She didn’t argue, instead going right to the closet and pulling out a suitcase. She took the clothes he’d already grabbed, rolled them up, and stuffed them in. A quick visit to the bathroom and she had her toiletries as well. Adding a few pair of shoes, she nodded that she was finished and he helped her zip the bag closed.
“We’ll get you someplace safe, and then I’ll have this whole place checked out, top to bottom and get whatever else you left behind. You will not be moving back in.”
He thought about how her mind-game-playing visitor had gotten her address so easily. He suspected she had her miserable excuse for a Hollywood agent to blame. He’d given the address out to the media, who’d staked out her house and shown the exterior. It was entirely possible there’d been a street sign, something recognizable in the shot. Or hell, that bastard might have just given it out to anybody who called looking for a story on the famous writer.
Rowan was gonna have a private talk with that man. Soon.
“Thank you, Rowan,” Evie whispered.
He knew she wasn’t thanking him for lifting the suitcase off the bed.
She cast another glance toward the pillow.
So did he.
What he again saw there made him take her by the arm and practically carry her out of the room, straight to his car.
He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t shown up at the beach, if he hadn’t walked her home. It was very possible whoever had been inside had seen him pull up and park out front, and then walk off toward the beach. Probably fearing Evie would not return alone from the beach, he’d escaped through the back window.
But not without leaving a souvenir.
There had been a single strand of hair in that hollowed pillow, carefully positioned and curled into a near heart shape.
It was very long.
And very dark.
Not blonde.
And most definitely not Evie Fleming’s.
Chapter 10
Although Evie had assumed they would go back to his brother’s fancy house, Rowan had instead taken her to his own place. He’d warned her she’d find no luxurious sunken tub, private pool, or magnificent views, but frankly, she liked it better. The one-bedroom apartment was comfortable and homey. With brown leather sofas, rich, dark-wood tables, and just a few prints of mountain scenes on the walls, it reminded her a lot of its occupant. Warm, unpretentious, and masculine. It suited him. Which suited her.
After they had arrived late Saturday afternoon, they’d showered, and then he’d left again. Eliciting her promise not to open the door for anyone, he’d headed over to meet a cop from the police station closest to her rental house.
She’d known it had to be done and hadn’t objected. But she couldn’t help being anxious for him to return. Not because she was nervous about being alone, save for the persnickety cat who had suddenly decided he did not like her. But for Rowan. She didn’t want him going back to that place, where someone had obviously lurked, intent on doing her harm. If that person came back when Rowan was there, he might target him instead. Bad enough that she’d dragged him into her drama. If she also put him in danger, or caused him to be harmed, she would never forgive herself.
So she watched the clock and wished time would pass. She couldn’t concentrate on work, and the cat was not interested in being scratched today.
Suddenly she remembered she did have one thing to do. Knowing how Rowan had found out what had happened, she placed a call to Candace to let her know she was okay.
“Oh my God, Evie, I was so worried,” the other woman said, sounding tearful.
“I’m fine, I promise.” She did not get into what had gone on at the house. Frankly, it would be a long conversation, and she just didn’t want to have it right now. “How did you find out about the court’s decision?”
“I got a call from someone at the DA’s office yesterday afternoon. They were trying to reach you. But I didn’t even listen to the voice mail until this morning. I’m so sorry! As soon as I heard it, I started trying to track you down.”
And she hadn’t had her phone, wanting to “disconnect.” Given what had happened between her and Rowan on the beach, she couldn’t regret that. She was also glad she hadn’t had to hear the news on the phone and that he had been the one to break it to her.
“It’s all right. My fault for being out of reach. But I got the word.”
“Thank heaven. Are you…all right about it?”
Good question. She wasn’t sure she could call herself all right, but she was managing, which was probably all she could ask for. Which was what she told her friend.
“Look, I’m not staying at the house right now,” she also admitted. “I just…well, I felt a little uncomfortable.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” Clearing her throat, Candace quickly added, “He didn’t give out your address, Evie. I feel really sure of that.”
She could have been nice about it, but right now, with everything she was facing, including the fact that someone had been in her house, she just wasn’t in the mood. “Look, Candace, he admitted he called the press twice last week to try to get me some attention that I really did not want. Especially after being attacked on the street.”
“I know,” her agent said. “It was awful, and I know he feels bad. It’s just…well, to be honest, business isn’t so great. It’s hard for Marcus.”
Yeah. Right. So hard for poor Marcus.
“I think he feels like he has to wow you to make sure you don’t regret taking him on because he’s my husband.”
“About that…”
“Oh, Evie, please don’t. Give him one more chance.”
“I know you trust him. But after what he pulled, how can I?”
Candace was a proud, strong woman. But there was almost a plea in her voice when it came to her sleazy husband. Which simply proved that love really was blind.
“If I find out he really did give out your address, I’ll fire him for you,” Candace said. “But in terms of the press, well, that’s how it’s done out here.”
“It’s not how I want it done,” Evie said, still not sure of what to do.
“Oh, he knows that. He won’t ever pull that kind of stunt on you again.”
She hesitated and then finally sighed. “All right. For now.”
“Thank you!”
Not finished, Evie added, “But I swear to you, if I find out he has given anyone—anyone—my home address or phone number, we’re done. The end.”
“I completely understand.” Candace’s voice grew softer. “I know you’re worried about Angstrom, honey. He won’t be able to get to you.”
“I’m not worried about him doing it directly.”
Angstrom’s multiple-murder conviction might have been overturned, but it wasn’t as if they were going to let him out of prison to wait for his new trial, because he was also serving a sentence for kidnapping and robbery, from other cases. He was going nowhere.
“I don’t know how on earth any of his psycho fans would find you.”
Knowing somebody already had, somebody who’d been having a grand old time messing with her mind for the past week, she wondered if she was going too easy on Marcus.
Maybe he hadn’t given out her address. But if he had…
“Listen, can we meet for lunch or something in the next day or two? I have gotten the marketing plan for the new book and I think there are some things we should discuss.”
“Okay. I’ll come by the office on Monday.”
“Good. Wait, where are you staying? Do you want to stay with us?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I’m okay. I’m staying with a…friend.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Candace chortled. “It’s that hot cop, isn’t it?! I knew there was something you weren’t saying about him the other day. As soon as I saw him, I realized the man is pure catnip for pussies everywhere.”
Evie chuckled despite herself, able to picture Candace’s eyebrow
wag. Her sly, risqué sense of humor hadn’t been much in evidence since she’d married. Evie suspected Marcus didn’t appreciate it. One more thing not to like about good old Marcus.
“We’ll talk on Monday,” she said, wanting to get off the phone.
“Okay. I want details!”
“No.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Bye, Candace.”
Ending the call, Evie got online and started looking at other rental properties. She appreciated that Rowan had brought her home, and she would very much like to spend some of her nights here. Or a lot of them. But she couldn’t just move in with the man. She needed her own place.
This time, she would find something with better security.
And woe to anyone who gave out her location.
Growing discouraged from the Craigslist and Realtor listings, she flicked on the TV and turned to a cable news station. Within a few minutes they covered the Angstrom case. The man’s crimes had been shocking and had caught the attention of the entire country, so of course his appeals had too. That this one had succeeded was probably giving nightmares to everyone who knew his name.
“Oh hell,” she muttered when a picture of her appeared on the screen. She was coming out of the courthouse, flanked by her parents on one side and a police officer on the other. She looked small, pale, young, and terrified.
She was no longer that girl anymore. And while today’s incident had rattled her badly, she wasn’t going to let anyone scare her off. She’d been strong enough to face down Blair’s killer at only age twenty-two. Damned if anything would stop her from doing it again now.
She turned off the television before the news cycle could roll around again to repeat the exact same story again. Wanting something to eat, Evie nosed around in his pantry and fridge. Both were well stocked; it didn’t look much like a bachelor’s kitchen, and she suspected he actually knew how to cook. Probably better than she did. But she gave it her best shot, chopping chicken and vegetables to make up a stir-fry when he got home.
Which was at about eight o’clock.
As soon as he walked in the door, she went and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Sorry it took so long. You okay?”
“I’m fine. It was you I was worried about.”
He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, and then rested his forehead against hers, holding her around the waist.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
Rowan lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Not really. No prints on the window or sill, inside or out. There was one pretty clear footprint in the very back of the yard, right behind a bush that backs up to the fence. Not sure what’ll come of it, but it was collected.” He frowned. “The landlady should have cut that shrub back. The bushes are really high and overgrown. They provide too much screen to anyone coming over from the next street.”
“Not my problem anymore,” she said with a light shiver.
“No, it isn’t. I made sure everything was secure before we left,” he told her. “I should have asked you before I went over there if you wanted me to get any more of your stuff.”
“I grabbed my laptop but left a big box of my files. But I think it will be okay until I find another place to rent.”
“You can stay—”
She cut him off. “No, I can’t. I can’t just crash in on you permanently.”
He raised a brow. “Who said I was going to suggest that? Maybe I was going to suggest you stay at the Motel 6 around the corner?”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.”
“They’re not cat friendly.”
She didn’t follow. “I don’t have a cat.”
“I do. I can’t leave Jagger behind.”
“What are you talking about?”
He snorted. “You don’t really think I’m going to leave you alone, do you? If you go to a hotel, I’m getting the room next door. If you rent a house, I’ll be parked in your driveway every night.”
“Or you could just be in bed with me,” she said with an eyebrow wag.
“Whatever you think is best.”
His feigned piety was funny, but his message wasn’t a joke. He was deadly serious. As he’d said earlier, he fully intended to watch over her, to make sure she was okay.
“Look, I appreciate the offer,” she said, both warming under the thought of having his undivided attention but also feeling guilty as hell for the same reason. “But you’re not responsible for me, Rowan.”
“Actually, I think according to some old legend, I am.”
“Huh?”
“Save someone’s life and you then have to take care of them forever.”
“That sounds very counterintuitive.”
“I know, but I’m pretty sure that’s the rule.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
He kissed her, murmuring, “Just go with me on this.”
She sank into him, soaking up the heat of his body, inhaling his sexy-musky scent. He was tempting. So very tempting. What woman wouldn’t want a man like him by her side at all times? But not like this. Not because he felt the need to protect her.
“If you can let me stay for a night or two, until I find another place, that would be great.”
He stiffened, obviously not pleased, but didn’t argue. She suspected he thought he could talk her out of the leaving part. He couldn’t. She’d had her momentary meltdown today, but she knew from experience that she couldn’t rely on anyone else to take care of her. It then became too easy to rely on others, to not reclaim her life and regain her power over it.
That’s what had happened after Blair’s murder.
“I know you’re trying to help,” she said, pulling away and going into the kitchen to continue working on dinner. “But I can’t let this derail me. Angstrom gained a lot of power over me, even after he was arrested. I will not let that happen again.”
“I know,” he murmured. He came into the kitchen and went to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of nice white wine. He lifted it questioningly.
“Yes, please.” Finding some rice in his cabinet, she put water on to boil. “After what happened to Blair, I went home and lived with my parents for almost a year. I wouldn’t go out unless one of my brothers was with me. I didn’t work, I didn’t see anyone. The longer I stayed, the harder it was for me to even be a part of the world. They were so protective, so terrified at the what-could-have-beens that nobody noticed I was becoming a shadow of myself. Not even me. I was scared of living the life I’d always wanted.”
Carrying two full wineglasses, he came over and offered her one. “It’s called PTSD. You went through a terrible trauma. Anyone would retreat from life for a while after something like that.”
Maybe. Maybe not. “My point is, it’s in the past now. I want it to stay there. I don’t ever want to feel like that helpless girl again, the one who couldn’t stop someone she cared about from being killed and who had nightmares for months.”
Rowan sipped his wine, eyeing her over the top of the glass, his eyes dark and his expression inscrutable. “I understand,” he finally murmured. “Believe me, I do. That kind of trauma—coming back from losing someone who died a violent death—is hell.”
Evie had just taken a sip of her wine, but suddenly gasped when she realized what he was talking about. She coughed out some wine, lifting a hand to her mouth.
“Are you okay?” he asked, quickly taking her glass.
“Fine,” she choked out with another cough. “Just tried to breathe my wine.”
“Never a good idea. Just ask that English king or duke or whatever he was who was drowned in a big barrel of the stuff.”
He was trying to distract her, make her laugh or something. But he wasn’t going to get away with it, not now when she’d figured out just who he had been talking about a moment ago.
“I’m so sorry, Rowan. I must sound like the most self-absorbed person on the planet.
I have thought about the way your sister died, about how young you were, and what it did to your family. You’re the last person I should be complaining to about loss.”
He put a strong hand on her hip and pulled her close. “Grief isn’t a team sport. There’s no competition and no winning. We all deal with it in our own way, and that is whatever way enables you to get up in the morning and go on living.”
She looked into his handsome, serious face, not seeing that twinkle or a glimmer of his beautiful smile. He was utterly serious, speaking truths about loss that she understood completely.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to Rachel,” she said, meaning it completely.
“Me too.” He hesitated, his eyes shifting, and then added, “Someday…someday we’ll talk about it. There’s a lot more to the story than anybody knows.”
She sensed it wasn’t an offer he made often or lightly, and felt honored that he had made it to her. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He nodded and then bent to kiss her again. This kiss lasted longer, went deeper, was hotter and wetter than before. He didn’t even disengage as he reached to the stovetop and turned off the burner that was set to boil the water for rice.
“You’re not that hungry, are you?” he asked, nibbling the corner of her mouth.
“I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than make dinner.”
“Do any of them involve me?”
She twined her arms around his neck. “Every one of them involves you. And that nice, comfortable, non-sandy bed.”
Rowan kissed her again, and without separating his mouth from hers, picked her up by the hips. She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to his room, following her down onto his huge bed.
There was no sand. No surf. No squawking birds or whistling wind or blowing salt spray.
Just sexy, attentive, amazing Rowan…who made her forget about food and investigations. Not to mention everything else in the world.
Including the danger that seemed to be building around her more by the day.
* * *
Firecracker needed money to get outta town.
Since the motherfucker who’d hired him had tried to take him out, he hadn’t been too surprised to find out there was no ticket to Florida waiting for him at the bus station the other night. And if there’d been any money in that house, which he doubted, it had blown up along with that old hag who’d gone in ahead of him.
Wanting You Page 22
