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Ash keptan eye on his guest while he waited for the kettle to boil.

After they’d given their statements to Detective Morgan, he and Kayla had watched animal control wrangle the dog into the back of their van. Along with a box full of the pups they’d found denning inside the stack of tires.

The dog hadn’t been protecting Grimball, but her litter. And Ash had almost taken her down.

If Kayla hadn’t rapid-fired those shots into the air, he’d be mangled, the canine mother would likely be dead, and the pups orphaned.

They’d driven most of the way to her house in silence, until Wade had called. She briefed him on what had transpired at Grimball’s.

Although Ash could only hear one side of the conversation, Kayla’s responses made it clear that Wade had wanted to come to her. Ash had taken more pleasure than he should when she’d declined the driver’s offer and told him she would be staying at Ash’s place.

While Kayla had gathered items for an overnight bag, Ash took the opportunity to call Phin to let him know Kayla wouldn’t be returning to the office.

The conversation hadn’t gone well.

“What the fuck was she doing with you?” Phin had asked.

“Do you even know your boss?”

“You should have ditched her and paid the piper later. That’s what I’d do and I’m still standing.”

“Ditched her how, exactly? Kicked her out of my car? Tied her up? Knocked out her driver?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Gritting his teeth, Ash said, “This is a courtesy call, bro. Not an invitation for you to read me the riot act. Something I already know by heart.”

Phin’s tone changed. Softened, as understanding overtook his worry. “What can I do?”

“Keep things running at the firm for a few days.”

“No problem. I have a go-bag in my car for times when I work late and don’t want to trek home. Give me thirty minutes to finish up a few things here, and I’ll relieve you of duty.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re at her place now, gathering some personal items, then we’re headed back to my apartment.”

“She’s staying with you?”

“For tonight, at least.”

A charged silence. “Don’t hurt her.”

His brother’s words dropped into his stomach like rotten fruit. “Why do you think I would?”

“I don’t—It’s just—You’ve never been a fan—” Phin blew out a series of curses. “Listen, I know how you feel about her, but she’s important to me—and many others.”

“I’m not a damn barbarian. I’m surrounded by people on a daily basis whose politics or opinions are not my own. Besides, she’s been through hell. I know how to keep a civil tongue, when necessary.”

“You’re right. I know that. Sorry for being an ass. Your call . . . I-I guess it caught me off guard.” He seemed to be struggling for words, which was very un-Phin-like. “Just keep her safe tonight, and let me know what else I can do to help.”

Even hours later, the memory of his conversation with Phin burned. The thought that Phin, even for a second, believed Ash could harm Kayla—anyone—under his protection hurt like hell. Had the distance between Ash and his family grown so much that they believed him capable of such a thing?

The water in the kettle roiled. He swallowed back a lump of emotion, shifting his complicated relationship with his family aside.

He poured hot water over the tea bag, while snatching a glimpse of Kayla. Snuggled beneath a light throw, she lounged on the couch, with her stockinged feet propped on the coffee table and her head turned to the side, away from him, staring at nothing.

At least not anything of this physical world. He had no doubt Grimball’s horrific death mask was replaying in her mind, over and over.

“Here.” He held the mug out to her. “It’s herbal and might feel good on your stomach.” He stopped short of saying “settle your stomach,” not wanting to draw more attention to what she’d survived.

She pushed up into a sitting position and tucked her feet beneath her before accepting the hot, medicinal drink. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything else? Something to eat, maybe?”

She shook her head. “I’m not up for food yet, thanks.” Patting the seat next to her, she said, “Stop hovering, Agent.”

Lowering himself, a full cushion away, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation, “but not about what I saw or how I feel. I’ll make an appointment with my therapist to discuss those things. I’m due for a check-in, anyway.”

The matter-of-fact way in which she approached her exposure to trauma surprised him. He didn’t know if he should be concerned that managing extreme self-care was old hat for her or thankful that she wouldn’t break apart in front of him.

“What would you like to discuss?” he asked, though he thought he already knew what she’d say.

“I need to walk through all that’s happened since my godmother’s murder.”

Her confirmation of what he’d expected sent a series of his own questions blazing through his mind.