Chapter 9
Zane
She broke down for several minutes, just sitting on the bed, sniffling with her hands over her face.
I sat down next to her, tempted to take her into my arms and console her, but I refrained.
“Why me?” she mumbled. “Why the hell me?”
That was enough to get me over my reluctance, and I pulled her close, caressing her back. “Let me help you.” I shouldn’t have used the same words as when I’d asked about her past and what she was running from, but they got out before I thought better of it.
“Why me? Why beat me up? Why the hell did somebody take my money and steal my bike? That bike wasn’t cheap. How do I get to work now?”
For weeks, I’d wanted to have Peyton in my arms, though of course under different circumstances. Continuing to stroke her back, I held her, unable to do anything but offer words of consolation. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she murmured against my chest.
I’d never been a cuddler, but holding this dear woman against me felt so natural, so right. Nobody deserved the shitty day she’d had, and Peyton needed to know somebody cared—that I cared.
“I did everything they said,” she lamented. “I painted it pink. I engraved my name and address on the frame. Nobody should want to steal a bike like that. That’s what they said.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “It’s not fair.”
All I could do was keep up the back massage while she vented. “I’ll drive you,” I offered the next time there was a pause in her monologue.
She sighed. “It’s nice of you to offer, but that’s not a solution, and you know it.”
“Peyton, why do you insist on being the hardest person in the world to do something nice for?”
“I’m not. It’s just that you have your own work and your own life to—”
“Stop it.” I kept up the back massage. “I’ll put Jordy on it. A lot of these guys put stolen bikes on Craigslist or wherever to sell them quickly. He’ll find it. Then I’ll pay the sucker a visit—teach him a lesson and get your bike back. Problem solved.”
“You think?”
“I do.” She felt so right in my arms, but I knew she could go into volcano mode at any moment. As the minutes rolled by without a complaint, I counted myself lucky.
Eventually, she composed herself and pushed away from me. “We can’t.” She sat up. “I needed that, but I refuse to be weak.” She carefully wiped under her eyes to keep from messing up her makeup.
I grabbed a tissue from the bedside box and offered it.
She took it, wiped her face, and stood. “Let’s go. I’m done wallowing. I’m not weak. That’s my quota for the month.”
Getting up as well, I smiled. “I know you’re not weak.”
She nodded. “Damned straight.”
“I think crying only shows you’re human. It’s kinda cute when you let your guard down.”
She grabbed a pillow and launched it at me. I didn’t duck in time, and it got me on the side of the head. I laughed anyway.
“Shut up and get out.”
“As soon as you’re packed, we can go.”
“For one night,” she clarified. “As soon as you get the door fixed, I’m coming back here. Nobody is chasing me away from my home. I’m stronger than that.”
“Are you afraid to be around me?” I put on my best I’m-hurt face.
She walked to the door. “I don’t scare that easily. Not after…”
I saw a thread to her past and pulled on it. “After what?”
She threw up her arms. “This whole thing. Out now.” She pointed down the hall. “So I can pack.”
I left her bedroom, convinced that something else in her past had scared her even worse than today. What are you hiding? “Pack for a week,” I said from the hallway. “Just in case.”
“No way.”
I returned and hung on the doorjamb. “I know what it is. You’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around me. That’s it, isn’t it?”
The answer was another pillow slung my way.
That one I avoided by swiveling out of the doorway.
“Shut up,” she repeated.
“I’m adding ‘cute when she’s upset’ to your list of qualities.”
Silence.
I walked down the hallway and announced, “In all seriousness, you’re not coming back here until I’m sure it’s safe.”
She followed me out into the hallway. “What do you mean, safe? You’re not my boss.”
“Lucas put me in charge of your safety.” It was a bit of a fib, but for her own good.
Defiant hands went to her hips. “He can’t do that.”
“Tell him. See how far it gets you.”
Her stance softened. “Why the sudden concern? Do you think this and the mugging are related?”
“Until we know more, it’s the safest assumption.”
“And I thought I was the paranoid one,” she mumbled, turning toward her room.
As I waited, the memory of how she’d felt against me didn’t dissipate the way it should have. No, holding her again was going to need to happen, and the next time I wouldn’t be behaving myself as I consoled her.
Less than a half hour later, Peyton had a bag packed, and she stood by the broken door of the condo. “I hope none of the neighbors tell the owners about this. I can’t afford to be kicked out.”
“Who lives in the other unit on this floor?”
“Just Frankie, but Mrs. Summerset sometimes comes down. She takes the stairs and walks each of the hallways for exercise.”
I opened the door to let her leave first and closed the door after us as best I could.
Peyton made a face, looking at the damage. “Do you have anything to eat at your place?”
“Of course.” I’d never appreciated cooking before going into the Navy, but after what seemed like thousands of MREs overseas, I’d changed my opinion. Proper food was a luxury.
On the drive over, she was quiet, looking out the window.
Staying in go-slow mode, I didn’t engage her in conversation, figuring she had some things to work through, and I was more likely than not to complicate that.
Asking about the past she was obviously running from was taboo, yet those questions were the ones I most wanted answered. How could I help if I didn’t understand the problem?
An incoming call sounded. It was from Jordy.
“Go ahead, take it,” she urged.
“It’s okay. I can call him back later.”
She tapped the accept call button on the screen. “Hi, Jordy,” she said in that same professional, call-answering voice I’d heard her use at her work dozens of times. “Zane is driving. What can we do you for?”
“Driving you crazy?”
“At the moment just driving.”
“Uh…Zane, you want to talk about that guy you asked me to check out?”
“Yeah. What did you find?”
“Frank has got an interesting history.”
“You’re checking up on my neighbors now?” Peyton’s voice shifted to serious annoyance, if not anger.
“Yes,” I answered. “I told you he seemed sketchy.”
“Why?” Peyton asked. “Because he said good morning to me?”
“Because he has access to the building and knows your schedule. And because he asked you to lunch, and then after you said no, he ended up outside the restaurant at lunchtime spying on you. That spells creep to me.”
She looked out the window. “It could have been a coincidence.”
“Just calling it the way I see it. Shoot, Jordy. Whatcha got?”
“Frank Fussenbach has a rap sheet. Two arrests for burglary. One was dropped, and he got a suspended sentence on the second.”
Peyton gasped. “Do you think he’s the one? I mean, the one who broke in?”
“Hold on,” Jordy interrupted. “That’s not all. He has—as in still active—two restraining orders filed by different women, and a lewd conduct arrest that hasn’t gone to trial yet. This guy is a real peach.”
“Is that it?” I asked, hoping for even more to show Peyton how creepy this guy was.
“No arrests, but he’s been suspected in another four burglaries. He was dropped as a suspect in each of those after investigation. It looks like the cops have him on a usual suspects list they always check out.”
“Thanks for the time.” Now I didn’t feel bad at all for having asked Jordy to look into the dipshit. When I ended the call, I looked over at my passenger.
“Oh.” Peyton looked out the window, not meeting my eyes or defending her neighbor after that info dump.