10. Protective Fury #3
His jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead, he exuded an aura of control. His silence was a fortress, and Iris felt the tremors of fear snake through her. But, she forced down the fear, and pushed forward.
"I have a right to know," Iris insisted, her tone firm, though it quivered at the edges.
Her eyes, pools of deep brown, sought out the piercing blue of his, pleading with him to listen to her.
"Please, Nash. You're scaring me. You call and demand my hospital room go into lockdown.
You didn't even let my doctor in. Then, you burst in and fly around the room like a hurricane, throwing everything into a duffel.
Kicking Daisy out." Her words rise with each one.
She felt like her emotions were jumping all over the place.
"Then, you tell me Sarah is dead, but nothing else.
Just whisked me away from the hospital with no medical care or anything. "
His eyes flickered with something, and she went in for the kill. "Tell me! I deserve to know. What does Sarah's death have to do with me? Was it an overdose? Or something else?"
The words 'please' and 'scaring' lingered between them, charged with a vulnerability that even Nash couldn't ignore. She knew it, and that's why she used them. A muscle twitched in his jaw as resignation briefly clouded his usually impenetrable gaze.
"Sarah..." His voice had an aggressive undertone that immediately put her on high alert.
"She didn't overdose. She was killed. Murdered.
" The finality of those words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of what her life had become.
It felt as if she was in a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from.
Her whole body was in pain, something she had never experienced before. Her life had not been a violent one, and now her attacker turned up dead. What had her life turned into?
"Someone is tying up loose ends," Nash continued, his brief explanation carrying an undercurrent of fury. Whoever was after her now was not only relentless, but efficient. Knowing what someone out there wanted her dead enough to drug and then kill Sarah, chilled Iris to the core.
"And Sarah was a loose end, nothing more than that to him," he concluded with a terse finality, his eyes returning to stare straight ahead, leaving Iris to grapple with the weight of his words.
"Him?" Iris whispered out. "You know it's a man?" If she hadn't been watching his profile so carefully, she would have missed the clenching of his jaw.
"Call it an educated guess," he grunted. "The scene, the position of the body, and the weapon of choice lead me to think it's a man."
Iris shook her head, horrified. Suspecting that Nash had some criminal ties was one thing. But it was an entirely different thing from knowing he was familiar enough with dead bodies that he could make predictions of the murderers just by how they left the body.
Unbidden, the picture of Sarah laying dead on a hospital bed flashed in from if her eyes.
An echo of Nash's words cutting through her.
The sickening churn of her stomach twisted into knots as the image of Sarah—lifeless, cold—invaded her thoughts completely.
Her hand flew to her mouth, fingers trembling against her lips as if to stifle the scream that threatened to break free.
The world outside blurred until nothing but gray was left as her mind reeled, the past colliding violently with the present. Desperate for peace, she blinked rapidly, dispelling the ghostly visions that clung to her. She wasn't used to things like this.
Wanting a distraction, any distraction, Iris changed the topic.
"Where...where are we going?" Iris whispered, her voice brittle.
Nash's gaze did not waver from the seat in front of him. But somehow, she could still feel the weight of his focus, as if assessing her for something. "To my family's home in the Hamptons," he said, the words rolling off his tongue with calculated precision. "You always liked it there."
Her head skipped. She loved that house. She really did. The few times they went on vacation, there were some of the happiest moments of their relationship. The ocean was calming, the sun warm, and Nash normally only worked half days while they were there.
With a smile, she recalled walking hand in hand down the sandy beach on several occasions. Rambling on and on while Nash just listened. She snorted, embarrassed now by her own obsession. He was probably so bored, pandering to her romantic longings.
"It's comfortable, secluded—a fortress by any standard." He glanced at her then, the intensity of his bright blue eyes piercing through her. "It's the safest place for you now, while you're still recovering. I can lock it down and keep you safe."
His assurance did little to stem the tide of unease that swelled within her. He wasn't taking her to the house because she loves it. No, instead he is taking her there because, for some reason, someone is trying to kill her. And she needs a place to hide away.
After suffering such a vicious attack, his promise of safety felt as tenuous at best. Yet, Iris felt a wave of longing.
She loved the house, and leaving the city felt like a breath of fresh air.
She knew that Nash's beach house was always her refuge—a place to mend, to focus. And now, it's where she'll recover.
"And what about my doctor? The care I need?" Her words, though softly spoken, cut through the silence in the car. The two guards in the front seat never made a peep. It was as if Nash and she were the only two in the car.
Nash's jaw set, his profile locked into stoic determination.
She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed slightly—an almost imperceptible sign of the tightly reined aggression that always simmered beneath his surface.
"I called ahead," he said, his voice low and resolute.
"Before retrieving you from the hospital, I made sure to have detailed instructions on how to care for you. "
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, producing a folded sheet of paper that crinkled sharply in the quiet interior. Ren handed the paper to her with deliberate care, his fingers brushing against hers—a fleeting touch that spoke volumes.
"Your recovery is my top priority." There was an edge to his tone, a fierce protectiveness that bordered on obsession.
"I have made all the arrangements. Should there be even the slightest sign of a relapse...
" He paused, the muscles in his neck tensing.
He cracked his neck before he turned to face her fully.
"My helicopter stands ready to transport us to any medical facility required.
You don't need to worry about this. I am going to take care of you, I swear. "
Drawing her gaze into the depths of his own, Nash's eyes blazed with a fervor that heated up the interior of the vehicle. They were twin pools of blue fire, burning with an intensity that Iris found impossible to turn away from.
"Understand this," he continued, each word enunciated with precision. "I will take care of you." The air between them vibrated with the force of his words.
She could do nothing but nod her head. She knew he was telling the truth. He would take care of her. Whether or not she liked it.