Page 37 of Into These Eyes

“If it is about you,” I interrupt, “that’d be pointless. Going elsewhere would simply change the target.”

“Better than it being you.”

Lost in those denim depths, at the genuine concern right at their surface, I shake my head.

“No. I’m not letting anyone intimidate me.

I’m fixing this for you, and I won’t stop until your name’s cleared.

So, you can forget that idea. Permanently.

” I wipe my damp hands down the sides of my dress and sidestep around him.

“Right, come on in. I’m sure you’d like a shower. ”

He follows me through the open-plan living area, then along the hallway. I open the first door on the right. “Here’s the laundry. The internal access to the garage is right through there,” I explain, pointing to the other door.

Further along, I enter the spare room. There’s a freshly made double bed pushed against one wall, a small desk, a chest of drawers and built-in-robe. Turning, I find him hesitating on the threshold.

“This is yours. The bathroom’s directly across the hall. Fresh towels, shampoo, soap, whatever you need is in there. It’s all yours. I have an ensuite, so you don’t have to worry about sharing with me.” God, I’m babbling.

He nods as he takes a step inside and lowers his duffle bag to the floor. It’s then I notice a dark patch on his t-shirt where I’d rested my cheek. For a second, I think I’ve smeared mascara on him. Then I realise the darkness is coming from beneath the damp, semi-transparent material. The tattoo.

“Jamie?”

My eyes snap to his.

“Thank you,” he says, his gaze darting around the room, taking everything in.

I shake my head. “No. Thank you .” When his eyes settle on mine, I ask with trepidation, “You’re absolutely sure about this?”

“I might not know much about protecting you … but I know I want to.” He runs his fingers through his wet hair. “Anyway, I’ll do a sweep of the house, check the locks. We’ll talk after I have that shower.”

I take that as my cue to get out of his room and give him some privacy. “Sure. I’d better get some work done.”

He makes room for me to pass, but when I reach the threshold, he says, “You already know this, but you need to call the police. Just to make sure there’s a record of the threat.”

I nod before heading into the kitchen to get a much-needed glass of wine.

Once I’m sitting at my laptop, I reach for my phone when I hear the shower start up.

I don’t dial the police directly. Instead, I call Pete and tell him about the threatening note and who I believe is responsible.

He’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “Accusing a Detective Inspector of threatening you without any evidence isn’t a smart move. You can’t know for sure it was him. Your profession alone makes you a target for threats.”

“I know that. It’s just … the timing seems too coincidental.”

“But is it? Reid has no idea you’re on this mission to get Lake’s conviction quashed, so from where I’m sitting, it’s highly unlikely.”

Now it’s my turn to remain quiet. I’d rather not fess up to my mistake, but what I don’t understand is why he isn’t backing me up like he usually does?

“Jamie?” he asks, his tone that of a parent already suspecting their child’s done something wrong.

“You’re right. He doesn’t know that’s what I’m doing, but …

I, ah, might’ve called him the night my father died.

I know you told me not to tell anyone about Dad’s confession, but it was too late by then.

I couldn’t take it back.” When I hear a long sigh, I add, “At that stage, I had no idea he’d buried a witness …

so it’s possible he’s put two and two together. ”

“Right. Let me think.”

Damn. He’s as happy about that little admission as I am.

“Listen,” he says after a moment. “Meet me tomorrow for lunch with the note. I’ll look into it myself. Discreetly. Any whiff that he’s involved, we’ll take it further.”

“Okay,” I agree, feeling a scrap of relief.

“Good.” Another sigh. “So, how’re you feeling? Do you feel safe? Want me to get a patrol car to cruise by every now and then? Is there anything I can do?”

It briefly occurs to me that those questions should have been the first he asked, but I brush it aside. First and foremost, he’s a cop.

“I may have convinced Gavin to stay with me. For protection,” I add quickly.

“You trust him?”

“I do. I’ve spent a fair bit of time with him trying to put the pieces together.”

“Well, then, I think it’s a good idea. Can’t hurt to have a man around the house.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Now that , I thought he’d protest.

“He’s advised his Community Corrections officer?”

Shit. I’d forgotten about that. I might know he’s innocent, but the rest of the world still sees him as a criminal on parole. “Well, no, it’s only just happened.”

“Make sure he does. And Jamie … if something else happens, you call me, and only me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

By the time I start Liam’s affidavit, Gavin appears in the kitchen dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest.

“Mind if I grab a water?” he asks.

“Of course. You don’t need to ask. Make yourself at home. That’s where you are now.”

He pauses halfway across the kitchen, his eyes pinning me with a look of such gratitude my insides flutter.

“That means …” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you.”

He grabs a glass from the first cupboard he opens and fills it at the sink, reminding me that he already knows his way around the kitchen.

As he brings the glass to his lips, I say, “Wait. The tap water’s not great in this area.”

After I take his glass and tip the water down the sink, I show him how the freezer dispenses ice, then point out the other tap positioned at the corner of the sink.

“Still or sparkling?” I ask.

He looks at me like I’m having him on. “Sparkling.”

I show him which lever to hold down, fill his glass and hand it over. He raises it to eye level and inspects the bubbles. “Unbelievable.”

“I like my little luxuries. Since Dad refused any rent, I’ve made some upgrades over the years.”

As he takes a long drink, I actually hear his stomach rumble.

“Oh, God. You’re starving. What would you like?” I rush over to the freezer and open the door to reveal a plethora of frozen meals.

He steps up beside me and stoops down to take a look. Straightening, he gently closes the French doors. “Let me cook something.”

When he reaches for the fridge doors, I slap a hand over them, embarrassment burning up my neck.

“I, ah … haven’t been shopping since last time you were here.”

He gives me a curious glance, then opens the fridge. A carton of long-life milk, tomato sauce and a bottle of wine sit in the fridge door. Other than some eggs, butter, cream and cheese and a few random cans of soft drink that Anika left behind, it’s basically bare.

Glancing over his shoulder at me, he asks, “You don’t like cooking?”

“Actually, I hate it,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ve been the only cook in this house since Mum died.”

Understanding passes across his face before he turns back to the fridge and begins removing items. I watch with curiosity as he places the carton of eggs, then the cheese, cream and butter beside the induction cooktop. Opening the pantry, he extracts some dried mixed herbs and spices.

My stomach dips at the sight of him completely at home in my kitchen. As he grabs a frying pan, I’m reminded again why that is, and warmth spreads through my chest.

There’s a man about to cook a meal in my kitchen.

A man who took care of me when I couldn’t do it myself.

A man who made me laugh and squeal like a little kid at the beach when I’d forgotten how to have fun.

A man who’s here now because I let him see behind the wall I put up to hide my vulnerable side.

A man who should be so bitter and mean after the cards he’s been dealt, his selfless compassion and gentle nature leave me in awe.

Liam’s affidavit forgotten, I sidle up beside him and lean a hip against the counter as he cracks eggs into a bowl.

His hands freeze, his eyes on mine. “Ah, shit. I should’ve asked if it’s okay to use all these. You probably want them for breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast. It’s fine.” I wait for him to continue what he’s doing before I ask, “So, Benny? What’s happening there?”

While he makes a massive omelette, he explains that they came to an arrangement where he’d Uber over to Benny every second day. Apparently, if he didn’t agree to keep me safe, Benny threatened to cut ties with him completely.

I laugh. “You don’t really believe that?”

“You never know with Benny,” he says, throwing me a smile as he folds the omelette in half over the cheese and herbs. “Wasn’t worth the risk. Much as he likes to pretend he’s fine, he’s still a fish out of water.”

“It’s sweet how much you care about him.”

“Yeah, well, I just want him to be happy.” He turns toward me as the omelette cooks, the aromas filling my nostrils and making my mouth water. “So, will seeing Benny every other day be a problem?”

“No. No, of course not. It’s the nights, really. Being here on my own … it’s never worried me before …”

He gently places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’ll be here,” he promises. Turning away, cuts the omelette in half, grabs two plates from a cupboard, and serves it up.

“Oh, you don’t have to cook for me, I—”

“Yes, I do. And you wouldn’t want to insult me by not trying it, right? It’s only plain, but—”

“Sold,” I interrupt. “God knows, it smells amazing.”

Placing the plates on the breakfast bar, I take a seat as he grabs some cutlery and joins me on the stool to my left. Unlike when I’d sat in McDonald’s and couldn’t stomach a bite, my appetite’s well and truly back. Digging in, I groan in please when the cheese and creaminess hit my taste buds.

Gavin gives me an appreciative grin before popping a bite in his own mouth.

“So, you can cook,” I say, trying not to think about the reaction my heart has to that smile. “How did that happen?”