Chapter 13
Thirteen
WALKER
Ihad a hard time believing that someone as easygoing as Sloane was annoyed because I hadn’t verbally shared my thanks for the pie she baked me.
She could be pissed off about a multitude of things. Sloane had reasons. But my instinct told me she was pissed off because I was close to the truth when I asked her who she was running from.
Sloane Harrow was scared of someone.
And that caused a low rage in my gut that set me on edge.
The first person she’d fled to at work was Aria. What were those two women hiding? How did I get Sloane to trust me enough to tell me? The damn woman was a constant source of distraction, but I knew how to compartmentalize, to focus on work when I needed to.
As soon as the end of her shift came around, however, I let Jock know I was leaving. My boss and Lachlan had agreed to the change in my hours so I could protect Sloane.
Lachlan had called me that day, in fact, to let me know he was close to nailing Hoffman to the wall. He’d found two women who were willing to come forward to press charges against him and was working on a third.
Sloane wasn’t in the housekeepers’ locker room. Only the quiet housekeeper, Sarah McCulloch, was there, sitting on the bench typing on her phone. She glanced up at my entrance and dropped her gaze almost immediately.
Agitated by Sloane’s absence, I turned to leave when she spoke up. “Are you looking for Sloane?”
I turned back. Sarah still stared at her phone, giving me her delicate profile. It was the first time I’d heard her voice, I realized. “Aye. Have you seen her?”
She nodded, without turning my way. “She said to tell you she’s waiting at your car.”
That she wouldn’t look at me made me wonder if Sarah was afraid of me. Sometimes people were wary of me because of my size. And I wasn’t exactly Mr. Smiley.
It bothered me, especially when it was a woman, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about my height or my personality. Besides, from what I’d observed, Sarah seemed shy around almost everyone. “Right. Thanks, Sarah.”
She looked up at me, surprise on her face. Shocked I knew her name? I was taken aback to notice she was attractive. The woman made a concentrated effort to be invisible, and it worked most of the time. “Y-you’re welcome, Mr. Ironside.”
“Call me Walker.” I gave her a nod and turned to go find Sloane.
Sure enough, she leaned against my Range Rover, texting.
“Callie?” I asked.
Sloane looked up, those gorgeous dark eyes filled with wariness. Now that truly pissed me off. She should know by now she’s safe with me. If my prodding this morning annoyed her, that was one thing … but that it had put her guard up around me was another.
“What?” She stuffed her phone into her back pocket.
“Is Callie texting you?”
“No.”
I unlocked the vehicle and Sloane jumped in without another word. Gritting my teeth, I got in beside her and waited for her to say something else.
Nothing.
She clipped her seat belt and stared out the window.
I wanted to reach across the distance between us and trace the curve of her jaw.
Instead, I turned on the engine and fisted the steering wheel against the urge to touch her.
Usually, like her daughter, Sloane filled the silence with her soft voice.
She’d tell me about her baking or pepper me with questions.
Sloane never seemed bothered by my short answers, seeming to understand where others didn’t that it was just the way I was.
It wasn’t my way of getting people to shut up.
Most folks thought it was. That I was rude.
It didn’t bother me. I didn’t have time for most people.
But I had time for Sloane.
Talk to me.
“Who was it?” I blurted, needing her voice to fill the emptiness.
“Huh?” She glanced at me with a frown.
“Who were you texting?” I meant it as a casual question, but it came out almost interrogative.
Sloane hesitated for a second. Then, “It was a guy on a dating app.”
Sloane was dating.
It shouldn’t bother me. I should consider it a good thing. She was moving on from whatever infatuation she had with me.
And yet the very thought of this faceless fucking guy touching her made me want to knock him senseless.
Or fuck Sloane senseless.
Keeping my face coldly impassive, I nodded as we approached the gates of the estate. “Have you arranged a date?”
Sloane didn’t answer as the guys at the gate let us out with a wave. As soon as we hit the road toward the village, she replied, “No. We’ve just started talking, but if we had, you’re not stopping me from going on a date. I think we’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”
“We’re taking precautions. If you’d tell me what you’re running from, I’d know what to look out for, and we could plan your safety accordingly.”
Silence.
Fuck.
“Sloane … you can trust me.” I glanced at her, and she gave me an apologetic curl of her lips.
“There’s nothing. Just Hoffman.”
Liar.
Disappointed and pissed off, I didn’t speak again as we made our way to her cottage.
We drove in a thick, icy silence that didn’t sit right between us, and I slowed as we came onto Castle Street, adhering to the twenty miles per hour speed limit.
A quick glance at Sloane told me she was determinedly staring out the passenger window.
Her fingers knotted together on her lap, though. Tension radiated from her. I hated it.
A sigh escaped me as I looked to my right as we passed her cottage. I indicated to pull over to park, but something drew my eye to her door.
What the hell?
“Stay in the car,” I ordered as I cut the engine.
“Why? What’s going on?” Sloane glanced around in fright.
“Just stay there.” I got out and shut the door behind me, gently, trying not to freak her out even more. Blood rushed in my ears as I strode toward her front door.
“Fuck.” Worry and dread filled me as I observed the surrounding street, searching for a threat.
Then I heard the car door slam, and I turned as Sloane rounded the bonnet. I bit out a curse as she marched toward me. Her eyes flew to the door and she stumbled to a stop.
Those pretty cheeks paled.
And I wanted to kill whoever had nailed a dead rat to her door.
“Is that a …?” Her hand covered her mouth in shock.
“A rat.” Gut churning, I stepped toward her. “So … who did you rat on?”
Understanding widened her eyes, and her hand dropped. Her lips parted in realization and then pursed with fury. Without answering me, she pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and, with trembling fingers, swiped at the screen.
A few seconds later, holding it to her ear, she said, “Did you hear from your dad yet?”
Annoyed and impatient that I didn’t know whom she was talking to, I waited with my back toward the door, hiding the dead rat from sight.
If it was possible, Sloane’s cheeks grew even paler. “He’s out?” She ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Where is he? Does he know? … I need to, Aria … because there’s a dead rat hanging on my front door!”
Aria Howard.
“Okay … yeah … please … thank you. Bye.” She hung up. Then shrugged in exhaustion. “If you help me get rid of the rat before Callie comes home from tae kwon do, I’ll tell you everything.”
I’d help her get rid of the rat without the information, but I needed to know who was trying to scare her. And once I found the perpetrator, I was going to make sure the very thought of terrorizing another woman made them piss themselves with fear of my reprisal.