Page 6 of Chase’s Kind of Trouble (Obsessive Protectors #3)
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Chase
All eyes are on me when I stride through the back door, into the restaurant. Open mouthed stares follow. Forks hover mid-air.
“Where’s her purse?” I demand of the nearest person who appears to be an employee.
“Uh…”
A waitress jolts to a stop in front of me, the tray of drinks in her hand almost spilling.
“She probably put it in the break room.”
Celeste’s warm, slow breathing ghosts along my neck, making my heart drop into a slow, steady rhythm. She’s still asleep. Safe in my embrace.
“Get it for me, will ya?” I reply in a hushed tone.
“Wow. Okay!” The waitress whispers as she blinks. “Be right back.”
Another woman hustles out from the back room as if the place is on fire, fisting her hair, the color of her face pasty white. “Oh my god, Celeste. Is she okay?”
“There was a situation with a man in the alley. The problem has been handled and she won’t be in danger from him again. As you can see, Celeste also won’t be finishing her shift.”
Or any more shifts after this for that matter if I have my way, but that’s a conversation for later.
The swinging doors to the kitchen slam open and the waitress shoots through with a small purse, a jacket, and a slack-mouthed expression.
“Thanks.”
Never one for small talk, I head for the front door, my woman cradled in my arms, the soft hair on her crown tucked below my chin.
There is a burst of voices behind me the instant I kick the front door open, striding into the night.
I’ll have to address that too—eliminate and erase any and all social media posts and new stories about Celeste’s traumatic experience.
That’s one of the many upsides of the kind of clandestine work I do.
Crossing the packed parking lot, I don’t meet any resistance until I am a dozen steps from my truck. That’s when Tice shows up, a scowl on his angular face.
Damned SEAL’s…We are a relentless bunch of motherfuckers.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asks, eyes hard and narrowed below his baseball cap.
“Yep. Never been more sure.”
I click the fob to unlock my truck’s doors. Nothing blinks. Nothing beeps. The day the truck came home it was set up for stealth mode.
Tice, keeping his volume low says, “The girls could rally around her, make sure she’s?—”
“We’re good.” I ease Celeste into the passenger seat, lean it back and tuck her in with the soft wool blanket that lives in my go kit in the back seat.
When I close the door—careful to do it quietly—he steps into my path. Again.
A growl starts to grow in my gut.
“Look,” he says glancing at Celeste through the window. “You have a way of coming on strong.”
“And you don’t, Mister I’m-so-eloquent in the coffee shop?”
His brows slam together, but a grin quickly follows “Asshole. I’m never going to stop hearing about that am I?”
“No. But thanks for checking on us. Now mind your own fucking business, Mocha Latte Monster.”
“It was tea, thank you.”
He leans against my truck laughing and I shove him off. “Go get the intel on that guy.”
“Already on it, Kane’s shaking him down while he waits on the cops to come pick him up.”
I open the driver’s door, my eyes on the angel asleep in my seat, a sense of rightness filling my bones. “I expect a full report before sunrise. You owe me.”
“Roger that. Sleep tight. And keep an eye on your six. The guy who busses the tables just told me that Celeste’s attacker is associated with a major dealer in the area.”
As I slide into the seat, I tip my chin. “Noted. We’ll deal with that. But now I’m going to make sure she knows she’s safe and gets to rest without worrying about that fucker.”
Whoever scared Celeste is tangled up with a dealer, more reason why she is not going back to work. Or to her home.
She needs to be somewhere safe.
When Celeste stirs, I tangle my fingers with hers and brush my lips over her forehead. “Right here. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” she breathes and nestles deeper into the blanket. “I’m sorry, I’m just so tired.”
When I crank up the engine, I turn the heat on blast. “I’m here to protect you. Sleep. Nothing and no one can get to you.”