He watched her pull herself together. “The man was the leader of the thieves who took the Water Lilies.”
Rhys’ pulse leaped. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Same eyes. I’ll never forget them. And he has freckles on his hand that I recognized.”
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
“Why did he attack me?” she asked.
“Maybe he was worried you could ID him.” Rhys slid his hand into his pockets. “Haven, there’s a link to the theft and the mafia.”
Her eyes went huge. “Mafia? Like wise guys and gangsters?”
Rhys fought back a laugh. “Like dangerous organized criminals. These ones are of the Russian variety.”
“Rhys, I don’t know anything about the mafia.”
“I know, baby. Another member of the robbery crew has a Russian mafia tattoo on his neck. The guy who tried to snatch you off the street also has links to a local Russian mafia contact.”
She rubbed her face. “This makes no sense.”
But Rhys knew it would as he kept putting the pieces together. “When you get home, you make sure your door and windows are locked, and your alarm is on. Me, or someone else from Norcross, will take you to and from work from now on.”
“Rhys—”
“At work, you’ll have a security guard with you at all times.”
She bit her lip. “Rhys, are you sure—?”
He held up a hand. “It’s the way it needs to be for now.” He put his hands on either side of her hips on the desk, and leaned forward so their noses brushed. “I will keep you safe, Haven.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“You know why.”
There was a flash of fear in her eyes. “I can’t be with you. I’ve sworn off men, remember?”
They’d see. He didn’t bother arguing with her now, especially when he had the taste of her on his lips.
“We’ll work it all out. Haven, don’t worry.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “It’ll be okay.”
Chapter Eight
Vander dropped Haven off at home.
He did a sweep of her apartment, his dark-blue eyes like storm clouds. “After I leave, lock the door and set your alarm.”
Haven nodded.
“Rhys or I will be here in the morning to pick you up.”
She nodded again. “Thanks, Vander. I appreciate all the trouble.”
He got close and used one long finger to tip her chin up. It was the first time he’d touched her. Vander Norcross wasn’t a toucher. He was way too intense and solitary.
“You’re one of ours, Haven. You work for Easton, you’re Gia’s friend, and you’re Rhys’.”
“I am not Rhys’.”
Those dark eyes stared at her until she wanted to squirm.
“We’ll keep you safe. Lock the door, alarm on.”
“Okay.” She closed the door after him, but knew he was still standing there in the hall. His presence practically vibrated through the door.
She flipped the locks and set the alarm. Okay, her life was officially off the rails. She’d been attacked again, and then Rhys Norcross went down on her on her desk and gave her the best damn orgasm of her life.
Haven pressed a hand to her forehead. She needed a glass of wine and a hot shower.
Shower first. Once she was under the hot water, she let it beat down on her head, and she relaxed a little. Until she started thinking of Rhys’ hands and mouth on her.
Dammit. She flicked the water off and got out.
She changed into her pajamas. Who cared that it was only three o’clock in the afternoon? Her short-shorts and tank top were comfy. She tugged on a loose, gray knit cardigan. In her kitchen, she poured herself some wine, then forced down some cheese, crackers, and prosciutto.
Haven flopped onto her couch. She was pretty sure Rhys was not giving up. She’d have to find some strength to fight the pull of him.
Now, she needed to do something to find her lost Monet. Damn, she’d forgotten Harry’s call. She needed to tell Rhys about the rumors of the auction.
Her phone rang. She snatched it up and recognized the number instantly. Her stomach clenched, a sour sensation washing through her.
Leo’s number.
Her phone was brand new, and her new number was for San Francisco. He shouldn’t have it. Unease skittered through her. Leo was not what she needed right now.
Ignoring it, she slid the phone in the pocket of her cardigan. Leo was her past, and she wanted him to stay there. He didn’t exist for her.
She slumped down onto her back. When she closed her eyes, she could feel Rhys’ hands pushing her thighs apart. Felt his mouth on her, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
Groaning, she squeezed her thighs together. She might need to get her vibrator out later.
A smell tickled her nose. Was that gas? Had she left the stove on?
Heaving herself up and off the couch, she headed for the kitchen. She checked everything and ensured all the burners were off.
Spinning, she frowned. The smell wasn’t stronger in the kitchen. She wandered back to the living room and sniffed. Maybe she’d imagined it?
The next second, the world erupted in noise and flames.
Something hit Haven’s head, and with a scream, she dropped to the floor. She rolled under her dining room table.
Everything was shaking. Oh God. Oh God. Fire. She smelled burning, saw flames and smoke. Everything was in shambles around her.
And there was a freaking hole in the floor of her living room.
Panic made her throat tight and her movements jerky. She quickly crawled toward the door.
She had to get out. She had to warn others in her building.
Mrs. Girard. The old lady used a walker and wasn’t very steady on her feet.
With a goal in mind, Haven’s head cleared. She got her front door open and wondered if her alarm was still operational.
She crawled into the hall. There was more smoke, more destruction. She reached Mrs. Girard’s door and banged her fist against it.
“Mrs. Girard!”
“Haven?” The door opened. The woman’s terrified face peered back, her halo of gray hair a mess.
“There’s a fire. We need to get out.”
Rising, Haven slipped her arm around the frail, older woman and helped her maneuver her walker into the hall. They hobbled toward the stairs.
“We can’t use the elevator,” Haven told her.
“You should go,” the old woman said. “You’ll move faster without me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
The smoke was growing and Haven coughed. Her eyes stung. She nudged open the doors to the stairs.
“Come on, hold on to me and the railing.” They abandoned the woman’s walker at the top of the stairs.
Then they started down.
It was slow going. Mrs. Girard was shaky, and started coughing too.
“One step at a time.” Haven needed to try a distraction. “Maybe we’ll meet some hunky firefighters waiting for us at the bottom?”
That got a rough laugh out of her elderly neighbor.
She heard shouts echo in the stairwell below. Other people evacuating.
They rounded the landing, and smoke poured through a door from a lower floor.