No Perfect Hero(15)

Then he straightens, turning to face me. His movements are heavier somehow, as if he’s suddenly tired and his massive bulk is weighing him down.

“Warren?” His name is just a question on my lips.

Sighing, he descends the steps, drawing closer to me. “Now do you get why I want you gone? You have a kid, Haley. You and your daughter don’t need to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Niece,” I correct, folding my arms over my chest. “And I don’t exactly know what we’re in the crossfire of.”

His expression hardens. “That part's none of your business. Trust me.”

“Um, kinda hard to trust when people are defacing the cabin I paid good money to rent.”

“Technically,” he points out, “I paid for it.”

“Technically, you’re an asshole.” I’m snappish, but I can’t help it.

We just passed Agatha Christie turf and went right to Stephen King. Next thing you know, there’ll be a serial killer monster peeking in the window with bloody knife in hand.

Sweet Jesus.

I take a few shaky breaths, ripping the clip out of my hair and running my fingers through it to ease the tension headache starting to pull on my scalp. “So let me guess. I’m not supposed to call the cops over someone murdering a bird and smearing my windows with pigeon blood—”

“Paint,” he interrupts softly. “It’s tempera paint and craft feathers. Probably from the same store you were at today.”

I go still, my eyes widening. What?

The art store...where I met Bress? The man Warren’s somehow involved with?

The man Warren clearly doesn’t trust, when he thought I’d somehow been sent to spy for him.

The man whose truck Warren was tampering with when I pulled up to the shop.

I'm not blind. I saw him doing something, even if I couldn't quite figure out what.

Was there more than I’d realized behind that tired, gentlemanly fa?ade?

Had Dennis Bress gotten here ahead of me somehow, left this mess to scare Warren, and then taken off before anyone could catch him?

Why?

What the hell is going on underneath the portrait-pretty surface of this weird little town?

“Hay.”

Suddenly, Warren’s in front of me, his broad hands on my shoulders – and they’re gentler than I ever expected them to be, gripping just firmly enough to ground me and hold me steady with his warmth, his solidity.

For the next few seconds I'm in his thrall. I'm not even bothered when he calls me Hay, maybe because there's no Auntie tacked on at the front.

He bends toward me, enveloping me in the fire of his body heat as he leans in to catch my eye.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” he asks softly.

I swallow hard and jerk my gaze to his. “Wouldn’t you be, stranded in a strange town when something like this happens?”

“You’re not stranded. You can leave any time.” He smiles slightly. Not one of the smirky, cynical smiles I’ve seen before, but a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. Almost reassuring. “Hell, just go stay somewhere else. I know a few real nice folks around here who wouldn’t mind being an on-call AirBnB. They’ll keep you safe. Anywhere but here is safe.” He touches my cheek, then strokes his thumb along it, his callused skin rough against mine. “You’ll be fine as long as you stay away from me, Haley. I promise.”

His word shouldn't mean anything.

I stare up at him anyway, my breaths trembling. “Who the hell are you?” I whisper. “What is all this?”

“That’s not something you want to find out.” He looks at me a while longer, flame-blue eyes searching deep before his hands fall away and he straightens, pulling back. “Let me take photos for evidence in case we need them. Then I’ll get Flynn to clean this mess up. You and Tara can sleep at my place tonight, and I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow.”

I stare after him, biting my lip, while he trudges back up the steps. “Why do we need evidence if we’re not calling the cops?”

“No need to involve the police. Not yet,” he says, and that alone makes me worry even more.

Because even if he might not be the one who did this, it’s not hard to see he doesn’t want the law sniffing after whatever he’s doing in Heart’s Edge to bring this kind of warning to our doorsteps.

He turns, looking back at me. “It's my problem, not yours. I want to be prepared just in case.”

Just in case?

Just in case of what?

The question hovers on my tongue...but I’m too afraid to ask.

What the hell have I walked into?





*



It’s muted and strange as Tara and I retreat to our side of the cabin to get what we need together to stay with Warren.

Part of me can't believe I'm taking him up on his offer.

But a bigger part worries what'll happen to us if I don't.

If whatever psycho who left fake blood and feathers hits the wrong side of the duplex again – our side.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, I can hear Warren moving things. Hiding things, I instantly think, when he’d been so snarly over finding us in his place at all yesterday. He confuses me so much.

First, he says I have to stay away for my own protection.