Close To Danger (Westen #4)(62)
The guy that climbed out of the other side looked like an old-fashioned boxer—thick and compact. Definitely nothing like the man Chloe’d left with that afternoon.
They entered the building and a few minutes later the lights went on in her upstairs condo unit.
What were they doing in his woman’s home? He couldn’t help laughing. Would’ve liked to be a fly on the wall to see their reactions to the message he’d left the whore.
Removing his gloves, he unwrapped one of the tacos and took a bite. God, how did people exist on fast food? His palate was definitely too refined for this kind of food on a daily basis. But tonight he couldn’t be too picky. He hadn’t eaten all day, since all Chloe had in her house was frozen meals, spicy chips and salsa—and wine, way too much wine. And thanks to the weather not too many places had been open this late. So greasy tacos it was.
As he ate, he contemplated his options.
There were two maybe three possibilities of what would happen next. They’d already found evidence that someone had been in the condo. Do they leave? Do they call for Chloe to return? Do they call the police and wait for them to show?
If they elected the first option, he’d follow them. They might lead him to where Chloe might be hiding. If not, it might be useful to know where the sister lived. She might be useful as leverage or, yes, even a replacement.
If they called Chloe he’d be right here to see her reaction to the message he’d left in her apartment. She’d made him angry choosing that Neanderthal over him. She needed to be punished and brought to heel.
And if they called the police? Well, he’d leave. Not speed away the minute they arrived, but calmly down the street as if just driving by. Maybe he’d circle the block so he could slow down like an on-looker gawking at the police and whatever might be going on.
He smiled. Certainly no one would expect anything untoward about a Lincoln Navigator. The police would be looking for someone in an old beat-up sedan. Someone who would trash a home, not an upstanding citizen such as himself.
And as for forensics?
He glanced at the gloves lying in the passenger seat next to the bag of tacos. He’d worn them the entire time he’d been in her apartment. And DNA? He patted the pocket of his coat that contained the two pair of panties he’d orgasmed in. He’d had enough sense to bring those home with him. The one thing he’d left behind was her sheets and pillow cases on the bed.
His heartbeat gave a little jump.
Certainly no one would expect he’d actually slept there?
No, they’d think it was some punk who came in, trashed the place and disappeared. They wouldn’t find him. He was too smart for them.
That’s what attracted him to Chloe, her brain. He’d assumed she’d choose someone with the same intellect and interest in a superior life style. What did she do instead? She let her hormones overtake her and chose a muscle-bound ape.
A police car, a black SUV and a white van marked as Crime Scene Unit on the sides arrived. Two uniformed cops climbed out of the cruiser, while a man and woman in plain clothes exited the unmarked car. A team of two got out of the van and went to the back to collect what looked like tool boxes before all six headed for Chloe’s building.
Interesting.
He’d assumed only the uniformed cops would show up first. Whoever was inside had assessed the situation correctly and had enough pull to get the big guns up here quick. As much as he’d love to stay and watch all the drama, maybe even catch Chloe returning, it was risky to be seen sitting in a running car on such a cold winter night.
Wiping off his hands on a napkin, he scanned the area to be sure no one was actively watching him. He put the car in gear and drove half way down the block before turning on his headlights. A patient man, he’d wait for another day to teach Chloe to whom she belonged.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I’m much safer, here with you.
She’d said that, and snuggled up against Wes’s hard, warm body, Chloe knew it to be true. It felt right. Not just now, but from the moment he’d invaded her office yesterday. No, even before that. When she’d come to Westen last month for Bobby’s wedding.
From the moment she’d arrived in town, he’d irritated her both verbally and with his constant presence at her side. Yet, she’d relaxed enough not to spend every waking moment looking over her shoulder until she’d left to go back to Cincinnati. From that moment until she’d seen him standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows in her office, it had been as if she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him.
That he’d taken the precaution of looking after Dylan’s safety even before he came to be by her side, spoke volumes to the kind of man he was. Dependable, efficient, prepared.
God, she was making him sound like a boy scout. Which was so wrong, because despite all those qualities she’d just named, there was something dark and powerful inside him. Something that made her trust him to protect her, no matter what it took.
Was it the abandonment of his mother at such a young age? Was it being raised by his grandparents? Was it his military training? Or the secret missions he’d survived? It was a combination of all these things. Early on she’d learned that no one event can forge a person, but the series of events that make up a life. Her parents dying was one event. Bobby stepping up to raise her and Dylan, another. Fighting bullies in school, both physically as a kid and then verbally as she matured, were more instances of experiences and memories that shaped her.