Page 42 of Protecting Peyton

Defiant hands went to her hips. “He can’t do that.”

“Tell him. See how far it gets you.”

Her stance softened. “Why the sudden concern? Do you think this and the mugging are related?”

“Until we know more, it’s the safest assumption.”

“And I thought I was the paranoid one,” she mumbled, turning toward her room.

As I waited, the memory of how she’d felt against me didn’t dissipate the way it should have. No, holding her again was going to need to happen, and the next time I wouldn’t be behaving myself as I consoled her.

Less than a half hour later, Peyton had a bag packed, and she stood by the broken door of the condo. “I hope none of the neighbors tell the owners about this. I can’t afford to be kicked out.”

“Who lives in the other unit on this floor?”

“Just Frankie, but Mrs. Summerset sometimes comes down. She takes the stairs and walks each of the hallways for exercise.”

I opened the door to let her leave first and closed the door after us as best I could.

Peyton made a face, looking at the damage. “Do you have anything to eat at your place?”

“Of course.” I’d never appreciated cooking before going into the Navy, but after what seemed like thousands of MREs overseas, I’d changed my opinion. Proper food was a luxury.

On the drive over, she was quiet, looking out the window.

Staying in go-slow mode, I didn’t engage her in conversation, figuring she had some things to work through, and I was more likely than not to complicate that.

Asking about the past she was obviously running from was taboo, yet those questions were the ones I most wanted answered. How could I help if I didn’t understand the problem?

An incoming call sounded. It was from Jordy.

“Go ahead, take it,” she urged.

“It’s okay. I can call him back later.”

She tapped the accept call button on the screen. “Hi, Jordy,” she said in that same professional, call-answering voice I’d heard her use at her work dozens of times. “Zane is driving. What can we do you for?”

“Driving you crazy?”

“At the moment just driving.”

“Uh…Zane, you want to talk about that guy you asked me to check out?”

“Yeah. What did you find?”

“Frank has got an interesting history.”

“You’re checking up on my neighbors now?” Peyton’s voice shifted to serious annoyance, if not anger.

“Yes,” I answered. “I told you he seemed sketchy.”

“Why?” Peyton asked. “Because he said good morning to me?”

“Because he has access to the building and knows your schedule. And because he asked you to lunch, and then after you said no, he ended up outside the restaurant at lunchtime spying on you. That spells creep to me.”

She looked out the window. “It could have been a coincidence.”

“Just calling it the way I see it. Shoot, Jordy. Whatcha got?”