Safe In His Sight. Regan Black
Or it would be under different circumstances. This wasn’t the right time to be charmed and distracted by the woman he was supposed to be protecting. One of the hardest lessons of firefighting was doing the job without getting emotionally invested in the people saved.
While he denied it every time it came up, no one seemed to believe he’d finally grown past the foolish damsel-in-distress complex he’d had as a kid. Yes, his last girlfriend had used that specific soft spot against him and it had taken him too long to see her true colors. But he’d eventually corrected that mistake. The nature of the job was to race into danger and bring people out alive. Without his innate drive to protect those in need, he wouldn’t be a decent firefighter.
“You’re really staying over.”
He nodded, unable to tell if she was more relieved or frustrated by his protective intrusion. He managed not to remind her she’d asked him to stay only a few minutes ago.
In a flurry of motion, she stood up. Shrugging off his coat, she folded it neatly over the back of the chair. Moving behind the privacy screen that divided the space, he heard her open a closet. A moment later she returned with a pillow in an ivory satin case and the quilt that had been folded neatly on the foot of her bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Will do.”
“Are you a morning person?” She crossed her arms as if she was cold again.
“I’m a firefighter. I’ve learned to adapt to the situation and timing, whatever it is.”
Her auburn eyebrows arched, then knit into a hard scowl.
“Is that a problem for you?”
“No.” The scowl remained, the arms tensed more.
“Something’s got your wheels turning.” He tapped his temple.
“How can this work?” She spread her arms wide. “You can see my place is too small for you to move in.”
“We’ll manage.”
She wasn’t satisfied by his vague confidence. “You’re just going to follow me? Everywhere?”
“Sure. Until we identify who’s hassling you. Isn’t that what you asked for?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Yes. No. I’m just...”
“Tired,” he finished for her. “Stressed-out. That’s reasonable, Julia.”
“I don’t like having you here.”
“I understand.” He could sympathize. Independence radiated off her. He didn’t know her well, but it was clear that she was unhappy she’d needed to ask Escape—or anyone—for help.
“This creep might just be a big gasbag trying to embarrass the firm.”
“It’s possible.” Although they both knew that theory didn’t explain the stalker sifting through her past for hot buttons of friends and family. Mitch hoped the situation was resolved quickly just by his presence, but her stalker was pushing awful damn hard and fast.
Mitch would have a tough time forgetting the shock and fear on her face when she’d read the note. The facade of the savvy, polished attorney had dissolved, instantly revealing a frightened woman floundering to make sense of things.
The bastard had put a note in her mailbox. Tomorrow, once Julia was safe at work, Mitch would come back and have a chat with the doorman. A building as posh as this one had to have cameras on every entrance. The residents wouldn’t tolerate anything less.
“I guess I’ll, just, um, head to bed then.” She took a step back.
“Could I take a look at your phone, please? It would help if I could review the interactions you’ve had with him before tomorrow.” If he was lucky, he might even find a clue as to why Grant had assigned him to Julia’s situation.
“Let me know when you’re done. It’s my alarm clock.” She handed him the phone and excused herself. He tuned out the sounds and the resulting speculative images of her preparing for bed. It required more effort than it should have.
He skimmed the text messages first, then the file with Julia’s notes on the encounter, and the pictures and emails that had followed. Despite his limited experience, Mitch recognized this definitely wasn’t a typical stalker.
Maybe Grant thought he was dodging that looming threat against the cop by assigning a suspended firefighter. More likely, it was a combination of convenience and intimidation. Mitch made a habit of using his height effectively in any situation and he’d been standing right there while Grant assessed Julia’s trouble. On top of that, Grant probably sensed Mitch’s restlessness. The man was legendary about reading people.
He glanced back at the closed bathroom door and took advantage of the moment by cruising through Julia’s contact list. Only the best friend’s name turned up. Interesting. She really wasn’t close to her mom, not that he’d doubted her earlier answer.
He heard the bathroom door open and her footsteps approaching. “Are you done yet?”
“Just finished,” he said, closing the open files on her phone. Looking up, his jaw dropped at the sight of her. With her makeup gone and her long, red hair tumbling in loose waves over her shoulders, she managed to transform the bulky sweatshirt and sweatpants into the sexiest of lingerie.
His pulse kicked into overdrive. He wanted to feel that hair in his hands and inhale that soft fragrance that seemed just out of reach. What the hell was wrong with him? She’d kick him out in a hot second if she realized where his thoughts had gone.
He kept his feet rooted in place, holding the phone at arm’s length. “Here you go.”
She didn’t go to bed. She came around to sit in the chair again, inadvertently teasing him with that warm fragrance as she passed by. She tucked her feet up by her hip and studied him. “Did it help? Do you have a plan?”
“A starting point,” he said, resuming his seat on the sofa. The apartment was truly too small. “Once you’re safe at the office, I’ll see what I can dig up. If we’re lucky he’ll show up wearing that orange hat again.”
Her lip curled. “I hope not.”
The admission startled him. “Why?”
“Because if the hat is his habit or signature or whatever, it means I’ve been oblivious to him for days.”
“Stop.” Mitch reached for her and thought better of it. “You can’t do that to yourself.” He waited until she lifted those lovely green eyes to meet his gaze. “It’s a very popular hat around here.”
It took a second, but when she finally laughed her entire body relaxed. And his tensed up as the sound rolled through him. He stretched his arms across the back of the sofa and changed the subject. “What’s with the furniture?” She didn’t strike him as the sort of woman who preferred fragile antiques to modern, sturdy furniture.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that. I just pegged you for something more current.”
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You wouldn’t be wrong. These are my inheritance from my grandmother.” She traced the carved wood accent on the arm of her chair. “The pieces fit the space and saved me money.”
Sensing more to that story, he waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t, leaving him wondering how to politely nudge her out of the way so he could stretch out on the floor.
“You’ll never be comfortable on that.”
“I’ll manage,” he replied.
With a heavy sigh, she pushed to her feet. “Hang on.” Her footsteps were quiet on the hardwood as she padded to a closet and rummaged around. “I’ve got a sleeping bag and mat I use for camping.” She leaned both items against the chair. “There. You’ll be more comfortable