Chapter 10
Emma feltlike she was going to burst from all the emotions swirling inside. She was grateful for Blaze’s stoic, hulking, seriously badass presence as they walked the one hundred feet between the Dawg and the Sutton Building. She was also embarrassed that she’d caved into his suggestion he accompany her. Ashamed at the relief that had clawed its way up her throat when he insisted.
It shouldn’t be so damned difficult to walk down the street in laidback Sutton’s Creek, a town she’d grown up in and never felt a moment’s concern for her safety.
Well, not until she’d been in the Gas-n-Go a few days ago. But, technically, the station wasn’t in the town limits, so she could still say she’d never been scared for her life in Sutton’s Creek. She’d walked to the Dawg so walking home again shouldn’t be so difficult. Of course it had still been daylight then, and that wasn’t quite as scary.
If she hadn’t had that moment at the bar when she’d felt a chill, she wouldn’t have accepted Blaze’s offer. Maybe she shouldn’t have anyway. Simon hadn’t been there. If he had been, she’d have seen him. The Dawg hadn’t been that crowded, and she’d had a clear line of sight around the entire space.
“Is that one of your ancestors?” Blaze tipped his head toward the statue across the street. The town square was lined with shops, offices, and places to eat. At the center was a small park with a fountain where a man stood tall in bronze, gazing out at the town with benevolent pride.
“Yes, that’s Jacob Sutton. He founded the town in 1830 after moving from Mooresville, which is about eight miles northwest. I guess he had a falling out with someone over there and decided to make a town more suited to his liking. It grew and flourished for a few decades before the Civil War, then spent a lot of years just getting by. And now it’s waiting to be swallowed up as Huntsville expands.”
“Seems to be thriving, though. The Dawg is always packed, and there are stores and restaurants on the square that get a lot of traffic. It’s got that small-town charm that people look for.”
“Is that what brought you and your friends here?”
She wouldn’t have thought small-town charm was high on his list, but then again he lived in her family’s building, and it was full of old features. Just because he was a badass didn’t mean he couldn’t like original crown molding and aged wood floors.
They reached the front door of the building and stopped on the sidewalk. They could have gone out the back of the Dawg, but Blaze had said there were too many cars in the parking lot and led her to the front door instead. She hadn’t argued.
He gazed down at her. Her heart did that skip thing it usually did whenever he was near. She wished everything were different. That she could step into him, put a palm on his cheek, and kiss him. Not that she’d ever been the kind of girl who made the first move. She thought about it and froze. Every time.
She wished she was more courageous, like Rory.
Rory wasn’t afraid of anything. Never had been. Not even diabetes. That had made her angry.
“We were looking for a place to start our own business. Checked out a site in Mississippi and another in Tennessee, but we felt like we’d do better here. Property was the right price and, like you said, Huntsville’s growing.”
She glanced at the door. “If you want to go back to your friends, I think I can go the rest of the way by myself.”
He tugged the door open. “Not how this service works, Emma. I take you to your door and wait for you to go inside. Only then do I leave.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Like I said before, you’re a nice guy.”
His answering grin made her stomach tighten. “I’m honest and loyal. If that makes me nice, then I can deal with it.”
They started toward the wooden staircase that led up to the second floor. The stairs were old, made of polished American oak that had darkened with years of wax. There were subtle grooves worn in the treads from generations of people climbing them.
The stairs were wide enough to climb side by side. There was a freight elevator in the rear of the building, but it was old and the last person who could work on it had passed away last year. It was hard to get parts, hard to find anyone who knew how to repair an antique.
Fortunately, since the stairs were so wide, it wouldn’t be difficult to get furniture up to her apartment. All she had now was a card table and chairs and a folding mattress her parents had given her.
She hadn’t told them she’d left everything behind in Chicago. They assumed she was expecting a shipment, but she wasn’t. She’d sold it all. What she couldn’t sell, she’d given away.
She didn’t want anything that reminded her of her life there.
Emma’s heart thrummed a little faster when they reached the top. She hadn’t been to the gym regularly in months, and she was feeling it. She needed to start running again. Maybe she would when she was settled in. There was a treadmill in the office downstairs, or she could buy one of her own.
Blaze eyed her, but she didn’t stop to catch her breath. Maybe she should have, but how embarrassing was that? She was thirty-four, and one set of stairs threatened to do her in.
She walked down the hall toward her door. Blaze was behind her. Since they’d come in from the front entrance, her apartment was first. She reached into her jacket for her keys, then plowed to a stop in front of the tall wood door, her heart lodging in her throat.
Was the door open?
Blaze pushed her back against the wall, his expression serious. Her stomach dropped. She turned to look at her door again. She hadn’t been wrong. A slice of pale light filtered through the slim crack where the door stood ajar.
“Stay here,” Blaze murmured.
She nodded, though part of her wanted to wrap her fists in his shirt and beg him not to leave her alone. But it made sense for him to go inside and see if anyone was there.
If Simon was there.
Blaze drew a weapon from behind his back, shoved the door open, and disappeared in a cloud of silence. Emma flattened herself against the wall. She couldn’t hear anything past the rush of blood in her ears. She strained for any sounds that would tell her what was happening, turning her head right and left, peering down the hall in both directions. If someone was there—if he was there—what would she do?
A few moments later, Blaze appeared in the entry. “It’s clear. Nobody inside.”
The gun was gone. He had his phone instead, and he was busy tapping away on it.
Emma let out a slow breath. Her heartbeat didn’t calm, though. “Maybe I didn’t tug it closed well enough. It’s an old building.”
She’d pulled the door closed, held it tight, and locked it. She remembered that. Then she’d tested the knob. Nothing had happened. But maybe the wood swelled, or contracted, and the lock slipped. Anything was possible in an old building. She knew that from the house she’d grown up in.
“Do you really think that’s true?” he asked, his sky-blue eyes searching hers as he slipped his phone in his pocket.
She shook her head. Her natural impulse tilted toward keeping her cards close to her chest, but for some reason she felt like she could admit the truth to Blaze.
“Here’s how I see it, Emma. If you remember closing and locking the door, there’s a slim chance you’re wrong and it popped open on its own. But considering what you’ve told me about that prickly feeling you got earlier, we’re not going to assume that’s the case.”
“Do you think someone was inside?”
“Maybe.” He stepped out and pulled the door closed, took her keys from her hand, and locked it again. He did the same thing she’d done, tugging and pushing, and the door held. She thought he’d unlock it again, but he didn’t. He handed her the keys, put a gentle hand on her elbow, and guided her down the hallway toward his apartment.
She thought she should object when he unlocked the door and ushered her inside. She didn’t know him, not really, and he was a big man capable of violence.
She’d seen the violence, though it had been in service to her, Britney, and Clarence.
You can trust him.
It came from deep within, but how could she believe it when she didn’t trust herself?
She thought of her father saying he felt like Blaze was a good man. John Sutton was one of the best judges of character she’d ever known. Growing up, she remembered times when he treated people who couldn’t pay him. He took baked goods, crafts, labor, and many other things she hadn’t understood.
He’d never been wrong about any of those people, even when he treated them first. They always showed up with payment.
Emma let out her breath and stood quietly as Blaze unlocked his door. He pushed it open and motioned her inside.
She crossed the threshold, not certain what to expect. The apartment wasn’t as bare as hers, but it was pretty bare. There was a couch and chair, an end table, and a round table with four chairs in the adjoining dining area. Of course there was a big TV on a console.
“Have a seat. Can I get you a water or a beer? Afraid I don’t have any wine.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m good. Thank you.”
She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked over to the couch and sat on the edge. Perched, really. She bounced her knees up and down and worked to hold back any tears. She told herself they were angry, frustrated tears—and they were—but they were also brought on by fear.
He didn’t sit. Instead, he lifted his phone and put it to his ear. “Yeah? Okay, thanks.” He dropped it on the table and raked a hand through his hair.
She couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his arm flexed and rolled.
“I had my friends check out the surrounding area. They didn’t see anyone suspicious.”
“He wouldn’t look suspicious,” Emma said. Simon had always been proud of his ability to blend and look inconspicuous. He’d bragged about it more than once. To scare her, she’d realized later.
He’d succeeded.
Blaze dragged a chair away from the dining table and turned it around, straddled it with the back to his front. Now why was that sexy?
“Can you tell me about him? Give me a picture? Knowing his name and description could help us find him.”
Emma blinked rapidly, then pulled her gaze away from his. “Why do you believe me? What if I’m a drama queen and all this”—she waved her hand around—“is to get your attention.”
“Is it?”
She whipped her gaze back to him. He’d lifted one eyebrow in question. Heat flooded her. “No, it’s not.”
“Okay then. You gonna tell me what I need to know, or do you plan to keep worrying about this guy?”