Page 40 of Protecting Peyton

“That can wait. Pack up what you need. You’re coming to my place.”

“What? You going to show me your etchings?”

I breathed deeply to control my argumentative streak. “The door is busted. It’s not safe here.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “Then I’ll call Grace and see if I can stay with her.”

“No,” I insisted. “You are my responsibility, and I will not shirk that. You’re coming with me, at least until I get this door fixed.”

She looked like she wanted a way out, so I gave one. “Or, we could call your parents, show them a picture of the door and see what they say.”

Her face fell. “Can’t do that. My parents are dead.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” I hadn’t thought.

She straightened her shoulders. “My mom cheated on Dad, and they divorced. He started drinking and it killed him. He plowed into a tree.” She took a breath. “I have no idea where Mom is and don’t care.”

Needing to change the subject, I blurted out, “Or we can stay here, and to keep you safe, I’ll sleep on the floor of your bedroom.”

My suggestion drove her as nuts as I figured it would. She stomped to the closet. “Fine, but one night only.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not letting you go until I’m satisfied you’re safe. Pack for several days, just in case.” Keeping her out of the condo would also give me time to ask Constance to dust for prints and let me find the assholes who’d done this.

She looked my way and seemed ready to argue, but didn’t. Instead, she stomped off, mumbling to herself.

Last night’s mugging by those two losers had sure looked like a crime of opportunity at the time, but two attacks within twenty-four hours now made a pattern. Who was that unlucky?

I intended to figure out if it really was a coincidence or not.

While she packed up a few things, I phoned Lucas, and he agreed with my plan of action. He said he’d arrange for Constance to pull prints tonight.

CHAPTER 9

Zane

She brokedown for several minutes, just sitting on the bed, sniffling with her hands over her face.

I sat down next to her, tempted to take her into my arms and console her, but I refrained.

“Why me?” she mumbled. “Why the hell me?”

That was enough to get me over my reluctance, and I pulled her close, caressing her back. “Let me help you.” I shouldn’t have used the same words as when I’d asked about her past and what she was running from, but they got out before I thought better of it.

“Why me? Why beat me up? Why the hell did somebody take my money and steal my bike? That bike wasn’t cheap. How do I get to work now?”

For weeks, I’d wanted to have Peyton in my arms, though of course under different circumstances. Continuing to stroke her back, I held her, unable to do anything but offer words of consolation. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she murmured against my chest.

I’d never been a cuddler, but holding this dear woman against me felt so natural, so right. Nobody deserved the shitty day she’d had, and Peyton needed to know somebody cared—that I cared.

“I did everything they said,” she lamented. “I painted it pink. Iengraved my name and address on the frame. Nobody should want to steal a bike like that. That’s what they said.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “It’s not fair.”

All I could do was keep up the back massage while she vented. “I’ll drive you,” I offered the next time there was a pause in her monologue.

She sighed. “It’s nice of you to offer, but that’s not a solution, and you know it.”