7. Grace
Grace
I pulled into the parking spot in front of my building with a sigh and cut the engine.
In my rearview mirror, I watched Garrett’s black SUV park in one of the visitors’ spaces across the one-way road that looped the building complex.
The way he unfolded from the vehicle made my brain stutter.
Even from this distance, he radiated a raw, unmistakable power that was both terrifying and ridiculously sexy.
But he’d been so angry at Tristan’s this morning, which was also a little terrifying and not at all sexy.
Why did he care so much if I called him or someone else?
We’d only just met. Calling him would have been too.
.. intimate? Too presumptuous? I barely knew the man, and he was acting as if he were personally responsible for my safety.
Izzy had given me hugs. Lots of them. Tristan had even given me a couple. But Galahad? Garrett? He was clearly not the hugging type, which had been the kind of safety I’d needed.
I got out of my car and pointed to my balcony, the first one on the left, on the second floor. “That one’s mine.”
He was beside me in an instant, pulling my arm down. “Never do that.”
“Do what?” Obviously I wasn’t supposed to tell him where my apartment was, but why not?
He absorbed the building, the parking lot, and the trees separating the apartments from the houses in the neighborhood. “Do you live alone?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled the outer door open, following close behind me. “Pets?”
“No.” I moved through the vestibule, keenly aware of him inspecting everything—the camera in the corner, the mailboxes, the interior door I opened with a swipe from my keycard.
The foyer opened up before us, two stories high, with the staircase on the right.
I headed for the stairs, my mind racing ahead to the state of my apartment.
I’d left in such a hurry yesterday morning, it was definitely a disaster.
This was not going to be a positive first impression.
Well, third impression? The first impression at the café was fairly good, the second impression at Tristan’s wasn’t so much, but this one?
What would he think of me after seeing my home? Does that matter?
“Do you have an alarm?”
“No. There’s security on the building doors.” I waved vaguely behind me toward the main doors and hung a right at the top of the stairs, then dug in my purse for my keys.
“What about your balcony door? The one you just pointed out to me, for all the world to see?”
I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped, more nerves than humor. “You served with Tristan, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” His hand covered mine as I inserted the key, so big and warm, causing me to tense. “Let me go in first.”
I snapped my hand back, despite—or because of—the clench in my belly at his touch. “There’s no one in there.”
Even as I said it, memories from yesterday invaded my thoughts. Of the stranger pounding on the glass and him knowing about my trip. Of the tears I couldn’t stop when I arrived at Izzy’s. Of the wild dreams I’d had of my grandmother, the Russian man, and rivers of gold.
Before I could protest further, Garrett eased the door open, his body language shifting subtly. One second he was simply an overly serious, hunky guy; the next, he was clearly a trained assaulter.
He put out one arm, silently instructing me to stay put. With his other hand, he reached toward his hip, lifting his shirt slightly to pull a gun from a holster at his waistband.
My breath caught. A gun? What had he and Tristan talked about this morning? Did they genuinely think someone might be inside my apartment?
“Stay here,” he whispered.
“What?” My voice pitched higher than I’d intended. “Why?”
He motioned for me to be quiet and crept through the entryway with silent, precise steps, sweeping the gun down the wall, then around the corner. This man knew what he was doing, and the confidence in his movements was mesmerizing.
But completely uncalled for. There was no way someone had been here. Neither of the strangers from yesterday was hiding inside.
Surely?
“Garrett?” I said from the doorway, unable to keep the shake from my voice. “Is everything okay?”
Without facing me, he said, “This place is a disaster.”
“What?” I took an unsteady step forward, glancing into my open kitchen and to where he stood in the small dining area.
He gestured toward some clothes scattered on the floor, then at a dozen or so paperbacks, strewn about the room. “Is this what it normally looks like?”
Heat climbed up my cheeks. Yup, great third impression.
“Yeah, but no.” I forced a laugh, hurrying to pick up a blanket from the floor between the living and dining areas. “I was running behind yesterday morning. Fell asleep on the couch reading, woke up late, and tore through the place getting ready.”
After artfully draping the blanket over the end of the couch, I started straightening the books, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were all military romance novels with half-naked men on the covers.
This is so embarrassing.
I paused on the one next on my to-be-read list. The cover was mostly man-chest, but included the lower portion of his face. From what was visible, he looked a bit like Garrett. Broad chest, defined abs, short beard, maybe scars from his military days...
No, he looked like Galahad. A knight in shining armor, protecting his lady from?—
Stop it, Grace. Just stop.
I glanced up at Garrett, who furrowed his brows at me before continuing through the apartment. His T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders with every movement, making him resemble those book covers even more.
Oh my god, Grace, you have to stop it.
“What about that?” He nodded at the open kitchen cabinets. “Is that normal, too? It’s not a sign someone else has been here?”
“Like I said, I was running late.” I rushed over to close the cabinets. “I was going to make coffee but didn’t have time.”
He barely nodded and continued toward the sliding balcony door.
“I’m not normally like this.” What did I mean? That I wasn’t normally an awkward mess? A slob? And why did I feel the need to tell him that?
Because I was an awkward mess. I had a former operator stalking through my apartment with a gun, silently judging my habits, while all I could do was ogle him.
And the place looked like it had been ransacked.
I darted around after him, straightening things, gathering clothes, trying not to die of embarrassment.
I’d thought about hiring a cleaning service a year ago, but my mother had suggested a grown woman should be able to take care of twelve hundred square feet on her own.
She wasn’t wrong, but I worked long hours and didn’t care enough when I got home.
“I’m going to finish checking the other rooms.” Garrett was probably one of those guys who always put everything away in the same spot. Every time.
Work-Grace was like that. Home-Grace might have let things slide.
Not like I had a lot of visitors. My parents visited, Izzy came by, and a few other friends dropped in every once in a while, but none of those were people I needed to impress.
And there hadn’t been any men in my life for over a year.
You’re rambling, Grace.
To yourself!
I followed Garrett into the bedroom. At least the bed was made—score one for falling asleep on the couch.
He checked the window latches first. The way he moved was undeniably primal, as though he understood exactly what his body could do, and was constantly in complete control.
Maybe his reaction at Tristan’s hadn’t been an overreaction.
Maybe it was his training. Maybe he really had been concerned for my safety, not just angry that I hadn’t called him specifically.
“Do you honestly think someone would try to break in through a second-floor balcony or window?” I’d always thought living anywhere above ground level was safe.
“People will do almost anything when they want something badly enough.”
I took in a breath to retort or point out he hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary. That there was no boogeyman, no one hiding behind the shower curtain.
But the words died on my tongue.
My jewelry box was closed.
Garrett navigated around the edge of the bed, opened the closet with one hand, leaning one way, then the other, leading with the gun. All he found were some neatly hung clothes and a heap of dirty laundry.
“That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” He lifted his shirt, just enough to holster the weapon.
I should have been checking him out. Instead, I stood in front of my dresser, staring at the closed jewelry box which sat next to the photo of my older brother. “I’m sure I left this open yesterday morning.”
“You said you were rushing. Maybe you closed it without thinking.”
“No.” I put my hand on the lid, retracing my chaotic steps yesterday.
I’d run into the room, torn my favorite jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt from their hangers, grabbed a pair of earrings, and dashed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I’d hauled off clothes as I went, dropped an extra shirt that had come off the hanger with the one I wanted.
“I was in such a hurry, but I remember I didn’t close it. ”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Had someone been in here? Had they touched my things?
“Are you absolutely certain?”
The words sounded polite, but there was a heavy note of skepticism underneath them.
Of course there was. I had stuff littered all over my apartment.
How would a woman who couldn’t pick up after herself remember whether a jewelry box was open or closed?
I remembered because I always left it open. Always.
Although I could have been rushing so fast I knocked into the dresser, and closed it by accident?
“Does anything else seem off?” He came closer, his deep voice putting my senses on full alert.
I turned in a circle, scanning every part of my bedroom. If someone had been in here, they hadn’t left any trace.
Unless they’d known where to search.
Panic shot through me as I rushed for the closet, falling to my knees in front of the pile of laundry. I shoved clothes aside frantically, muttering, “Please be here, please be here.”
“What is it?”
My fingers landed on the cardboard box, and relief washed over me. I let out a long breath and leaned forward, touching my forehead to the box. It was still safe. I was imagining things. I must have closed the jewelry box yesterday.