Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(31)
The pizza.
Sean grabbed the box from the back and shoved open his door.
“Wait.” He jogged up the sidewalk with the box in hand. “Your leftovers.”
“Oh. Thanks, I forgot.”
She looked up at him, and he had his second chance. He gazed down at those mesmerizing eyes of hers.
She yelped and jumped back.
Sean glanced down to see a mangy black cat glaring up at him.
“Oh, my God, you scared me!”
“Who’s this?”
“This is Midnight.” She turned and unlocked the door, and the cat darted inside. “He’s not even my cat.”
“Better tell him that.”
“Midnight, come here.”
She stepped inside.
Sean followed. “Want me to put this in the kitchen?”
“Sure, that’s—” She gasped and halted.
Sean bumped into her and caught her elbow. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. She stood motionless, staring at her living room. It looked the same as last time he’d been in here—a tight space furnished with a sofa, an armchair, and a coffee table. In the center of the table was a beer bottle.
“Brooke, what is it?”
Without a word, she strode across the room and snatched up the bottle.
Sean closed the front door and followed her into the kitchen, where she stood at the sink pouring the beer down the drain. She opened a lower cabinet and dropped the bottle into the trash.
Sean set down the pizza box. He leaned back against the counter and watched her. She had her back to him. Tension radiated from her body, flowing directly to his.
“Brooke?” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.
She turned around. “My ex was here. That was his calling card.”
“He was here while you were gone? Without your permission?”
“Apparently.” She looked at Sean and sighed. “Just . . . drop it, okay?”
“Are you fucking serious? That’s breaking and entering.”
“Not if he used a key.”
She crossed the kitchen and went through the utility room to the back door. Sean followed her, watching as she stepped outside and crouched down to run her hand over the metal downspout near the steps.
“What are you doing?”
“I keep a hide-a-key back here.” She stood up with a small plastic box that had a magnet attached. She slid it open.
Empty.
Brooke muttered a curse. Then she strode back into the kitchen. Sean locked the door—for all the good it did—and joined her by the sink.
“Brooke—”
“Don’t say it. Obviously, I need to get my locks changed.”
Sean leaned against the counter, struggling to get a grip on his temper.
“I didn’t realize he knew about my key.”
Sean stared at her. He hated the apologetic look in her eyes. “Who is this guy?”
She shook her head.
“You should slap a restraining order on him.”
She snorted. “No.”
“I can help you get it done.”
“Forget it.”
“Like hell I’m gonna forget it. He’s fucking threatening you in your own home.”
She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath.
Yoga breathing.
Like that was going to help her deal with this asshole. Sean clenched his teeth, trying to rein in his temper.
“I don’t want to get into this right now,” she said calmly.
“Looks to me like you don’t have a choice.”
Sean wanted her to talk to him. He wanted to help, but he didn’t have any information. “Who is he, Brooke?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Does he have a criminal record?”
“No.”
“Is he violent?”
“No.”
It was only a nanosecond of hesitation, but Sean caught it. God damn it. Fury swelled in his chest.
He stepped closer, but she ducked around him. “I could use a drink. Would you like a glass of wine?” She selected a bottle of red from a rack on the counter and then took out a corkscrew. Sean wanted to do it for her, but she seemed to need something to do with her hands, so he stood back and watched as she uncorked the bottle.
He opened a few cabinets and found some glasses.
“When did you break up?”
She took a deep breath and poured the wine. “Four months ago.”
Four months.
About the time he’d started hanging out with her. She’d seemed guarded when they’d first met.
She still seemed guarded.
She handed Sean a glass, then leaned back against the counter and looked at him.
“I can help you file a report.”
“There’s nothing to report.”
“Brooke, come on.”
“He didn’t break in here. And he’s not violent, he’s just . . . controlling. And he’s having a hard time letting go.”
“You need to slap an RO on him.”
“Oh, yeah? Because those work so well all the time?”
She was right. They didn’t always work. In fact, Sean had handled more than one murder-suicide case where a freshly issued restraining order was found at the crime scene. Brooke had probably seen the same.