Chapter 18 Rose
ROSE
Iwatched from the passenger seat of my SUV as the chaos unfolded around me.
Blue and red lights sparkled in the rain, bouncing off the trees, the cars, the brick house in front of me.
Andrew’s front yard was scattered with Berry Springs’ finest, both uniformed and plainclothes.
And then there was Phoenix, towering over all of them by at least four inches, somehow looking more menacing than those with guns and cuffs at their hips.
I watched his movements, the squared shoulders, tight jaw, steely look in his eye as he addressed the other men.
The guy had a confidence—an authority—that seemed as innate to him as breathing.
It was a side to him I hadn’t seen. Yet another layer to the complexity that was Phoenix Steele.
The man I watched was strong, efficient, capable.
The opposite of what his medical file read.
Even then, the side-long glances from the officers, the whispers when he turned his back, were obvious.
It was apparent everyone knew each other, as was common with most small towns, and it was also apparent that Phoenix didn’t give a crap about their continued glances at him. But I knew he’d noticed.
He’d tucked his gun into his boot before the first cop car had arrived.
I was worried that they’d frisk him, but they didn’t, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they didn’t want to face his wrath once they placed their hands on him.
Or, if they were simply scared of him, as so many people seemed to be.
Phoenix was a presence, there was no doubt about that. Someone known, whispered about, wondered about. Someone who commanded the room simply by walking into it.
Our eyes met again, and this time his gaze lingered.
My stomach tickled.
A line of worry drew across his brows and he dipped his chin—are you still okay?
Yes. I nodded back. Thanks to you.
Two uniforms lingered outside my door, unaware of my presence in the vehicle. I cracked the window and strained to listen.
“… fresh scratches on the back door lock indicate a break-in. Looks like something sharp did it. Probably a knife.”
“No deadbolt?”
“Nope, just a handle lock.”
“Guy probably used a credit card to pop it. Tracks?”
“A few faded boot prints in the mud, but for the most part, the rain washed everything away.”
“Anything missing from the house?”
“Loose power cords in the bedroom suggest a laptop was plugged in, possibly taken. Dresser doors were open, as if someone was looking for jewelry. We’re working on the assumption that the homeowner confronted the intruder and that’s when things got ugly.”
“Stabbed to death I heard?”
“Yep. Pretty messy.”
“Any sign of the knife?”
‘That’s the weird thing… the wound doesn’t appear to be from a knife. More like puncture wounds…”
A pair of knuckles rapped at my door, scaring the daylights out of me. I looked for Phoenix—my bodyguard—but he was gone. I rolled down the window.
“Miss Floris, can you please—”
“She already gave her statement.” Phoenix’s deep voice cut through the dark like a blade. Calm. Commanding. Unmistakably his.
He stepped from the shadows, and just like that, the air shifted.
“Mr. Steele.” The officer turned toward him—young, freshly pressed, and at least a foot shorter. A rookie, I guessed. “Good. I wanted to have a word with you, too.”
“I’ve already given my statement,” Phoenix replied, flatly. “To Chief McCord.”
“Who did you speak with?”
“Chief McCord,” he repeated, voice hardening.
“And you?” Willard leaned down toward my window.
Before I could speak, Phoenix was between us, nudging Willard out of the way and positioning himself in front of my window.
Incredibly—awkwardly—protective. Also, sexy as hell.
“Alright, guys…” Another voice broke in, smooth and calm.
“Detective Jagger,” Officer Willard muttered, clearly irritated by Phoenix.
“Willard,” Jagger nodded, all business. “I believe the press has already gotten wind of the incident on the mountain. Might want to coordinate the team.”
A second ticked by. I braced for a standoff, fully expecting someone to throw a punch.
But instead, Willard mumbled something under his breath and walked away.
Phoenix turned back to me, leaned down to my window. His voice was low. Fierce.
“Don’t roll this window down for anyone else. Do you understand me?”
I frowned. “But—”
“For no one. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for my answer before stepping aside with Jagger. They fell into quiet conversation. I noticed the way Phoenix’s posture eased around the detective—relaxed, almost familiar. He kept glancing at me, though. Like I was a magnet he couldn’t help checking on.
They were friends, clearly. Or something close. Good to know.
Then all heads turned toward the road as a white media van screeched to a stop at the end of the driveway. A petite blonde in designer heels jumped out, barking orders at her cameraman who struggled to keep up.
Before I could blink, my door opened and Phoenix slid behind the wheel.
The cab filled with the smell of him—fresh rain, warm skin, and something darker, like leather and adrenaline.
“Wait,” I whisper-hissed. “You’re not supposed to be driving. You’re going to get arrested.”
The engine roared to life as Detective Jagger—massive, broad-shouldered—stepped directly in front of the windshield, blocking the view like a human barricade.
Definitely friends.
Phoenix hit the gas, tires sliding slightly in the mud, and just like that, we were gone. The crowd, the cameras, the chaos—fading behind us in the rearview mirror.
Silence filled the cab.
Then—
“Talk.”
I flinched. “What? About what?”
“I want you to tell me everything you told the cops.”
“You were standing right there.”
“I want to hear it again. From the moment you found the bear on your bed, to the recorder Andrew said he found inside it. Everything. Just you and me.”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to repeat everything right now. I’m—”
The truck lurched to a stop, skidding several feet on the muddy road. My body pitched forward, caught only by the seatbelt.
“Someone broke into your goddamn house and was recording you, Rose!” His voice exploded, eyes wild and unfiltered. That same fury I’d seen in my office crackled beneath the surface.
My entire body went rigid.
“Calm down, Phoenix.”
“I will not calm down until you tell me everything again. And if you leave one single detail out, so help me—”
“Fine!”
We sat there on the side of the road, the cab tense with silence and rain tapping on the windshield.
I told him everything. Again. From the bear to the camera to the unshakable unease. He didn’t move. White-knuckled on the steering wheel, jaw tight enough I could hear his teeth grinding. His eyes never left the road. Maybe because if he looked at me, he’d explode.
When I finished, he said—
“And you have no idea who could’ve done it? Who broke into your house and planted a camera?”
“No.”
“You told the cops no one has keys to your place. Was that a lie?”
“No.”
“No one?”
“No. No one.”
He stared at me. Hard. Like he was trying to see something I wasn’t saying.
Then—
“Were you sleeping with Andrew?”
My neck snapped toward him. “What?”
He met my glare without flinching.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I snapped, “but no. Andrew and I weren’t sleeping together. And even if we were, what would that have to do with anything?”
“Just gathering the facts, sweetheart.”
There it was. Jerk Phoenix. Back in full form. Weirdly possessive. Unreasonably intrusive.
“First of all, don’t call me sweetheart. Second, if you slam the brakes like that again, I’ll personally ask Chief McCord to haul you away in cuffs.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“What?” he said, eyes narrowing. “Does that scare you? That I’ve spent time in jail?”
I held his gaze. Steady. “You don’t scare me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll have to work on that then.”
He slammed the gas. Mud splattered behind us as we shot forward, the tires gripping the road like the wheels had something to prove.
So did he.
And that was the problem. Somewhere between the shouting, the storm, and the way he’d practically thrown himself in front of my car window like a human shield, something in me shifted.
How could I be attracted to someone so gruff, so volatile, so completely out of bounds?
And yet—I was. Fiercely. Because beneath all the arrogance and raw power, he’d been protective.
Unapologetically so. Not in a performative, controlling way, but instinctive.
Like keeping me safe had moved to the top of his list without him even realizing it.
And I... liked it. Too much. Which made no sense.
He was a client. A man I was supposed to evaluate, not want to do very intimate things with.
I forced the thought down, shoved it hard into the corner of my mind and locked it away.
There could be no blurred lines. Not with Phoenix Steele.
“Did the cops find the recorder at the scene?” I asked after a beat of silence.
“No.”
“The bear?”
“No.”
I laughed a humorless laugh. “They don’t believe me. You saw how they looked at me as I told them what happened. Like I was freaking crazy. And even if they did believe me, they have a homicide to deal with and the last thing they’re going to worry about is some sicko watching me.”
“Jagg is going to personally search Andrew’s house before he leaves. If anything is there, he’ll find it.”
I laughed again, feeling like I was sliding off the rails.
“Then, what? The bear and recorder are going to get buried in some evidence box somewhere and I’ll never hear about it again.
I know how this stuff goes. I know how things slip through the system, trust me on that.
” The words seethed from my lips. He looked over at me, but I kept my eyes ahead.
The guy didn’t know a thing about me. About my past.
“They wouldn’t be buried in an evidence room, Rose, if they have something to do with a homicide.”
“What… what?”
He shook his head—like I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. “Rose, someone broke into your house and implanted a secret video camera. You take the thing to Andrew, and eight hours later, the recorder is gone and the kid is stabbed to death.”
“Stop, Phoenix.”
“Think about it, Rose. I believe you, and I don’t think this is some ironic home burglary.
I think whoever is stalking you didn’t want that recorder to be found.
They broke into Andrew’s to get it back, Andrew confronted him, and he killed Andrew and took the evidence, then staged it to look like a break-in. ”
“No.” I shook my head like a crazy woman. “No. You’re wrong. Who… how would anyone even know that I took it to Andrew? Even if the guy was watching me through the camera feed, it would have clicked off when I left the house and broke the internet connection.”
“Someone is obsessed with you, Rose. Stalking you. They know where you live, where you work.” He glanced in the rearview mirror.
“You think I was followed to the morgue this morning? No. I would have noticed.”
“Would you have?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
“How many cars were in Andrew’s driveway when we left?”
“What?”
“How many cars were in Andrew’s driveway when we left?”
“I don’t… I don’t—”
“Five. Two squad cars, an ambulance, and two trucks. Six, if you count the media van that had just pulled up.” He paused. “What was the color of the truck that parked directly in front of yours? The one that you stared at for an hour waiting for me?”
I blinked.
“You don’t know because you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
“Yes, I—”
“No you weren’t, Rose. Most people don’t, especially under duress.
When you were driving to the morgue this morning, you were stressed out.
From the rain, the bear, from separating your breakfast out by color, height, and weight.
” He slid me the side-eye, which I ignored.
“I’m one hundred percent confident a herd of wild buffalo could have been following you and you wouldn’t have noticed. ”
Everything was getting way too real, including the headache pounding between my ears.
He passed the turn that led to Shadow Mountain, where he lived.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Your house.”
“My house? No. No way.”
“Rose, I hate to spell this out for you, but it’s a good bet last night wasn’t the first time the sicko broke into your house.”
My stomach dropped. The idea that someone had been watching me before the bear—lurking, waiting—sent a bolt of panic through my chest. I scrubbed my hands over my face, then held them up, palms out.
“It’s too much,” I whispered. “Everything is just… too much. No. I don’t need you to come over. I’m fine. I can call Officer Willard—”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Handle what, exactly?”
“Someone needs to check your locks. Your windows. The property.”
“The property? You’re insane—”
“That’s right, sweetheart. I am crazy. And you’ll deal with this, and you’ll deal with me. Period.”
I stared at him, speechless. The nerve. The audacity. The sheer dominance of the man.
And still, despite everything—despite my better judgment, my training, my common sense—I felt myself yield.
Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the day. The dead bodies. The media. The fact that I hadn’t slept. But I didn’t argue. Because Phoenix Steele wasn’t asking. He was deciding.
And the most unprofessional part of all?
Somewhere in the chaos, I didn’t feel threatened.
I felt safe.
The man had decided I was his responsibility, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could say to change that.
And I found myself wondering… did he act like this with every woman?
Or was it just me?