The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(12)

She wanted to stay there, wanted to hug the dog. Watch to make sure he ate and drank, but she hadn’t put her coat on in her haste to help the animal, and her fingers were quickly going numb.

Praying the dog would be okay, Carlise scooted backward. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? Please be okay. Please.”

Then she turned, tears in her eyes, and headed back inside.

It was silly, but Carlise couldn’t help but turn the lock on the door. It was highly unlikely anyone would show up at the cabin with the intent to do her or Riggs harm, but she was from the city, and locking her door was as natural as breathing.

Not to mention, Tommy could be out there. The chances of him knowing where she was or even getting to her when there was a raging blizzard outside, were slim to none, but old habits were hard to break. There was no way she was staying in any house without a locked door.

She made her way back to the fire, not hungry in the least. Her first concern was getting warm. She’d worry about everything else later.



“Where is she? The bitch must’ve left town. I know she did. She thinks she’s so fucking sneaky, but she’s wrong. She’ll never get away! I just have to be patient. I just have to wait. She’ll slip up. She’s too stupid not to. Not nearly as smart as she thinks she is!”

The words were fast, bitter, as the pacing resumed, back and forth, over and over—and Carlise’s phone went straight to voice mail. Again.

“You think you can hide from me? I’m going to find you—and you’ll regret everything!”

Ideas. Plans. Plans on how to find Carlise . . . beginning to form. The bitch would get a few more days to show herself, then alternative plans would have to be made.

And if that happened, Carlise would suffer so much worse than she had already.

“I’ll find you. There’s nowhere you can go to get away from me!” This time, the words were firm, angry, and spoken without any doubt whatsoever.





Chapter Three


“No! Bob, duck! Shit, it’s gonna blow!”

Carlise sighed and rolled off the couch, standing slowly in a tired daze.

It was late—or early, depending on how she looked at it. Pitch black outside, sometime after midnight during her third evening in the cabin. And since that first night, Riggs’s illness had only gotten worse.

Throughout today, he’d seemed delirious from his fever, mumbling frequently in his sleep. She was certain now that he’d already been sick before going out into the storm, but being out there in the cold couldn’t have done him any favors.

The night she’d arrived—after taking care of the dog, changing into a pair of sweats she’d found in the dresser, and warming up by the fire—she’d tried to wake him, but he’d been completely zonked on the couch. It felt weird to be in a stranger’s house. She wasn’t even sure if he remembered she was there. Hungry, Carlise had fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She let Riggs sleep for another hour, then tried to wake him again.

He roused enough to shuffle to the bathroom, then fell facedown on the bed in the corner of the room. Not knowing what else to do, Carlise had covered him up with another of the many soft and fluffy blankets sitting neatly around the cabin.

Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch. She woke up several times throughout the night to hear the wind howling outside the windows. Hearing the storm made her even more thankful that Riggs, and the dog, had found her.

Yesterday, Carlise had spent most of her time trying to get Riggs to eat and drink something, encouraging him to swallow some Tylenol, helping him to the bathroom, and attempting to befriend the dog who was still hunkered down in the blankets on the front porch. Once more, she’d slept on the couch, startling awake with every little sound outside and from the man on the bed.

It was almost surreal that two days ago she’d nearly died, and now she was living in a stranger’s house, taking care of him while he tossed and turned with a fever.

She’d been sleeping in fits again this evening, waking up because she was in a strange place, because of the storm . . . because she wanted to check on Riggs. She didn’t know him, hadn’t talked to him much at all, but for some reason, she felt responsible for his well-being.

And, oddly, she was drawn to the man.

It was probably because he’d rescued her, and she felt extremely grateful. Of course, there was also the fact that he was gorgeous. She wasn’t the kind of woman who chose a man solely based on how he looked, but she couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. But then again, Tommy was a good-looking man too, and he’d turned out to be an abusive asshole.

There was no telling what kind of personality Riggs had, since he hadn’t been conscious for most of the time she’d known him. He could be just like Tommy. Could be the kind of man who took advantage of a woman who needed a safe, warm place to hunker down in a storm . . . when he wasn’t passed out from the flu.

But deep down, she didn’t think he was. Even when he was sick and about to pass out, he’d told her to help herself to his clothes and food. He’d been worried about her going back out into the storm. That small glimpse of concern was . . . encouraging.

The cabin was also very tidy. Which she supposed might not mean much, but the fact that he wasn’t a slob and could clean up after himself indicated he didn’t need a woman to do such things. She thought back to Tommy yet again and shook her head. He didn’t like to do anything around the house, insisting that, since she worked from home, she should clean the place and have dinner waiting when he got off work.