She straightened. “There isn’t going to be an us, Saxon. I can’t be with you. We’ll burn out and leave a trail of destruction behind us. It isn’t worth the risk.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“No, we won’t.”
“Yes, we will.”
She made a cute growling sound, and with a smile, he led her down to the garage. He shoved her into a black Norcross BMW X6.
As he drove to her apartment building, he could see that she was still worried about her friend. Willow didn’t deserve it, in his opinion.
They rode the elevator up in silence and got out on her floor. Saxon scanned the hall. There was nobody around.
Then Gia gasped.
Saxon turned his head and saw her apartment door ajar.
“Oh, no.” She raced forward.
“No.” He stopped her and pulled his HK VP9 out of his shoulder holster. “Let me check.”
He pushed the door open.
Gia peered around him. “No!”
The apartment had been ransacked.
Everything was tipped over and smashed. The TV was a broken, shattered twist. Chairs were splintered. Paintings had been pulled off the wall and destroyed.
“Bastardo!” She shoved past him. “Cazzo!”
Saxon stuck to her like glue and quickly checked the bedroom. The mattress was half pulled off the bed and slashed open. Clothes littered the floor, and her fancy, walk-in wardrobe looked like a tornado had ripped through it.
Gia broke out in a string of rapid-fire Italian. He was pretty sure they were curses. No doubt salty and creative.
In the bathroom, the shower door was shattered, and bottles and pots of creams and lotions were scattered across the tile floor. Clearly a perfume bottle had been broken, because the rich scent of Gia’s perfume filled the air.
Whoever had done it was long gone.
Gia picked her way through the destruction, her hands curled into fists.
Her face was blank, and her skin was pale, except for two bright-pink spots on her cheeks. Her mouth was a flat line.
As she moved back into the living room, she stared at the wall.
A shelf hung drunkenly and had been busted open.
“Gia?”
“The gems.” She looked at him. “They’re gone.”
Chapter Four
She picked out some clothes that hadn’t been torn up or tossed around and shoved them in a bag.
Gia felt sick to her stomach. Her place, her home, her sanctuary had been invaded and desecrated.
“Appreciate it, Hunt,” Saxon’s deep voice said from the living room.
He was on the phone. Hunt was Detective Hunter Morgan, an old Army buddy of Vander and Saxon’s who now worked for the SFPD.
When she paused in the doorway, Saxon slid his cell phone away. His gaze moved over her. “Police are on their way.”
She nodded.
“You packed some things?”
“What was salvageable.” No way she wanted to touch anything some asshole had ruined or pawed through.
Once two officers from the SFPD arrived, and she and Saxon had given a highly edited statement, she let Saxon shuffle her into the SUV. She was chilled and a little shell-shocked.
She listened to him call Vander in the vehicle, and she stared out at a night-drenched San Francisco.
“Fuck,” Vander bit out. “Gia okay?”
Saxon glanced at her, and she felt the weight of his gaze.
“She will be.”
“You called Hunt?”
“Yeah. Officers are there now. They’re going to dust for prints and check the building’s security feed.”
“Good. Sax, I just spoke with Dennett. He doesn’t have the gems.”
Saxon cursed.
Gia twisted her hands together. “Then who broke into my place?”
“Someone else who wanted the stones,” Saxon said grimly.
Oh, no.
“Take Gia to my place,” Vander said.
“Whoever’s involved knows who she is,” Saxon said. “If they’re looking for her, they’ll expect her to stay with one of you guys.” A pause. “She can stay at my place. You know it’s secure.”
What? Gia looked at Saxon’s profile.
It didn’t take much to remember that kiss. That hot, hungry, all-too-delicious kiss. It would be so very easy to lose herself in Saxon Buchanan, but Gia couldn’t afford to do that. Her heart knocked against her ribs. She knew he was a danger to her.
She couldn’t stay with him.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t think—”
“Take care of her,” Vander said.
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Saxon fired back.
Gia made an annoyed sound. “Hello, grown woman here. Who makes her own decisions.”
They ignored her and kept talking. She crossed her arms and stared out the window.
“We need to find those fucking gems,” Vander said. “Call me if you need me.”
Saxon drove into Nob Hill. The wealthy suburb was home to historic mansions and swanky hotels. The big four railway barons—the Nobs—had made their homes here in the 1800s. She was pretty sure the Buchanans could track their family tree back that far. She knew Saxon’s parents had a mansion here.
He stopped in front of a four-story, cream house with charcoal trim. It was deceptively simple, sandwiched in between two larger buildings. She watched the garage door slide open.
Gia was well aware of what real estate cost in the area. They drove down into an underground garage, and he parked the X6 beside his Bentley. She climbed out, her running shoes squeaking on the polished-concrete floor. There was room for four cars, and at the back were some closed doors, storage space or maybe a gym.
“Come on.” He got out and reached for her bag.
They headed up some stairs and came out on the lower floor of his home. Beautiful marble floors opened up to a magnificent, curving staircase with a polished, wooden handrail. As they headed up the stairs, she glimpsed a high-tech media room and a glassed-in wine cellar.
He dropped her bag on the next level, but kept heading upward. They passed a third level before they finally reached the top. Gia walked into the open-plan living area and kitchen, gob-smacked. She’d never been to his place before. Saxon lived in her dream house, dammit.
The floors were warm wood and she watched as he strode into a giant, white kitchen with a huge, stone island. Off to the side was a long, steel table, with a banquette built in on one side.
The entire space was light, sleek, and spacious.
Gia walked toward the modern, cream couches situated to face a flat-screen TV on the wall. To the side, huge sliding doors framed a perfect view of the city—downtown, the Coit Tower, the Bay Bridge, and the water.
She realized now why the house had the living area at the top. To maximize the views. She did a slow circle. On the other side of the space was a wooden deck with potted trees and plants, and comfy-looking outdoor furniture.
“Your home is incredible,” she said. “Beautiful.”
He looked up from the mail he was reading at the island. “Glad you like it.”
There was something in his tone that she couldn’t quite read. “How many bedrooms?”
“Four. The master takes up the entire level below. The second level has three bedrooms.”