttered. She looked down at her lap, and Wyatt took a deep breath. Brady would be back in a minute and there was only so much he could do in that time, but he could give her this.

  He used his fingers to gently nudge her chin up so her eyes met his. He could give her this much. She deserved this much. “I care.”

  Her smile was a small percentage of its usual shine but still warmed him from the inside out. “You sure it’s not just your alpha-gene making you feel that way?”

  He frowned. Of course she wouldn’t let him keep it simple. “I’m sorry? My alpha-gene?”

  She nodded but stopped immediately and put a hand to her head. “Yeah. Three brothers, remember? I’m the weak woman in need right now, and that’s got your protective instincts hot and bothered.”

  She was blasting right through the steel cage he’d put around his heart, and she’d made him laugh while doing it.

  “Don’t be cute while you’re hurt. I have no doubt about your strength or ability. I shouldn’t have said we weren’t friends. We are. Or can be, if you still want to,” he said. He heard the apartment door open and shut.

  “I want to,” she whispered.

  He congratulated himself on his restraint in not telling her that he was hot and bothered long before she showed any “signs of weakness,” as she put it. He might be rusty at friendship, but he knew friends didn’t disclose information like that.

  Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Brady came in with two uniforms and Levi. Levi was in pajama bottoms and a dark gray hoodie. He looked too young to be a doctor, but the tired lines around his eyes and the stethoscope around his neck gave him an air of unquestionable authority. He clicked the penlight in his hand on and off once.

  Wyatt stood, greeted both of the officers, and introduced himself before turning to Levi. “Thanks for coming up, Doc.”

  “No problem. Hi there, Shay. I’m Levi. This isn’t usually how I like to get to know my neighbors.”

  Shay shook his hand, and he sat beside her on the couch. “I’m sorry. It’s nice to meet you. It’s probably just a bad headache. I just happen to have two overprotective neighbors, I think.”

  “Always better safe than sorry,” Levi said. He turned Shay’s cheek toward him, studying her bruise. When he asked her to turn away, he gently checked the back of her head, apologizing when she winced.

  “Let’s have a look in your eyes,” he said. Shay turned back to him, her color a bit more green than it had been a moment before. The cops were asking Wyatt something, but he and Brady were listening to Levi intently.

  “You took quite the knock to the head. Did you get hit in the face?”

  “No. I think I fell on it.”

  “Hmm.” Levi shone the light in her eyes, moved it away, and shone it again. “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. I didn’t even hear anyone. I was just going to store some stuff and then come back and make my bed.”

  The gloomy, dark tone of her voice didn’t fit the happy persona Wyatt had already attached to Shay.

  Levi pressed the stethoscope to her chest and listened. “I think you should probably skip that for tonight.” After a moment, he took her wrist, pressed his fingers to it, and looked at his watch.

  “You going to be much longer, Doc? We need to take a statement,” one of the uniforms, O’Brien, said.

  Wyatt shot a hard look at the two cops he didn’t recognize, but it was Levi who spoke. “Won’t be much of a statement if she passes out or throws up on you first. I’ll be done when I’m done.”

  Brady and Wyatt exchanged impressed smirks. Brady hadn’t moved or said a word since he’d entered.

  “Well,” Levi said, a grim smile on his lips, “you have a mild concussion. Do you live here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t be by yourself tonight. Probably not for a couple of nights. You don’t need to be woken every few hours, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone wake you periodically, just to be safe. You can take over-the-counter meds for your headache, and you’ll need to ice your cheek and the back of your head. I wouldn’t suggest you shower or bathe on your own until at least tomorrow night, just to be safe. I’ll come check on you in the morning. But if you get any worse, if you start throwing up or slurring, I want you to go to the emergency room. Okay?”

  Even from where he was standing, Wyatt could see the tears in Shay’s eyes. “Sure. Okay. Thank you. Sorry to be a bother.”

  Levi patted her hand. “No bother at all. You send one of these guys for me if you need anything,” he said. He shook hands with Brady and Wyatt and let himself out.

  Wyatt sat down before Brady could think to do the same. Instead, his neighbor leaned against the wall, eyeing Wyatt like he was gauging his intentions.

  “Shay? I’m Officer O’Brien and this is Officer Ricci. Do you feel up to telling us what happened?”

  “I honestly don’t know what happened. I went downstairs to put something into storage. I was opening the door and everything went black.”

  Officer O’Brien wrote down Shay’s words, and Officer Ricci looked back and forth between Wyatt and Brady. “Has anyone else been down there?”

  Brady stepped closer. “No. It’s a mess. Someone has rifled through everything.”

  Wyatt’s hands twitched, and he tightened them into fists. Who had been down there? And why? How had they gotten in?

  Ricci nodded. “Okay. We’ll need to take a look when we’re done here.”

  O’Brien continued with his questioning. “How long had you been down there?”

  “Only a minute or two.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have reason to believe anyone would want to hurt you?”

  Shay’s eyes teared up again. “I’ve hardly met anyone in the city. I can’t imagine I’ve upset anyone so much already that they would hurt me.”

  Wyatt made himself relax his jaw. If it clamped together any tighter, he’d give himself a headache. She was right about one thing: his protective instincts had gone into overdrive. But he was a cop and believed in justice. Feeling protective was understandable, he assured himself.

  “No. Probably not. Any other troubles around here lately?” Officer O’Brien looked back and forth between the men once again.

  They eyed each other, but it was Wyatt who answered. “There was some trouble with the storage room before. We had a rather shady apartment manager. I suspected him of dealing drugs, but he moved out close to three weeks ago.”

  “I’ve been running the place since Jake left, and there’s been no trouble until today,” Brady said.

  Nodding, like he’d already known, Ricci asked, “This Jake. He’s the apartment manager?”

  “Former. Yes.”

  Ricci turned to Wyatt. “Why did you suspect him of dealing?”

  Wyatt frowned. Intuition. Instinct. Training. Too much time spent around low-life creeps just like Jake. He didn’t have time to school two uniforms on how they should be speaking to a detective, even one that wasn’t their direct superior.

  “He was looking for something he said he misplaced. The storage room was trashed once before, he’d broken into the tenant mailboxes, he had visitors at strange times, he was high more often than not, and he all but confessed when he moved out after I threw—warned him.”

  Brady’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. Are you taking notes on all of us?”

  Wyatt’s lips quirked. “I’m an observant guy.”

  “I’ll say.”

  The cops asked several more questions before asking to see the storage room. Though Wyatt could see from the way Brady hesitated that he didn’t want to leave, he agreed to show them around. Once they’d left, Wyatt locked her door and came back to the living room, finding Shay curled back up on her side.

  She looked so small, but she’d held up better than expected. “I’m going to get you some ice. You have any Tylenol?”

  “Yes. Over the st
ove. But you don’t have to do that. I can do it in a minute. I was just going to close my eyes first…” Her voice petered out.

  “Mm-hmm.” Wyatt watched her for a moment, emotion twisting in his chest. Something shifted, like his heart was making room or waking up. Friends. This is your chance to show yourself, and her, that you can be human again.

  Shaking off the sentimental thought, he grabbed the ice, some water, and the pills. He helped her swallow them down, and then put the ice on the back of her head.

  “Thanks, Wyatt,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome, Shay.”

  Her lips curved even though her eyes stayed closed. “I’m going to have to make you another casserole.”

  He smiled, his chest warming, tightening. She was so damn sweet. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’ll probably need to make me more than one.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Why’s that?”

  He toed off his shoes and ran a hand down her hair with a gentleness he didn’t know he could show. Or feel. He wouldn’t think about that now. He was doing the right thing—what anyone, but especially a cop, would do. He also wouldn’t question himself about the fact that he wanted to be the one to do this for her. “Because until you’re better, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Eight

  Shay’s stomach rolled. It matched the sensation in her head. Yet neither of those things were the most pressing issues in her mind. Opening one eye at a time, she noted the light in the living room had been dimmed. Wyatt was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear movement from down the hall. With gentle precision, she scooted herself into a sitting position. If he was busy and she didn’t fall over, she could make it to the bathroom to check if her hair was as bad as she feared.

  And why do you care what he thinks? She didn’t have the energy to argue with herself. They were going to be friends. Had he really said that? Friends was good. She could do that.

  Shay eased off the couch, giving herself a moment to ensure she was steady enough to move. The moon shone through the windows. She must have been sleeping for a while. And he’d stayed. Because they were friends.