Chapter 19
Alice
Sutton emerges, pistol in hand, poised to tackle an unknown threat. The door opening takes over all rational thought. I collide with the hard force coming out of a house for the second time tonight. He reacts quickly and catches me before I can fall back on my ass.
“Please don’t be mad.” I gulp in a ragged lungful of air. “I needed somewhere safe to go.”
The surprise on Sutton’s face morphs to rage the second he lays eyes on mine.
“Who did this?” His snarl is deadly, unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him before. He scans the space behind me with the tactical light attached to his gun. “If it was that fucker from the bar, I’ll kill him."
“Someone was in my house.” My pulse skyrockets again. I clutch the sides of his sweatshirt in tense fists. “I got hit with the door when they ran.”
Sutton loops his arm around my waist and drags me into his house, slamming and locking the door behind us. He rearms the security alarm and pins me to the wall at my back.
The foyer light flipping on nearly blinds me.
His throat bobs beneath his salt-and-pepper stubble, the sound of his swallow telling. His jaw tenses. Those blue assessing eyes roam my face, locking onto the bloody gash above my eyebrow. Palpable anger swells between us.
“That bad, huh?” I try to joke but end up flinching in pain.
“Don’t laugh.” He sounds so serious that tears prick my eyes. His gentle fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting for his inspection. The way he scans my face feels physical. The bruises throb beneath his steady stare. “Who did this?”
I try to laugh. To regain control. To find that sarcastic humor that usually insulates me through my struggles. A smothered sob croaks in my throat instead.
“Sutton, I’m scared.” My voice completely breaks beyond my control.
He holsters his gun and slides his palms up my neck, cradling either side of my head until I’m forced to meet his gaze head-on.
“I’m not,” he replies gently. “This is what I do, Firecracker, all day long, so leave it to me, okay? I’ve got you.”
My lips quiver, prompting me to bite them to keep them still.
“Jesus,” he murmurs. He coasts one hand up my neck to palm the back of my head. “Come here.”
I let him pull me into his chest, choking back tears.
My ear settles against his sternum. The steady thrum of his heartbeat slows my own.
The heavy weight of his arm wraps around my back like an anchor, and I melt into him, close my eyes, and breathe in his familiar scent.
When was the last time I was held like this?
I fight the urge to burrow my face against his warmth.
I don’t want to ruin his sweatshirt with my blood.
He shifts but doesn’t release his hold on me.
“It’s Sutton Stone. I’m off duty. I need units dispatched to a possible burglary.
” He rattles off my address. “Suspect fled on foot. Also, I need someone to come over to my house. Right. No, not me. It’s my nanny.
Send a medic too. She has a head wound. Seems superficial, but I’d like her checked out. Thanks, Sher.”
He pockets his phone and gingerly moves the hair away from my temple.
“Are you okay?” The strands atop my head move with his question.
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit, Alice. You sure as fuck aren’t fine.”
“I’ll be fine. Better when I can get cleaned up.”
“Come with me. I have a first-aid kit in my bathroom.”
Sutton leaves his arm around my waist, guiding me down the stairs to the bedrooms.
“Wait.” I stop us on the steps. “Is Nellie here?” The thought of scaring her with my condition prevents me from going farther.
“She’s at my mom’s.” Sutton watches me as if he’s ready to catch my fall. At his explanation, I resume our slog downstairs.
He turns us toward his bedroom, where there’s an en suite bath rather than the one he shares with his daughter. I’m too tired to protest.
“Wait here.” He disappears into the bathroom, and I drop tiredly onto his bed.
He returns seconds later with a rectangular first-aid kit, and two miniature fresh water bottles.
Concentration sets his jaw, and experience steadies his hands. He opens the first water bottle and pours it over a large square piece of gauze.
“Head wounds bleed a lot, but that doesn’t mean they’re severe.”
My spine remains rigid in anticipation. The sting is minimal as he swipes gently at my face. The gauze comes away brown. Sutton tosses it aside and repeats the process.
By the time he’s finished, there’s a large pile discarded at his feet, and my skin doesn’t feel so tight as I move it. He tapes a clean square over the cut.
“You’re going to bruise. I’ll have EMS determine if you need a stitch or not, but it’s stopped bleeding.”
“It’s good that I’m fantastic with a makeup brush.” I smile weakly. A shiver rolls through me as the adrenaline wanes.
Sutton frowns. “Are you done making jokes?”
A knock on the door interrupts my answer.
“Wait here. I’ll bring them down.”
The steady hum of voices is calming. These might just be professionals doing their jobs, Sutton included, but it makes me feel less alone.
Two paramedics and an officer enter the room behind Sutton. The medics run me through field tests while Sutton talks to his colleague.
“What’s the damage?” Sutton asks when they’re finished.
“You’re going to need someone to close that wound,” the young paramedic announces to the room as he replaces my gauze with a fresh piece.
“Can’t you do it?”
He laughs good-naturedly. “I’m sorry. That’s beyond my scope, and I’d rather not lose my job.”
I cut my gaze to Sutton. “Can you do it?”
“If I weren’t worried about a scar, I could. Because it’s you, we’ll be taking a trip to the emergency room.”
I blink tiredly at him. “Right now, I don’t care about a scar.”
“I do.”
“And you? I suppose that’s a no also?” I ask the officer.
He studiously avoids Sutton’s eyes. “I’m just here to take down your statement, ma’am.”
“I suppose that’s next.” I rub my cool palms up and down my bare arms.
Sutton swears. In one swift move, he reaches behind his neck and peels his hoodie over his head. Before I can blink, he gingerly slips the wide hole over my hair. Heat envelops me, immediately alleviating the chill. I shrink into the oversized fabric, burrowing into Sutton’s masculine scent.
“What can you tell me about tonight?”
“Not much. I got dropped off by my rideshare at the curb. I dropped my keys on accident when I reached the porch, and by the time I stood, someone came barreling out of my house and hit me in the face with the door.”
“Did you see this individual?”
“I really didn’t. It was dark and the blood…” I gesture to my face. “I’m sorry.”
The officer sighs. Sutton fixes him with an irritated glare.
“Do you have anyone who might want to bother you? Anything that might point to this not being random?”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
I don’t know what to say. The likelihood of this being connected to that podcaster doesn’t seem possible, but if there’s even the slightest chance, I need to tell him. It’s the only thing we have to go on.
Even if the potential consequences scare the hell out of me.
While this started as a convenient nanny job to earn some money while I settled into this town, it’s become so much more.
Nellie is such a bright spot in my day, and even Sutton…
Sutton and I are still figuring out how to get along, but he’s warming up to my quirks.
Being here has become more than just a job.
Feelings aside, at the end of the day, Sutton deserves to know if there’s a threat lurking around, and if I’m the reason it’s here.
Sutton tilts his head and softly asks, “What aren’t you telling me, Alice?”
I grip the center of the sweatshirt in my fist. “I’ve been receiving threats.”
“What kind of threats?” the officer pulls a notepad from his chest pocket.
“Continuous unlisted phone calls. A few text messages. I was stalked back in Arizona before I moved here. He sent me a box of pictures.”
“Pictures of what?”
I lick my lips. “Of myself. Outside my townhome.”
“From who?” The grit in Sutton’s voice sends my hair on end.
I startle. “His name is Jake Lanighan. He runs the True Crime Lies podcast.”
The officer jots down the new information. “Why is he contacting you?”
Shame swallows me whole. “He’s been trying to get me to speak about my brother’s case.”
“I’m going to need a copy of the phone numbers he’s used for the calls and text messages. When was the last time you saw him?”
“It would have been in Arizona.”
“Have you seen him since you moved?” Sutton asks sharply.
“No. I would have told you.” That’s the truth. The only reason I hadn’t yet was that the phone calls seemed more of a nuisance than an actual threat. The guy wanted me to speak on his podcast. I didn’t think he wanted me hurt. Even the damage tonight could be chalked up to an unpleasant accident.
He nods once.
“I’ll leave you two be. If you think of anything else, Alice, give me a call.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Sutton says to his colleague.
I give them time to talk, but as soon as I hear the door shut, I climb the stairs.
“Let’s get your head fixed up.” Sutton moves around the kitchen, throwing his wallet and cell into his pockets. He stops in the foyer with a jacket pulled halfway over his arms.
“Are you mad at me?” I hate the way my voice comes out small. And I really hate how I wish I could go back to the way he held me in his arms.
Sutton puts his hands on his hips, seeming to struggle. With his eyes, he traces the square of gauze over my eyebrow. “I’m something, but I’m not mad. Not at you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he rasps. The single word holds so much meaning I have no choice but to believe him.