Page 15 of Kane (Ghost Ops #4)

Chapter Nine

Kane’s emotions had been boiling over with Daphne, making him say and do things he otherwise wouldn’t. But charging into danger was something he understood instinctively. He blasted through the door and ghosted from room to room, looking for an intruder.

Didn’t take long to discover that no one was inside. There were some open drawers, a pillow on the floor, but nothing was wrecked. He lowered the weapon and returned to get Daphne, who was still against the wall where he’d left her. He had to admit he’d had his doubts she’d stay.

Her eyes were big, her skin pale, and he couldn’t help but draw her into his arms and squeeze her for a moment.

“It’s okay,” he said, his mouth against the fragrant cloud of her hair. “There’s nobody here.”

Her body sagged in his arms and he stepped back, took her hand, and led her inside. “Tell me if anything’s out of place or missing.”

She nodded, her arms wrapped around her body as if she were cold.

Only a moment ago, he’d have said she was hot as a firecracker, telling him off the way she had.

Calling him an asshole and vain at the same time.

He hadn’t blamed her, because he’d been a dick, but if the end result made her think twice about getting involved with him, then it didn’t matter, did it?

She walked through the apartment, him following, looking at everything as she went.

She didn’t close the drawers that were opened, didn’t pick up the pillow.

She stopped in her bedroom door, hesitated, then walked inside and over to the queen-sized bed against one wall.

Daphne didn’t have a lot of stuff in her apartment.

He hadn’t expected she would since it wasn’t that long ago she’d been living in her car.

There was the bed, an end table, a bench at the foot of the bed, and a dresser with a mirror.

Her bedspread was plain, white, and she had one of those granny afghans that’d been crocheted with black octagons and riots of color everywhere.

It was old-fashioned and made him think about the afghan his grandmother had made for his mother.

He wondered what’d happened to it, if it was in storage, or if it’d gotten tossed when his parents split up after he’d joined the Army and left home.

The afghan was rumpled, and there were drawers open in here as well.

Daphne bent to look under the bed, then ran her hands over her bedspread, straightening it. She checked the closet, feeling around in the bottom of it for a moment, then turned to him, that haunted look still on her face.

“It seems okay. Nothing’s missing. But what if there’s a camera or a listening device? What if some creepy asshole just wants to watch me get undressed? I don’t think I can stay here until I know.”

The thought of somebody spying on Daphne made his gut clench. “The equipment’s at the range. We can go get it. Or I can see if Ethan’s around. He can bring it.”

“Thank you.”

Kane sent a text to Ethan, then sent an informational one to Blaze since he was downstairs. Ethan responded with a thumbs up and Blaze sent back an exclamation point. He followed it with a text.

I’ll check the hallway cameras.

Thanks.

“You don’t have to stay here tonight if you don’t want to,” Kane told her. “You can have the spare room in mine and Ethan’s house, or you can stay with Alex. He’s living alone these days since Seth moved out.”

Not that Kane fucking wanted her anywhere but near him, but he had to offer.

“Thanks. I might do that. Whoever was in here didn’t take anything. I locked the door because I always do, but to hear Colleen talk, Melvin could have unlocked it if he’s feeling frisky enough. Maybe somebody walked in because the door was open.”

She almost sounded like she was talking herself into believing it.

“Tell me you don’t really believe that nonsense Colleen spews.”

Melvin was the ghost that supposedly lived in the Sutton building and had done since the eighteen hundreds. Colleen claimed he was a fixture. Kane had never seen him. Neither had Blaze, and he lived here full time.

“I don’t.”

“Good, because I don’t either. Doesn’t mean the lock isn’t faulty. This is an old building.”

“The locks aren’t that old, though.”

“No, but if the wood swelled, could have popped the lock.”

Daphne shook her head. “No, because the lock wasn’t engaged when I put my key in. I’m certain of it. If the wood had swelled, the lock would have still been engaged inside the mechanism. Somebody picked the lock. Or I didn’t lock it this morning, though I’m sure I did.”

“How sure?”

“Very, though I guess anything’s possible.”

They returned to the kitchen where Daphne took a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet and poured some into a glass. “Want one?”

“No. Thanks.”

He watched her toss it back, more than amazed at how she didn’t even grimace. “You drink Scotch often?”

“No, not really.” She poured another small dram and twisted the cap onto the bottle. Then she lifted the glass and sipped.

He smelled the whisky from where he was standing. It had a strong, smoky smell. Not in the least bit feminine or delicate. Not that he expected Daphne to drink feminine whisky, if there was such a thing. He’d learned better than to assume when it came to her.

Her mouth twisted into a half-smile. “I tended bar for a few months once. I acquired a taste for good Scotch because one of the customers was a Scot, and he walked me through the flavor profiles. Naturally I like the expensive stuff, which means I buy a bottle and milk it.”

She turned the bottle toward him. “This bottle of Ardbeg was a hundred and twenty bucks, and I’ve had it for two months now.

I’d drink it more often, but I try to save it for when I really want it.

I have another one from Bowmore that’s not as smoky, and it’s cheaper.

But there’s no such thing as a twenty dollar bottle of Scotch worth drinking, at least not in the US.

I imagine it’s different in Scotland, though I wouldn’t really know. ”

“I never had a taste for Scotch. Bourbon’s more my speed.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too sweet. I prefer the smoke that comes from peat.” She sniffed the glass, her eyes closing. “Mmm, so good. Sure you don’t want a sip?”

She held the glass toward him. He didn’t miss that she trembled and it drove a wave of sympathy through him.

“Sure, why not.”

He took the glass from her cool fingers.

“Smell it first,” she said. “Inhale that smoke, and think about it.”

He did what she told him. The whisky definitely smelled like smoke. And maybe a little bit like a cough syrup his mother used to give him when he was a kid. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, though.

“Take just a sip and hold it on your tongue. Taste it before you let it slide down.”

Fucking hell, did she know her instructions were sexy?

He obeyed, surprised at the bold flavor when he swallowed the whisky. “Hey, that’s not bad.”

Her smile was worth it even if the whisky had ended up tasting like shit to him. Which it didn’t. “See? Told you. Honestly, Kane, you should listen to me more often. I’m wise beyond my years.”

“I don’t doubt it, Sunshine.”

He gave her back the glass, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side.

Like one friend to another. Which, damn, he needed to remember after that exchange in the hall.

Her skin had felt like silk under his fingers.

Her hair smelled like lavender. He’d wanted, so desperately, to taste her mouth.

He’d wanted to do all those things he’d said, and he was still pissed he’d let his ironclad control off the leash like that.

There’d been no reason for it, other than she’d been pissed at him, talking about her parts, and he’d been watching her sexy ass sway as she walked up the stairs in front of him.

He’d wanted to fill his hands with her ass and watch his cock disappear inside her as he fucked her from behind. Those had been the things on his mind when he’d pushed her against the wall and put his hands on her.

The only thing on his mind now was keeping her safe.

She leaned into him, laid her head against his side, and huffed a breath. Then she lifted that shaky glass to her mouth again and took another sip.

Footsteps on the stairs told him someone was coming. Probably Blaze. And Emma since he heard a lighter step along with the heavier one.

Emma burst into the apartment first, Blaze on her heels. “Daphne! Are you okay, honey?”

Daphne left his side and went into Emma’s arms. Then she burst into tears, which floored him. What the hell was that about? She hadn’t seemed that scared. Just shook up.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. But don’t you worry, Blaze and Kane will take care of you and figure out what kind of asshole dared to break into your home.”

Kane exchanged a look with Blaze. “Was it a break in?”

“Yeah. I checked the cameras. A man entered the building a few minutes after twelve and went upstairs. He had on a ball cap and a tool belt, so he looked like one of the workers renovating the back apartment. He went inside the back one, but then he continued here and picked the lock. He was inside for about ten minutes. The workers were returning from lunch then. He didn’t join them in the other apartment, so not an opportunist.”

Daphne had looked up again. The tear tracks on her face killed him. Just killed him.

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“He kept the ball cap pulled down so you can’t get a look at his face. He had to have known the cameras were there.”

Not for the first time, Kane wondered what kind of past Daphne was running from. Because he was more convinced than ever that she was, no matter what she’d said about not having an abusive ex chasing after her. The idea someone had hurt her made him want to break things.

Daphne swiped her fingers beneath her eyes. She picked up the Scotch from where she’d set it on the counter and gulped it back. “I don’t want to stay here tonight.”