Chapter 5
Chapter Five
A t the end of a long day, Hunt pulled up in front of the converted warehouse in South Beach.
Vander had gutted the inside of the brick warehouse and renovated it.
The bottom level was parking for the company’s fleet of cars, a well-equipped gym, and some holding rooms. The main level was open plan, with glass-walled offices.
The upper level, with a roof terrace, was Vander and Brynn’s loft.
Hunt pressed the buzzer at the front door, then scraped a hand down his face. Disrupted sleep, the coffee shop shooting, followed by a day where it felt like every one of his cases had hit a snag, had left him running on fumes.
He’d texted Savannah to check on her earlier.
How are you doing?
Who is this?
You know who it is. You doing okay?
How did you get my number?
I’m a cop, remember?
There’d been a long pause.
Isn’t it against the law to just access someone’s number?
No.
It should be. I’m okay. I’m painting. You okay?
Not the first time I’ve been shot at.
She’d sent him a shocked-face emoji.
The door clicked open in front of him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He strode into the Norcross Security offices.
Inside was all metal and glass, with a strong industrial vibe. Most people had left for the day, but he followed the murmur of voices into the domain of Norcross Security’s tech guru.
Screens covered all the walls, and three men were taking up most of the space. Ace Oliveira sat in a chair in front of the desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. He was tall and lean, with his long, black hair tied in a ponytail. The ex-NSA Red Team hacker didn’t look like a geek.
Vander stood beside him, eyeing the screens, more relaxed than Hunt had ever seen the former Ghost Ops commander. Vander had been one of the best of the best of special forces. He’d run the covert team for years, doing some of the toughest missions in the hardest places in the world.
But he’d known when to get out, before the hard, dangerous work eroded too much of his soul, or killed him.
Now, he ran Norcross Security, doing his bit to keep the streets of San Francisco safe.
There was no doubt that Hunt and Vander butted heads on a semi-regular basis, and Hunt had to clean up after the Norcross men occasionally, but Vander was Hunt’s friend.
He knew Vander was a good man, and did good work.
And now that Vander had fallen in love with Brynn, he’d seen that his cousin had soothed some parts of Vander’s scarred soul.
The remaining man looked up and smiled at Hunt.
Okay, it wasn’t exactly a smile, just a lift of the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, big brother,” the man said.
“Camden,” Hunt said.
His brother’s green eyes were watchful and flat.
He had a newly healed scar that ran down his cheek, and that alert, still-in-combat aura to him.
Hunt kept his face blank. It would fade.
He knew, because he’d looked the same when he’d first gotten out of Delta.
His brother was surrounded by family and friends, good people. He’d be fine.
“Now, why would one of San Francisco’s finest be gracing us with his presence?” Ace drawled. The tech man lifted an apple and bit into it.
“Hi, Ace. How’s Maggie?”
The man smiled. “Gorgeous, and very pregnant. I’m enjoying the ride that is pregnancy hormones.”
Ace had gotten tangled up with Norcross’ helicopter pilot, and gotten her pregnant in the process. After a bumpy courtship, they were both happily engaged and waiting for the arrival of their baby.
“How can we help, Hunt?” Vander asked.
Hunt stuck his hands into his pockets. He’d had a niggle at the back of his neck ever since he’d dropped a shaken Savannah back at her place. He could see that she was chewing on something about the shooting. She’d been shaken that others could’ve been hurt or killed.
He suspected she knew something.
If she was in danger, he needed to know.
“I need Ace to run a search on my new neighbor.”
Cam’s brows went up. “Your smoking-hot, blonde neighbor? The one you called dibs on?”
Hunt shot him a bland look.
“Ryder called me,” Cam said, with a shrug.
“Savannah?” Vander asked.
Hunt nodded. “I ran a quick search. She’s clean. Too clean.”
Vander frowned. “You think she’s into something bad?”
“No. I think she has trouble and she’s running from something bad. “
“You ask her?”
“She clammed up. She’s housesitting, claims she’s not staying long. She moves around a lot.”
Vander crossed his arms over his chest. “She won’t thank you for digging into her past.”
“If it keeps her safe, I don’t care.”
Vander nodded.
Ace’s fingers were already dancing across the keyboard. “Name. Any details you have.”
“Savannah Cole.” Hunt repeated the details he’d uncovered about her.
Ace whistled. He had a picture of Savannah up. It was from her driver’s license, but she’d avoided the usual horrible photo thing and still looked fresh and beautiful.
Cam nodded. “I see the attraction.”
Hunt felt a shot of irritation at his brother’s admiring tone. He grunted.
“Cool it, bro, I know you called dibs.” A half-smile hit Cam’s lips.
“She’s clean.” Ace spun in his chair and smiled. “Her ID is also fake. But it’s a damn good fake. Her history goes back ten years. Savannah Cole, graphic designer, didn’t exist before that.”
Hunt sucked in a breath. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know. That will take more digging. Whoever set up Savannah Cole did a great job.”
“Can you find out who?” Vander asked.
“I can try.” Ace flexed his hands. “I’ll set up some searches, but then I need to head home to my baby mama.”
Hunt rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Call me if you find anything.”
Ace saluted.
Vander lifted his chin, and Cam clasped Hunt’s shoulder. “See you at Mom’s for lunch on Sunday.”
“Yeah.” Their mom liked to feed her boys as often as they’d let her.
Hunt drove home. As he passed, he saw that the Bean’s windows were boarded up. He’d checked on the man who’d been shot earlier, too. He was fine, and already discharged.
As Hunt pulled to a stop outside his place, he saw the light was on in Savannah’s bedroom. He wondered what she was working on.
As he walked upstairs, he turned on the lights and loosened his tie. It was nice to be home. He debated having a beer, versus going straight to bed.
Bed won.
He took a quick shower and pulled on some loose, gray sleep shorts. He dropped onto his bed, and watched the shadows dance on the ceiling.
A faint buzzing sound came through the wall. He frowned. The soundproofing in the townhouses wasn’t bad, but as proven by Savannah’s love for rock ‘n roll, sound still got through.
What the hell was the buzzing? Some artist’s tool?
Then realization hit him.
Savannah’s bedroom was just on the other side of the wall.
He heard a woman’s soft cries, and he stiffened. So did his cock.
Savannah was using a toy. And it had nothing to do with artwork.
Fuck.
He shoved the sheet off his overheated body. Another sweet cry and Hunt cursed again. He shoved his shorts down and took his cock in hand.
He imagined Savannah on the bed, his bed, her legs spread and blonde curls spilling everywhere. He tugged on his cock and his breathing sped up. Desire was like lightning down his spine.
Through the wall, he heard more moans and cries.
With a brutal grip, he jerked his cock harder, faster. Then he heard one distinct word.
“ Hunter .”
Shit . With another hard jerk, Hunt cursed and came, spilling on his gut. He groaned through the pleasure.
He lay there, spent, breathing heavily. Fuck .
It was the best orgasm he’d had in a long time.
There was no sound from next door, now. Shaking his head at just how worked up Savannah Cole had him, he headed to the bathroom to clean up.
He returned to his bed, back in his sleep shorts. Now music thumped from next-door. He rolled his eyes and plumped the pillow under his head. She couldn’t help herself. Thankfully, it wasn’t cranked quite as high as usual.
Strangely, he found it comforting.
Then he heard a loud thud. He frowned. There was another thud.
Like someone had knocked something over.
Another thud.
Hunt sat up. Then he heard another noise. A woman’s muffled scream, quickly cut off.
Fuck .
He snatched up his SIG and charged out of his room.
* * *
The man’s weight hit her again.
Savannah’s easel crashed to the floor. He was big, wearing all black clothes and a balaclava over his face.
They spun, knocked over a chair, and went down.
Her heart was racing. Fear and panic crashed together inside her like paint splashed on the floor. She hit the floorboards hard, the man on top of her.
Savannah grunted. “Leave me—”
Gloved hands clamped on her neck and squeezed.
No. No .
Adrenaline shot through her. She didn’t want to fucking die. She kicked her legs, her feet hammering on the floor. She’d fought so damn hard to stay alive and protect her family.
The man squeezed harder. The pain was horrible, she couldn’t breathe. She reached out, trying to grab something, anything, but there was nothing in reach.
Wait . She still had the paintbrush that she’d stuck in her hair earlier. She reached up, her lungs burning.
Her fingers closed on the well-worn wood, and she yanked it out. Black splotches appeared in her vision.
Dark eyes stared down at her, showing no emotion.
Fuck you . She rammed the end of the paintbrush at his eye.
He turned at the last minute, but she still clipped him.
He muttered a curse, and his hands loosened. Savannah drew a breath into her oxygen-starved lungs.
But the guy kept her pinned under his larger body. He recovered quickly, gripped her neck again, and rapped her head against the floor.
Savannah saw stars. Her consciousness wavered.
No . If she blacked out, she’d be dead.
Those strong fingers squeezed.
She thought of her mom and brother. I miss you so much. I love you.
She thought of Hunter. Of never having the chance to paint him, taste him, touch him. Hunter’s strong hands protected, they didn’t kill.
In the distance, she heard a crash.
Her attacker tensed.
Then she saw a flash of movement, and the man’s weight lifted off her.
Panicked, she sat up and scrambled backward. She touched her sore throat, sucking in short, sharp breaths.
Two men were wrestling on the floor—one wearing black clothes, and one in shorts with his broad back bare, just smooth bronze skin.
Hunt .
Savannah leaned back against the couch. Her heart hammered so hard against her chest she thought it would burst out. She was lightheaded, and she tried desperately not to pass out.
She heard the thuds of knuckles on flesh, and deep masculine grunts. The man in black jumped up. Hunt did as well, swiveled, and tripped the guy.
There were more grunts, then her attacker managed to get to his feet and ran. She saw him sprint down the stairs, slamming into the railing as he went.
A bare-chested Hunt ran after him.
Then she was alone.
Panic closed in. What if the attacker wasn’t alone? Her mouth went dry, her vision blurred.
She fought to slow her breathing. She couldn’t pass out.
She heard heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.
Panic burned like acid in her veins. She snatched some scissors off the coffee table and held them up.
Hunt appeared and headed straight for her.
When he reached her, she dropped the scissors. They clattered on the floor. She flew into his arms.
As his arms closed around her, she burrowed into him. She felt warm male skin, smelled Hunt.
He sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap.
God. God . She burrowed deeper, her face pressed against his neck. When was the last time someone had held her?
When was the last time someone had made her feel safe?
“He got away?” she asked shakily.
“He got away. He ran off into the night, and I didn’t want to leave you unprotected.”
She breathed in his skin. His hand curved around her hip and tightened.
“You get a look at him?”
“No. His face was covered.” She swallowed. Her throat was sore and her voice was hoarse. “He had dark eyes. He was big.”
Hunt grunted. “I need to call it in.”
She gripped onto him tighter. “Can you…do it in another minute?”
“Okay, baby.” He hugged her tighter and stroked a hand down her back. “You didn’t know him?”
Her stomach did its best to scrunch into a tiny knot.
Andrew Walkson, her stalker, was the same height as her. He had a slim build, but she’d learned that he was still strong. She knew very well that men were stronger, even when they didn’t have a big, muscular build.
It had not been Andrew Walkson choking her.
“I’ve no idea who that man was. It had to be a random attack, right? Some crazy?”
Hunt grunted. His hands stroked her back soothingly. Then he reached up and touched her collarbone. As he looked at her neck, she watched his face darken. Something dangerous moved through his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she assured him.
“No, you’re not. You need to go to the hospital.”
“No! No hospital.”
He frowned. “You want to tell me why?”
Because of the paperwork. A trail that Walkson could follow. Plus, she hated the hospital. She spent terrifying hours in one, after she’d survived Walkson’s attack.
“Because.”
“Savannah—”
She pressed a hand to his jaw. His stubble was rough under her fingers. “Hunter, please.”
He released a breath. “Fine, but I’m calling this in, then calling my brother.”
“The hot paramedic?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t notice or mention that first part.”
Despite the circumstances, she smiled. “I noticed his hot cop brother first.”
Hunt kissed her lips gently. “Good.”
Her heart squeezed. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, very loudly. She needed to run.
She needed to get away from here, from this man.
She listened as he called in the attack, then had a short conversation with his brother, who didn’t seem fazed about coming out in the middle of the night.
Every instinct told her to bolt and not look back.
But Savannah didn’t run. She didn’t move. Instead, she held on to Hunter and snuggled deeper into his big, strong body.
For now, just for a little while longer, she’d stay and absorb the sense of safety he generated. The sense of someone giving a shit about her.
Just for tonight.