16. Rhett
16
RHETT
S tepping into Sloane’s apartment, I’m slapped with a familiar sense of deja vu because Sloane is glaring daggers at me. Although, it seems that the promise of death in her eyes is more centered on Shep than me.
He does tend to cause that kind of reaction in women. In Sloane especially. He can be charming when he wants, so that begs the question, what has he done now?
Shepard winks at her, licking his sly smile, and I imagine he hasn’t done anything worse than I was inclined to do this morning when I was here.
Or the things I’ve been thinking about doing to her all day. It’s not the time to let my thoughts slide in that direction.
Something wicked and violent flickers in her dark blue eyes. I’m glad she doesn’t have something sharp on her.
Shaking my head, I hand the bag with a new doorknob and high security deadbolt strike plate for the wall to the boss. It’s a massive upgrade to the flimsy door lock and deadbolt previously installed. But it’s not going to give her but a few extra seconds when someone wants in.
No match for people with underground networks through the US Navy.
No match for an angry ex with a smartphone full of how-to videos or who’s angry enough to put his boot to the door.
I already knew this place wasn’t safe when I pulled up outside it yesterday.
My hands clench before I look at Sloane again. Her arms are crossed, and her eyes are darker. Sadder. Overwhelmed. In shock. She needs some sleep.
Safety.
Shep approaches, sniffing the air like he’s a hound dog. “Are there any leftovers?”
I spot the takeout bag on the counter—from a local Mexican diner around the corner. Three sets of dishes are drying on a towel. There’s little left out of place, but she has fewer boxes than she did this morning.
“There’s some rice.” She follows him as he peeks in the empty bag.
He’s distracting her from the boss pulling prints from the door, from dismantling the lock, trying to keep his big body between her and the entrance, but it doesn’t fully work. Sloane eyes Cole, and I slip past them into the kitchen, checking the window above the sink. It’s painted closed. No surprise, but not an easy way inside.
It’s locked, but the glass would be easy enough to break.
The door’s easier. Even with the new upgrade.
“I don’t have enough food for the likes of you. If you’re hungry, go eat somewhere else.” A gentler version of get out of my apartment than I expected from her.
Sloane follows my movements as I lean to check the window by the table. Painted closed. Locked. A good ladder would make it easy to breach, but the door remains the easiest way in or out.
“But I’m feeling left out. You’ve fed Hastings, and now, the boss. I’ll take a midnight snack later.” He lets his voice go low and rough. Not fooling anyone. Least of all, Sloane.
I swear, steam is escaping from her ears.
He’s grinning at her reaction, poking her on purpose. Anger is easier to deal with than tears.
Silently, I make it to her bedroom door and take a peek inside.
Reese blinks at me from under a bulky blanket on the full-sized bed. She gives me a small wave as I step inside. The glow from outside highlights the lighter tones in her hair and makes her look like a cherub—big eyes, chubby cheeks, a cupid’s bow mouth. Pure innocence.
I wave back at her, unable to help my small smile. Given what I’ve discovered about their lives, Reese seems pretty happy and well-adjusted. I put my finger to my lips, and she nods.
The room is as bare as the living room is. No dresser. Two open duffle bags with clothes, some toys and books for Reese on top of an upturned box beside the bed.
I cringe inside at where the bed likely came from. I hope she checked it for bed bugs.
Walking over to the window, I peer outside. The view showcases a small pathway between buildings, the other brick structure mere feet away. A lot of neutral stone and weeds. No fire escape. The window is painted shut.
Still, I check that the window is locked before I turn back to Reese. She’s watching my movements, and I catch that small flash of fear in her brows. It’s the same look her mother’s hiding.
“You’re safe. Get some sleep.”
Reese keeps my gaze for a few seconds, and I see that curious, dogged intelligence in her already.
Another nod has her curling up on her side as I slip out of the room and close the door softly behind me. I’m glad she seems to trust me.
Sloane, however, stands in the middle of her apartment with her hands on her hips. She’s been standing off with the boss again, but it doesn’t keep her from pegging me as I come out of her bedroom.
“You guys cannot just invade my life like this.” The crack in her voice means the shock is wearing off. So is her carefully maintained facade.
Everything in me screams to go wrap her up in my arms and hold her until she feels safe enough to get some rest. But I stay in place, waiting her out.
“We’re going to do worse than invade your life. We’re taking over until the threat is neutralized.” Boss is firm, and it’s hard to argue with him when he’s like this, especially when he’s testing the new door handle he’s just installed.
He closes the door and locks it, and I’m waiting for the wave of authority to hit. To make her flinch. But she doesn’t. She squares off with him as he turns to meet her gaze.
Their silent stare off lasts longer than I’ve seen in a while.
Too bad Boss is the king of quiet. He can stew in it for hours without breaking. I’ve seen him do it to more than a handful of suspects we’ve questioned over the years.
Neither of them backs down, but Sloane does turn back toward her bedroom where her daughter is sleeping, and she meets my gaze.
I nod. Her daughter is fine. Finally sleeping, or close to it now.
She’s a brave little girl.
Sloane’s hands drop, and she stomps in silent frustration. Eyes closing, she takes a deep breath. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t plan my entire life while I’m in there.”
It takes her less than a minute to grab clothes from her room and disappear into the bathroom.
Boss wipes his mouth with his hand, the only tell that he’s feeling anything. And most of it seems to be worry. He’s worried about Sloane.
“Find a place near the base where we can move them.”
He’s staring after that door, thinking of ways to convince her that we know how to handle a situation like this. That she should trust us.
“She is not going to be happy about that,” Jack prompts.
“Not in the least bit,” I agree.
“Yeah. No shit. Find one anyway.” He moves through the apartment, checking every wall, every lingering box, every corner and cupboard, even the freezer and the trash. There’s nothing here.
Not much to go through. Nothing to find.
So, he must be wondering what we’re all wondering.
What were they looking for? What did they think she had? Were they looking for her?
Fury and fear mingle in my guts.
What if they’d found her here? If it were just her and Reese? What if we weren’t able to get to her in time?
Not the thoughts I want to be plagued with, so I do as Cole orders. I make some calls in search of a safe house, or at least a safer location.
Because I can’t fathom anything happening to them.
The shower shuts off, and we three all turn toward the door. We’re in trouble where she’s concerned. Big trouble.