Till Death(39)

So damn thoughtful.

Our gazes met in an instant, and I drew in a shaky breath. He was several feet away from me, but it felt like he was standing right against me. I swore I could feel the warmth of his body. Though there were a ton of things that I needed to be focused on, all I could think about in that moment was what Cole had said to me last night about second chances and breaking down walls.

And I so needed to get a grip.

Focusing on my mom, I said, “I’m sorry about that.”

Her brows knitted together. “Why are you apologizing, honey? That’s not your fault.”

“I know, but what if one of the guests were here to hear that?” I crossed my arms. “That’s not exactly something that will help us book rooms.”

“Still isn’t your fault, babe,” Cole said.

Babe?

“Is that the first time he’s been here?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Mom answered, smoothing a hand over the hem of her loose sweater. “Back after everything happened, it was a very frequent occurrence, but that was the first time he showed.”

“If he does again, you let me know,” Cole offered, folding his arms. He was wearing a black henley, and this time I noticed the gun holstered at his hip, tucked under the hem of the shirt. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“Hopefully we won’t continue to have that problem.” Mom plastered on a smile I wasn’t sure was real. “I think he just caught us off guard.”

As I listened to Mom and Cole, something the reporter said started to nag at me. I pressed my lips together as I replayed what Striker said. Then it hit me.

“The mayor,” I whispered.

Mom turned toward me. “What, honey?”

I blinked as Cole’s gaze sharpened. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Cole did the hand thing with a head tilt this time, reaching back and clasping the back of his neck as he eyed me.

Mom glanced back and forth between us. There was a pause. “I’ll take care of the Mattersons’ room.”

I turned at the waist. “I said I would do it.”

“It’s okay.” She was already at the stairs. “You go ahead and chat with Cole.” She beamed at him like he’d invented flying cars. “Thank you again for making sure my daughter was responsible last night,” she said, and I barely was able to resist rolling my eyes. “And thank you for getting my truck back to me.”

“No problem, Mrs. Keeton.” One side of his lips kicked up. “I will always make sure your daughter is responsible.”

I snorted under my breath. Totally ladylike, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Did you say something, babe?” Cole asked.

I looked up, arching a brow. “Nothing.” I paused. “And don’t call me babe.”

“Cute,” Mom said, with one hand on the railing. “So cute.”

My eyes narrowed as I watched her climb the stairs. Her steps were a little slow, and I wasn’t sure if something was paining her or if she was just taking her sweet old time, hoping to overhear Cole and me.

Probably the latter.

I waited until Mom was out of sight and then turned to Cole. Before I could say a word, he crossed the short distance between us, and I leaned against the desk, angling his body toward mine. I had to tip my chin up to meet his eyes.

“I was being serious earlier. If that jackass shows up again, you let me know,” he said, voice low. “I’ll make sure he fully understands.”

I started to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but then I realized I’d told Cole that about a dozen or so times since he walked through these doors. It struck me then, as I stood beside him, close enough to touch him, that I didn’t want to tell him that.

What he offered was necessary.

Even though I knew pity and a twisted sense of obligation drove him to be here and to do everything he’d been doing, I wanted to ignore all the many reasons behind it and I wanted him here. The spreading warmth in my chest told me I was glad he was here. “Thank you,” I said, lowering my gaze. “For taking care of my mom’s truck and for running off the reporter.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” His hands folded around my arms and he gently uncrossed them, drawing my gaze to his. He held on to my arms, and a rapid flutter started deep in my chest. “I know that reporter showing up here had to have bothered you.”

There was no point in denying that. “He’s looked into me, Cole. He knew . . .” I cleared my throat. “He knew that the . . . Groom was trying to kill me when I escaped.”

A muscle spasmed along his jaw. “Shit.”

“How did he know that?” I whispered. “Are there records of what happened that people have access to?”

“Not easily.” He slid his hands to my upper arms and then down to my elbows in a soothing slide he repeated. “But he’s a journalist, babe. They make friends with cops and detectives. Favors get called in. Rub my back, I’ll rub yours kind of thing.”

“Jesus,” I muttered. I knew there was a mammoth-sized file on me. I’d had to talk to the police and the federal agents, and I had to tell them everything. I wasn’t even sure how much Cole knew, but I imagined it was enough, since he’d been a deputy back then, but this was different. Knowing that someone, a complete stranger who had no business reading any of that, could get access to the file sickened me.