Chasin’s hand untangled from her hair and slid down to the back of her neck. and he squeezed. “You’re not gonna die, babe.”
“I will if you don’t let me up so I can—”
“I’ll let you up after we talk.”
“Fine. You wanna talk? We had a good time, then you left. End of story.”
“We’re nowhere near the end of our story, Genevieve.”
She gave him wide eyes before they narrowed into golden slits. He knew it was the wrong time to push, knew he was a dick for doing it, but he wasn’t going to let up. He wasn’t letting it go until she forgave him. That made him a dick, too.
“I don’t need this right now,” she said and clenched her jaw. “In case you missed it, I already have a stalker.”
“I didn’t miss shit, and neither did you.” Genevieve jerked back, Chasin’s grip tightened, and he leaned forward. “This isn’t gonna work unless we find a way to move on.”
“What’s not gonna work?”
“Me protecting you.”
“You?” she yelped, clearly unhappy with the news he would be her bodyguard.
“Me,” he confirmed.
“Why can’t Nixon do it? Or Alec?”
Chasin tamped down the irrational annoyance at hearing Genevieve ask why his friends wouldn’t be guarding her. There were so many reasons why that wouldn’t be happening. Whys and wherefores she wasn’t ready to learn, mainly because they’d freak her out. And she was right, she didn’t need more piled on her plate. But they did need to get a few things straight.
“First, because Nix and Alec are already working cases. Second being I handle all close cover work. That means I’m your shadow. You go nowhere without me. You’re not alone in your house, in your car, you don’t answer the door, you don’t look out the windows, you don’t go outside to move dock furniture, you don’t go out on the boat. You do nothing without me stuck close.”
“Stuck close?” she muttered.
“Like glue.”
“So I’m your prisoner?”
“No, babe, what you are is safe.”
Genevieve was back to trembling. Something Chasin liked a whole lot when she was under him with his hands and mouth on her doing things that were worthy of a tremble. What he didn’t like was her sitting stiff on his lap, overwhelmed and not in a good way, shaking because she had some asshole terrorizing her life. “We’re gonna catch him. Until that happens, you’re untouchable. Now, we need to sort this shit out between me and you.”
Since Chasin had her close he didn’t miss it—that spark of pain. The one that pierced his chest the first time he saw it and every time thereafter. The pain he’d put there because he was a jackass.
“I can’t,” Genevieve whispered.
There was a pleading in her tone, one that was not imploring him to stop, but begging him. One he couldn’t ignore.
“All right, honey, how ‘bout this? We finish up here, let McKenna and the guys get to work, then we’ll head to your house. You can get settled and I’ll do a walk around the house and we’ll talk later.”
“Chasin—”
“Talk now or later? But, Genevieve, we will be talking.”
“Later.”
Thought so.
Chasin smiled and kissed her forehead. He couldn’t say she’d welcomed his lips on her but she hadn’t pulled away.
6
One could say, my day hadn’t gone as planned.
If someone would’ve told me I was going to find myself in Chasin’s lap I would’ve laughed myself stupid.
If someone would’ve told me Chasin would be in my house, roaming around like he owned it, I would’ve told them they were insane because that was never going to happen.
Yet, there Chasin was, giving Nixon a tour. One Nixon didn’t need because he’d been in my uncle’s house before. After Nixon told me he’d grown up in Cliff City, this didn’t surprise me. Even though the residence was privately owned, it was on the National Register of Historic Places, therefore my family had always opened the house for tours. Not to mention my uncle, and my granddad before him, held an annual Fourth of July party—over the years they’d welcomed the town and had hosted the governor.
So Nixon having been in the house didn’t surprise me. What did was the way Chasin had moved through the rooms like he’d been there hundreds of times and not just for a couple of days. I wasn’t sure what to make of his obvious observation skills so I decided to shove those thoughts aside and not deal with Chasin—at all.
Instead, I called my uncle and filled him in on the real reason I was in Kent County and holed up in his mansion. To say he was uncaring was an understatement. He had no thoughts on my predicament one way or the other. Maybe if I’d told him some sick freak broke into his niece’s house and jerked off on her bed he would’ve cared, but even that was unlikely. I didn’t want to even think about that because when the image started to creep into my thoughts, I could feel the bile rise in my throat.
My uncle told me he’d email a list of the people who’d had access to the house, and gave his approval on any security system and new lighting the guys wanted to put in. But that permission led to an argument over who was paying. In the end, I gave in. I didn’t have it in me to fight with him over something stupid. If he wanted me to pay, it was no skin off my nose and I had bigger shit to deal with. Like my best friend withholding information from me.
I also had a sinking feeling Bobby was holding something else back. On that thought, I went in search of my friend-slash-assistant. It took a while, the house was big and I was trying to avoid Chasin and Nixon. I still hadn’t recovered from seeing the man who’d given me hope that maybe my luck had changed and he’d done that in the matter of hours. Then he’d taken that hope and extinguished it.
I found Bobby kicking back in a lounger on the rooftop widow’s walk. Her head was tipped back, eyes closed. She looked like she was taking a mid-afternoon snooze. But I knew she wasn’t; her hands were balled into tight fists resting near her hips and she was frowning.
“You got a minute?” I asked.
Bobby’s eyes slowly opened and came to me.
“Of course,” she muttered and smiled.
I knew Bobby well. I’d known her since forever, therefore I knew all of her smiles. The ones she gave my fans, the ones she gave record executives and my manager. Those were fake—they were business. Then there were the smiles she’d given me and her friends over the years. The ones that reached her eyes, split her face in two, and made her nose crinkle.
Bobby’s smile was all business.
I felt the pang of loss so deep I had to sit down.
“What’s happened to us?” I whispered.
“What?”
“Us. You know, Roberta and Genevieve. When did we lose them?”
“Viv, honey, we’re right here,” she returned.
“No, we’re not. We’re boss and employee. When did we turn into that?”
Bobby lifted her back off the lounger and sat up straight.
“I understand you’re pissed—”