Close To Danger (Westen #4)(56)
Wes loosened his hold on her, knowing she needed to pace, now that she’d gotten her tears under control. She sprang to her feet and started across the room in her long-legged stride most runway models would envy.
“And the destruction of my property and invasion of my privacy isn’t the worst part. You know what is?” she asked as she pivoted one-hundred and eighty degrees, pointing a finger at him.
“What?” he asked, scooping up their impromptu dessert picnic from the floor in front of the fireplace, clearing a space for her to stalk to the opposite side of the cabin.
“This jerk scared Dylan.”
“That’s what has you angry?” He set the tray of snack ingredients on the counter, then started cleaning up their dinner dishes. “I promise you Bulldog will keep her safe.”
She grabbed a dishtowel and started drying the dishes as he rinsed them off. “It’s not that. I have no doubt your friend will protect her. It’s just that when my parents died, she was so frightened. It took Bobby and me years to convince her that she wasn’t going to be taken away to an orphanage.”
“She’s not a little girl anymore, counselor. She’s a grown woman who sews people back together. Takes a certain amount of courage to do that. Courage you and your sister obviously gave her.” Turning, he handed her the steak platter, but didn’t let go when she took it. Instead he stared into her dark eyes.
“I know. It’s just she was, and always will be, my little sister. I don’t want her scared even if her fear is for me. And I hate that this creep caused that.” She gave a little tug and an I-understand-what-you’re-saying look.
He released the platter, and started in on the silverware. “This is actually a good thing.”
She paused placing the platter up on the open shelf and gave him a you-can’t-be-serious look. “How in the world can someone breaking into my home, destroying my things, and scaring my sister be a good thing?”
“Think about it,” he said, handing her the clean knives and forks. “We have a list of possible people that could be your stalker, but no real evidence.”
She dried the cutlery and put them in the drawers. “And you think this scumbag left some at my place?”
“Maybe fingerprints. Maybe DNA.”
She held up her hand and visibly shivered. “Please. I don’t even want to think what kind he might’ve left.”
Wes let the dishwater out the drain, dried his hands and turned off the kitchen light. Taking her elbow, he steered her back to the sofa, turning off the lights as he went. Finally seated in front of the fire, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her in close.
“Don’t think about what he might have done to get us the DNA. Let’s just let the police gather what evidence they can, then we’ll be able to go after the son-of-a-bitch.”
She snuggled close a minute, but Wes could almost hear the wheels in her brain turning.
“If we’d called the police when my tires were slashed, they might’ve gotten him before he broke into my house. Maybe you should’ve just taken me home then.”
So the asshole could’ve attacked her there?
The possibility shook him and he tightened his hold on her a moment, then relaxed. “No. That was a savage, angry attack on your car. Taking you home where he obviously planned to continue his game would’ve been the worst option.”
“We didn’t know that at the time. Maybe having the police look at my car would’ve scared him off?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think he hung around to watch you deal with the tires. He slashed them, then headed to your place. It gave him time to get inside your condo and wait for you.” Wes planted another kiss on the top of her head to ward off the anger surging through him. “You were better off leaving the area. You were safer with me.”
For a few moments she didn’t say anything, didn’t argue the point. Which, for Chloe, meant something. “I think you’re right. I’m much safer here with you.”
*
The only light in the room was the fire in the fireplace and the candles circling Isaac’s Army Ranger picture. Just like when they were kids and Dad would take them camping in the winter. A rabbit roasted on a spit in the fireplace, caught just like Dad taught them as kids. Survival wasn’t just for nice weather. He expected his kids, all his kids to survive in the woods.
Which made Isaac’s death in the jungle so tragic. Left on his own, Isaac could survive for weeks. He’d know how to find water, food—even if it was bugs and snakes. He would’ve made his own shelter. No one would’ve found him unless he wanted to be found.
So, whatever happened, however Isaac had died, it was all Wes Strong’s fault.
Tomorrow, he’d find out what it was like to be truly hunted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I appreciate you bringing Lexie over to the house, deputy,” Melissa Compton said as she held the backdoor to the halfway house open for Daniel to carry Lexie inside.
With the sleeping little girl snuggled in his arms, he carried her through the mudroom and stopped in the middle of the kitchen, admiring the space. “You’ve been busy.”
She smiled at him as she took off her coat and hung it on pegs by the back door. “You’ve been here before?”