What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(57)

The people who lived in this area didn’t have mansions or elegant stables. These were working farms where men wore coveralls and rubber boots and the women had never once attended a Kentucky Derby party.

“When you said the house was in a rural area, you really meant rural,” he said.

She made the last turn onto the tree-lined drive that led to her grandparents’ home.

“We already went through the last town of any size,” she said, wincing as they hit a pothole that should have been fixed two years ago. “The next town is forty miles north of here.”

His gaze narrowed as she halted in front of the white clapboard house with green shutters. The roof was sharply peaked with a dormer window above the covered porch. At the far end was a red brick chimney that was starting to crumble. Yet another item on her to-do list.

“You stay out here alone?” Griff abruptly demanded.

“Not very often,” she told him. “The last year I’ve been spending most of my nights in a motel room. Before that I was in college finishing my masters in journalism and a couple years traveling to the different prisons to do the interviews for my book.”

His tension seemed to ease. “Why do you keep it?”

She wrinkled her nose. It was a question she’d asked herself a hundred times.

Maybe a thousand.

“Because letting it go would be admitting my grandparents are never coming back,” she confessed.

She sensed Griff stiffen at her blunt honesty. As if she’d struck a nerve.

“I get that,” he breathed, his gaze moving over the untamed meadows that were coated in a thin layer of ice. The temperature had steadily fallen as they’d driven north. “It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. It was beautiful. But more importantly, it was home.

The place where she’d always been loved. And protected.

That made it worth a lot more money than the family mansion on the edge of Louisville.

“Peaceful,” she murmured.

“Yes.”

She parked and switched off the engine. Then together they slid out of the truck and headed toward the house. They’d just stepped onto the front porch when Griff reached out to lightly touch her shoulder.

“Stop,” he murmured, his gaze locked behind her.

She turned to glance toward the road that continued past the house.

“What’s wrong?”

He pointed toward the deep ruts she could see carved into the mud. The low hedge that framed the yard had hidden them from view when they’d first pulled up. Now that they were standing on the porch, it was easy to see that someone had pulled onto the soft shoulder directly in front of the house.

“It looks like someone got stuck,” Griff said.

Unease crawled over her skin, like a spider scurrying over its web.

“It’s not that unusual,” she said, trying not to push the panic button. She’d seen ruts before, right? It didn’t mean there was a bogeyman lurking in the shadows. “The roads are terrible.”

Griff scowled. “Do you have mail delivery?”

She shook her head. “No. I have a PO box. And most of my professional correspondence is sent to my PR firm in New York.”

He stepped to the edge of the porch. “Where does the road go?”

“It comes to a dead end at the old stables just past the barn,” she told him, pointing toward the clump of trees that hid the outbuildings from view.

His jaw tightened. “So there’s no reason for anyone to be out here.”

She shivered even as she tried to ignore the dark dread spreading through her heart.

“It could have been one of the neighbors,” she said, trying to reassure herself as well as Griff.

He sent her a sharp glance. “Why would they be here?”

“My family has owned this property for over a century. And everyone loved my grandparents.” She nodded toward the house. “Since people know I spend a lot of time traveling they come by and check the property for me.”

Clearly unimpressed with her logic, Griff held out his hand.

“Give me your keys,” he commanded.

Carmen took a sharp step back. She had grudgingly accepted that she needed help. And that Griff was the person she wanted at her side.

But she wasn’t going to be patted on the head and set in the corner like she was some empty-headed doll.

“It’s my house,” she said.

His expression hardened into stubborn lines. “I check it out first, or we call the local cops to do it.”

She suspected her expression was equally stubborn. “We go together.”

“Carmen.”

“I promise to huddle behind you like a good girl,” she told him.

His brows snapped together. “I want to keep you safe.”

She knew that. Griff Archer was truly one of the good guys. But that didn’t stop her from feeling a pang of annoyance at his patronizing tone.

“I can protect myself,” she informed him.

“Not if someone has a gun.”

She snorted. “Like you could dodge a bullet?”

He leaned toward her, allowing her to catch the warm scent of his skin.

“No one is trying to kill me,” he growled.

She rocked onto her tiptoes, touching the ends of their noses together.