The Broken Protector (Dark Hearts of Redhaven Book 1)

Every time my phone lights up with Delilah’s number, she’s already on my mind.

I’ve been a goddamned wreck all day.

Completely spaced, zoning out on my patrol, unfocused during meetings with my crew, during everything.

I just can’t stop flashing back to that wildfire—reliving that sweet, sweet moment when this bristling thing between us went off like an armed grenade.

Fuck me, when did I turn into nothing but a horny-ass goat?

I drop my face into my hand, then think better of it and replace my hand with my beer, slouching deep into the rocking chair on my front porch.

The late summer heat is baking today.

I was supposed to pick up an extra shift tonight—we still like to have at least one officer on night duty even if things are quiet. It’s usually peaceful enough, staying camped out with dispatch and trying not to fall asleep over a book or three.

But the captain took one look at me after I dragged myself in from a shift posted in the town square and told me in no uncertain terms to go the fuck home and get some rest.

No argument there.

Grant was right.

Uneventful night or not, I’d be fucking useless if something did crop up.

Hell, I’m useless as a knitted condom right now, spinning around in too many circles. Whacked out of my gourd with those buttery moans I forced out of her with every thrust.

Also, I’m still damn worried about Delilah.

I don’t think I hurt her.

I’m pretty sure we were on the same page, and she was right there with me in the storm, begging for it as much as I did in the heat of the moment. But there’s always that horrible instant when your body speaks louder than your brain, and after, when what you did truly sinks in.

When it hits, I can’t deny shit.

Not that I’d been trying all that hard, mostly just keeping it to myself. But there’s no hiding it any longer.

I’m tripping all over myself, falling face-first into that New York cactus.

I’d like to tell her that in person. Wish like hell I’d had the stones to ask her out on a real date, making sure she’s comfortable with me before we boned.

Making sure she truly felt the same way before I slammed her sweet ass over a desk in the wildest, hardest romp of my life.

That’s on me.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

I was the asshole who thought kissing her to stop her from jabbing me with those spikes was the most brilliant idea in the world.

Now, I’m wondering if it’s the dumbest fool thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Yes, she kissed me right back, nearly tore my frigging pants off.

But the look on her face, when she asked me to leave, that was something else.

Fuck.

The shock. The regret. The embarrassment. The questions etched into her face.

What have I done?

Is she sitting in that little blue cottage right now after working herself silly all day, still mulling over how stupid and crazy one man can be?

I can see her there alone with a beer—just like I am now—thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her till she ponders herself into a blinding headache.

I need her to be okay.

That’s all I care about.

That whatever reckless bastard thing we just did, slamming our way into passion, she’s not upset with herself in the end.

Let her be upset with me, sure.

I’ll take that in a heartbeat.

I’m starting to develop a pretty thick skin for cactus spikes.

Also, I’ve definitely got a thing for the way she pushed against me, clenched around me, begging my hips to give her more, more, more.

My cock twitches, drunk on what my brain can’t forget, when my phone lights up next to what’s left of a six-pack of Redhaven’s finest pilsner.

I don’t even let the ringtone blare for two seconds before I swipe it up and answer.

“Lilah, you okay?”

“Lucas! N-no,” she gasps out—and fuck me if I don’t notice this strong, proud, stubborn woman sounds like she’s crying. “Lucas… Lucas, you have to come now. There was someone outside my window. There’s another X and, and… and this time there’s blood.”

Ask me how I got to Delilah’s house and I couldn’t fucking tell you.

One second I’m at home, lounging on my porch with my blood turning to smoke as her trembling words echo in my ears.

Not quite processing anything when all I hear is Delilah’s in danger.

Next thing I know, I’m fishtailing my truck—my patrol car’s at the station—onto the curb outside her fence, just inches from tearing over the sidewalk.

My heart thunders. Icy beads of sweat form on my skin as I go tearing out of the truck and charge up her front steps.

She’s got all the lights on in the house.

I’m hoping she did what I remember telling her to—to lock all the doors and windows and arm the alarm system.

“Delilah!” I call, banging on the door. “It’s Lucas. Let me in.”

Soft, hesitant footsteps pad from inside, and then the faint beep of the alarm console, the click of the lock.

Then this fragile creature flies into my arms.

For such a small woman, she’s got power behind her.

I rock back as I catch her, then right myself and wrap her up tight in my arms.

“Shhh. Not one word,” I whisper, stroking her back. “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

“Am I?” She sobs against my chest. Her shoulders are shaking. “Lucas, I—I feel like I’m going insane. Why? Why would anyone do this?”

“Don’t know, Lilah, but I’m thinking they’re trying to scare you.” And the fact that it worked makes me furious. I keep my voice gentle, though, holding her so close, breathing her in like I need to convince myself she’s truly okay. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you, woman. I promise on my life.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispers. “I just… I feel like I’m being watched all the time, even when I’m alone and there can’t possibly be anyone around. I thought I was being paranoid and imagining it, but now…”

“That’s how stalkers work. They rattle you, make you think you’re nuts, and a lot of times it’s someone who knows you so well that they can do bullshit no one but you would notice.” Slowly, I weave my fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head. “You’re not crazy, Delilah. Not at fucking all.”

Sniffling, she tilts her head back, looking up at me with her starry eyes brimming with tears, her fingers clenched hard in the front of my shirt.

“Someone who knows me personally,” she gulps. “Like Roger?”

“Definitely a prime suspect.” I brush back a lock of her hair clinging to the dampness of tears on her cheeks, tucking the dark strand behind her ear. “Can you show me the X?”

“Y-yeah.”

But she’s so reluctant when she pulls away—and damn, I can’t stop myself.

I catch her hand in a bracing squeeze.

I let her know I’m here, dammit.

Right here beside her with every breath, every second, every step.

Delilah pulls up short, her gleaming eyes darting to me and her lips parted.

Then her hand curls against mine, gripping so tight as she leads me off the porch, around the side of the house.

There it is.

A slashing X formed in menacing hell-red.

I’m no expert in forensics, but I’d say it was drawn by the same fuck who painted the X on The Rookery.

Same nasty, domineering strokes, all done from the same height.

Same dramatic swoop and flourish.

Same angle, I think, done by some asshole about six foot one, standing roughly two and a half feet away.

Damn.

Six foot one.

Just like Roger Strunk, judging by the info I dredged up from his public records.

The wet gleam of it has dried, but even in the evening gloom I can tell it’s darker, more rusty and organic than the last X. Not the same bright artificial crimson of spray paint.

I squeeze Delilah’s hand firmly, then let go and hunker down into a crouch, leaning in to breathe, though I keep my distance so I don’t step on the crushed grass in front of the X.

Still close enough to get a good whiff.

It’s coppery, all right.

Kind of tinny, thin, meaty.

“Shit.” I drape an arm over my knee. “Yeah, I’d say that smells like blood. Doesn’t mean it’s human, though. Little chickenshit cowards who do stuff like this usually go for animals. Might even be something from the butcher shop, squeezed out of a fresh cut.”

“I tried not to touch anything so I wouldn’t disturb the crime scene,” she whispers. “But you’re sure it’s not human?”

“Can’t be one hundred percent positive till we run it through forensics.” I fish my phone out of my back pocket and line it up to start taking photos, snapping them between words with the flash on my camera bright. “But if it was human blood, whose blood would it be? We got no recent missing persons reports, nobody reporting any assaults. So it’d have to be the perp’s blood—or an out-of-towner we don’t know about. Factor in the psychology, too. Most stalkers are too coward to be murderers. So an animal’s more likely.”

Delilah releases a miserable, sad sound.

When I look up, she’s clutching her hand over her mouth. “God, that’s awful. Who kills animals just to threaten someone?”

I have a few ideas.

Right now, though, the asshole ex is looking pretty likely.

Ex.

X?

Huh.

I push myself up, throwing an arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “Let me call this in so we can get an official report and get started investigating. Then if you want me to, I’ll stay with you tonight.”

For a moment she goes stiff against my side—but then she relaxes, melting against me, turning her face to me till she’s practically hiding against my rib cage.

“Okay. Yeah, I think I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”

It takes me five minutes on the phone with the captain to explain the situation.

Ten more minutes and Grant pulls up with Henri like I didn’t just drag both of them out of bed. We probably should’ve called in Bowden, but he’d just make some excuse about taking a look in the morning.

He’s feeling his age, and if it’s after nine, the odds of getting him out to a crime scene are pretty slim.

The whole time, I keep Delilah glued to my side—and she doesn’t protest.

The captain and Henri take more photos. Henri throws up some crime scene tape in a neat square around the X and the crushed grass before swabbing the blood and sealing it away in a sample bottle.

I make sure they’re up to speed on Roger Strunk, including the NYC DMV photos we pulled along with the photos Delilah turned over, plus vehicle registration and plates.

Tall man, light-sandy-brown hair, a narrow face, shallow blue eyes. Drives a midnight-blue Mazda Miata, fairly new.

Right now, he’s our best suspect.

And the fact that it’s likely blood elevates it from a petty crime to stalking and harassment with intent to harm.

For a moment, I’m separated from Delilah as Grant pulls me aside, and we put our heads together for a low, muttered conversation.

“Should she be staying here tonight?” he asks. “I don’t feel good about it. At least not until we get the samples back from the lab and confirm if it’s blood or not.”

“If she wants to stay, I’ll stay with her,” I answer. “But I’ll see if I can talk her into crashing at my place or The Rookery.”

“Might be for the best.” He shakes his head, tugging at his beard, this little thing he does when he’s agitated. He wasn’t promoted to captain that long ago, but Grant doesn’t like this kind of disquiet in his town. “Been real damn busy in Redhaven lately. Ever since she showed up.”

I can’t help how I bristle. “She’s the victim here, Cap. Not the problem.”

“Not what I’m saying. Stand down, Lucas.” Grant gives me a grave look. “You know that old saying, trouble comes in threes? We’ve got a dead girl with an overdose, a new teacher being stalked by her ex… I just wonder what’s coming next.”

“Nothing, if I have my say,” I growl.

What if he’s right, though?

Right now, I’m thinking of another old saying.

The simplest solution is usually the right one.

The fact that all of this is happening now, after Delilah blew into town, can’t be unconnected.

We’re not looking at separate incidents.

Somehow, the fucking creepy crawler stalking Delilah is tied to Emma Santos. That could still make her ex a suspect.

If Strunk is deranged enough to use blood for a threat, he might just be deranged enough to kill a girl in cold blood and plant her body to scare Delilah into running back to NYC, where he has more access to her.

It’s not real likely when the criminal profiles between stalker and murderer normally don’t overlap. Especially when he’s doing this petty shit, but if he keeps escalating, that’s where that Venn diagram starts looking more like a circle.

Still, I can’t help thinking Delilah is dangerously close to being Montero’s type.

Dark hair, slender, curves for miles, long legs on a short frame made for sin.

Eyes full of stars, bursting with dreams.

Celeste was like that, too.

My sister wanted to be a singer, a Swiftie from the start, and always hoping to wind up on the big stage with pop stars like Milah Holly and Easterly Ribbon.

Montero promised to hook her up in the music industry.

What would he promise Delilah, to lure this butterfly into his spiderweb of unspeakable fuckery?

It’s already started.

That desk, the bracelet, the compliments.

Using that smarmy fuck Ulysses as bait to draw Delilah into the fold.

Ollie might be the one who gifted that desk, but I don’t doubt for a second that Montero magically made room in the school’s budget for it.

“Lucas.” Grant waves a hand in front of my face. “You still here?”

“Yeah,” I mutter grimly. “Tell you what, I want to get Montero Arrendell into interrogation and ask him some questions.”

Grant stares at me, his jaw clenched. “That’s unwise and you know it. Not unless you’re packing enough evidence for a warrant—real evidence. One word in Bowden’s ear and he’ll have you fired.”

“Don’t care, Cap.” Past Grant’s broad bulk, I watch Delilah lingering by her gate, staring blankly at the patrol car Grant and Henri arrived in. “I care about making sure no one hurts her.”

Grant snorts. “What? And you think Montero Arrendell is sneaking around in the middle of the night, peeping in girls’ windows and painting bloody warnings on their walls? Come on, man.”

“Not him,” I mutter. “But there are plenty of folks in this town that they own, and you know it.”

“Like our boss, you mean.” Grant gives me a long, measured look. “Just be careful, Graves. I know you’ve caught feelings for this girl, but don’t let any personal shit cloud your judgment. We can’t haul in Montero Arrendell on vapor. Only gonna say this once—find something ironclad or drop it.”

“Got it,” I snap.

He’s being fair, but the trouble is it might be too late for that.

Slowly, Henri and Grant clear out.

Henri promises he’ll stay on night patrol and do a few swings through the town until morning, just in case he catches anyone creeping around.

There’ve been a few neighbors peeping out their windows by now. The gossip factory’s going to be in overdrive by morning with crime tape roping off a square of Delilah’s lawn and flashing patrol cars rumbling up the street.

That’s a tomorrow problem, though.

Tonight, there’s just me and Delilah, and she’s locked up inside herself in this nervous little knot that makes me worry like hell.

“Hey.” I approach her slowly, no sudden moves, offering my hand. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll make some tea to settle your nerves.”

She chokes back a sound that’s almost a sob, scrubbing at one eye as she gives back a weak, tired smile. “It’s my house. I should be making you tea, mister.”

But she slips her hand into mine.

Her fingers are so cold.

I hold them tight—goddamned reverently—as I coax her to the porch and up inside the house. It’s looking neater than the last time I saw it with her stuff unpacked.

She’s chosen a minimalist style that makes the most of small spaces, turning the place homey.

“I ain’t the one who’s upset,” I point out, closing the door behind us and waiting for her to rearm the security system. “I’m just pissed.”

“But why?”

“Because some shithead’s trying to scare you. If I catch ’em, I’m afraid of what I might do, Miss Delilah.” I squeeze her hand again, guiding her over to her new sofa, this deep cushy thing in off-white linen. “Can’t say I like that too much.”

She drops down on the couch, staring at our clasped hands.

I sink down on one knee in front of her, searching her pale face.

“Do you fuss this much over every new girl in town? Or is it just the ones who show up with dead bodies and stalker exes?” she asks.

“Nah, just you.” I don’t even hesitate. Fuck, I’m smiling as my thumb grazes her knuckles. “Let me make you that tea. Then we’ll talk.”

She winces, her eyes darkening. “…oh, yeah. Right.”

“Not about that,” I snap off. “Well, hell, come to think of it, we should talk about that eventually, but only when you’re feeling better.” I give her hand another reassuring squeeze before I stand. “Be right back.”

Her eyes follow me almost desperately into the kitchen.

The kettle’s already on the stove. I get the water going and check cabinets till I find a pack of herbal chamomile tea bags and a couple mugs.

“Sugar?” I call.

“Just one teaspoon. Or some honey. They’re both in the pantry.”

“Got it.”

I don’t like how her voice sounds, small and thin, her usual fire gone.

It leaves her sounding gone, like she’s left her body and gone someplace where the real world can’t touch her. That makes me move faster, this desperate need to get back to her, even if there’s only a few feet and a wall between us.

I load up my own cup with sugar, drop one teaspoon in hers, pop in tea bags, and grab the kettle before it squeaks. No point in scaring her with that thing screeching like an angry cat.

Steaming tea in hand, I step back into the living room, passing her a mug before I set my own down on the table.

“Breathe it in.”

“Y-yeah.” She bows her head to the mug blankly, inhaling the steam, her shaky fingers cradling the blue-glazed ceramic so tight. When she looks up, her gaze is so vulnerable. “What did you want to talk about? I think I already told you everything about Roger, but I can try to remember more…”

“Not that. Fuck Roger,” I snarl, shaking my head. I settle on the couch and stretch, propping my arm on the back—offering her a place at my side. “Before we talk, I gotta ask—do you want to stay here tonight? Or do you want me to take you to The Rookery? Or even my place?” I half smile. “I’ll sleep on the couch. No charge for pillows this time.”

A tired smile flickers across her lips.

She looks at me slowly before she collapses against my side, kicking off her sandals and pulling her legs up against her side.

I try like hell not to notice the thin shorts they’re clad in tonight.

She’s a warm, soft bundle against me, so short she can’t pillow her head on my shoulder. Instead, she rests her temple to my chest, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder on my side.

“I’m a little scared to be here,” she whispers. “But not if you stay. Going anywhere else feels wrong, even if it might be the smart thing to do. It feels like running.”

“No shame in running sometimes. It’s survival instinct.” I hold in a sigh, letting my arm cradle her shoulders. “Hell, I wish my sister had cut and run. Maybe she’d still be here.”

Delilah’s brows knit together. She looks up at me from under her long lashes.

“Your sister? Is that who you were talking about, that thing about missing someone?”

“Yeah.” I hesitate. “You remember that?”

There’s that shaky smile again, there and gone in an instant. I wish I could make it stay.

“I listen to you more than you think, you lunk. Except when you’re pissing me off.”

“Will you listen to me now without getting pissed?”

She snorts softly. “You’re in luck. I don’t have the mental energy to lift my middle finger tonight.”

I chuckle, but damn my throat feels like I’ve got a noose inside, closing up my airways and choking off my voice.

Goddamn.

It’s been so many years, and it still rips me up inside to even think about talking through this.

Guess it’s a little easier with Delilah’s warmth curling into me.

“This is gonna sound crazy,” I force out. “But after I’ve said my piece, I think you’ll understand why I get such a goddamned stick up my ass about Ulysses Arrendell. Yeah, he’s a nice guy—a little too nice. I don’t know what the hell he knows or how complicit he is in the shit they do up in that house on the hill. That whole family’s rotten to the core. Trouble is, their roots in the town go so deep it’s almost impossible to cut them out. They own everything—and everyone.”

Delilah bites her lip, tapping her fingers against her mug as she takes a slow sip.

“So, what? It’s some toxic family thing where Ulysses is just caught up in the generational cycle? I’ve met a few people like that. Lived with a few like that. Most of my foster families were in the game for the social clout, bragging about how much they loved themselves for being so generous to a useless brat like me.”

My frown drags down my face.

I sure as hell hate hearing her talk about herself like that.

Makes me want to bust a few faces belonging to any assholes who made her feel that way once. Probably not my place to say it, though, so I just squeeze her shoulders tighter, curling my hand against her arm, taking pleasure in the quiet way she snuggles into my side.

“You’re not useless,” I say, sinking deeper into the sofa. “And it’s a little deeper than that whole family acting like they’re straight from a goddamned V.C. Andrews novel. It’s…” I pause, blowing out a sharp breath. “I don’t know where to fucking start.”

I’m surprised by the soft fingers in my hair at my temple—threading in, brushing it off my brow.

“How about at the beginning?” she says gently. “This is something that really hurts, isn’t it?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“It’s your eyes.” She looks up at me now, searching my eyes, her own blue gaze brimming with emotion. “It’s funny… you and Ulysses have almost the same eyes. This green like spring, like emerald. But where his green says nothing, yours says everything. Even the things you won’t say.”

Fuck me.

I suddenly get the urge to kiss her so bad it aches.

Suddenly I want to ask her what this thing is between us.

Shit, I know I might just ask her, might just kiss her into ashes, if only I didn’t feel Celeste’s ghost sitting here between us, hand in hand with Emma Santos.

Still, I catch Delilah’s hand and draw it down to kiss her palm with a smile.

“Feels nice to hear you say that. I’m not real good at talking most of the time. I either get mad, or just clam up and can’t get the words out.”

“Sometimes that’s just how people are when they don’t feel safe,” she whispers softly. “But I promise whatever you’re about to tell me… it’s safe, Lucas. I won’t get mad. I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“Okay.” I’m gonna have to trust her word on that.

Still takes me another minute and her coaxing hand to unglue my lips.

“My folks died when I was twelve, and my sister Celeste was eighteen. Awful car accident. We didn’t have anyone else—no surviving family—and since she was legally an adult, she wound up being my guardian. Stuck raising me all by herself, me this furious punk-ass preteen, mad at the world for taking his family away. If the family house wasn’t bought and paid for, we’d have been out on the street, but at least we had a home. She did cashier work to pay the bills, and I picked up a little under the table work at the lumberyard, hauling scrap.”

“Little Lucas the lumberjack.” Delilah smiles, tucking her head against my side again.

“Wasn’t so little, even back then. Big old rangy thing like a colt with all his bones poking out everywhere while he tries to figure out what to do with legs too long for his body.” I chuckle, then trail into a sigh. “It was rough, but even when we fought, we were good to each other, me and Celeste. We were all we ever had. I was looking forward to when I turned eighteen, ’cause I guess I—well, I was hoping to set her free. She wanted to go off to make music. She wanted to sing. She had this gorgeous voice like a nightingale. I really think she would’ve made it big, and even if she didn’t, she would’ve had an honest shot. She’d have made people happy and done right by herself. But Celeste couldn’t go anywhere with it. Not when she was tied down being stand-in mama to her bratty little brother.”

“I doubt she felt that way,” Delilah says. “Not if she loved you as much as it sounds like you loved her.”

“Maybe. Who knows. Just know that one day she started changing.” I stop and steel my voice. “She was always a bit of a daydream believer, sort of flighty, but suddenly her head was in the clouds all the time. I figured out fast my sister was in love. But I didn’t figure out who it was till it was too late. She…”

I stop.

Fuck, this tastes so bitter.

Every word scratches my tongue like pitch-black venom.

“Lucas,” Delilah whispers, squeezing my arm to urge me on.

“I think she was having a fling with Montero Arrendell. Think he promised to use his money and his connections to get her into the music industry. Suddenly, Celeste was wearing expensive dresses we couldn’t afford, nice jewelry, going up to that house at all hours of the night.” I press my teeth against my lips, chewing on ugly words, struggling to breathe. “Then one night, we had the mother of all fights. I told her I’d pre-enlisted in the Navy for when I finished high school so she wouldn’t have to keep working to put me through college. She really thought she was gonna pay my tuition, when she never even went herself because she had me to raise. But she was so pissed, talking about how I’d go and get myself killed. And, of course, she was all dolled up that night. Montero sent a car to pick her up, and she left in a huff right in the middle of our fight.”

Deep, hoarse breaths rattle my lungs.

There’s an invisible fist of pure grief slamming into my gut, over and over, robbing away my words.

Fuck, I’m hollowed out from head to toe.

“What happened?” Delilah whispers.

“About what you’d think. Celeste never came home,” I rasp out. “Just gone. Disappeared. This pretty young woman in a red dress—just like Emma Santos—and everyone saying she got sick of having to be my guardian and ran off to start a new life as somebody else. Another local boy, Grant’s best friend, Ethan Sanderson… he disappeared the same night. You can imagine the story everybody told, when Ethan didn’t make any secret that he was head over heels for my sister. The police didn’t fucking bother with a missing persons report. Still, I know the truth.” My jaw sets. “Montero Arrendell used her. Then he got rid of her when he got bored. Probably found a way to shut Ethan up, too.”

There’s a dead, awful silence when I finish.

I can practically hear the click going off for Delilah with a shuddering breath, the grim realization.

“Holy shit. So you think Montero killed her? Killed them both?”

“It’s the only explanation,” I say. “I knew Celeste, goddammit. Maybe we fought like wildcats, but she wouldn’t leave me like that, seventeen and fending for myself.”

“And Emma…”

“She fits the same profile, yeah,” I point out. I can’t look at her, staring instead at the dark-shaded front window as I hold Delilah tight. “Nice dark eyes, silky black hair. Young and full of promise. Montero’s got a type. Just like the girls who show up on Ulysses’ arm before disappearing, never to be seen in Redhaven again. Hell, not just Ulysses, but all the Arrendell boys. It’s like they’re his personal shoppers. Scouting him women who’ll play around to distract him from a wife he clearly hates. It’s gone on for a long-ass time. I’ve got newspaper clippings going back decades. Girl after girl after girl.”

There’s a long, dead silence when I stop.

One where I don’t think either of us has to point out that Delilah meets that description, too.

I feel the shudder that rolls through her as she presses against me.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’m sad you lost your sister that way, and with no answers, either.”

The feeling that hits rings me like a bell.

I turn my head, looking down at her, my chest seizing up.

“You saying you believe me?”

Delilah’s brows draw together.

She tilts her head back, puzzled, and suddenly I don’t want anyone looking into those starry blue-indigo eyes but me.

Not ever again.

Especially not Montero goddamned Arrendell, or any of those twisted pukes he calls sons.

“Why would you lie about anything?” she asks. Her fingers toy with my shirt, plucking at it thoughtfully. “You don’t fake that kind of hurt, Lucas. I can tell it’s cut deep. And if you say your sister wouldn’t have left you like that, you’d know better than anyone. So maybe the Arrendells had something to do with it. And maybe—”

“Maybe what?” I cut in because I can’t wait.

“Maybe they had something to do with Emma, too,” she finishes in a whisper. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You said she fits the bill. Another beautiful young woman in a red dress. Maybe she was supposed to disappear, but something went wrong and I found her body. Or maybe she was just there to scare me and—”

“Drive you into Ulysses’ arms. Your knight in shining armor, conveniently standing by,” I finish. “All so he can deliver you up to that fuck, Montero.”

My lip curls with rage.

Biting her own lip, Delilah says, “He did invite me over for a party. Ulysses, I mean. He said his brothers are coming back soon and there’ll be some big shindig to welcome them home. He said they and their father would be delighted to see me there.”

“Damn. Doesn’t make sense, does it?” I point out. “Inviting the local schoolteacher to a family function.”

She smiles weakly. “Ulysses is acting like a boy with a bad crush. Giving me stuff I never asked for. He said the Xs on the bracelet were like the Xs in XOXO. Hugs and kisses. He claimed he didn’t even know about the X-marks.”

“About that,” I growl. “The reason I got so pissed when I saw that bracelet is because I’ve seen it before. Only that time it didn’t have any X-marks. Last time I saw it around, it was a plain rose gold bar—and it was on my sister’s wrist the night she disappeared.”

Delilah’s sweet face goes white.

“Oh my God.”

She twists to look over her shoulder. I follow her line of sight and realize she’s staring at a shelf against the living room wall, at the threshold to the hall.

The little red box sits on the third shelf, perched there like a silent curse.

My heart drums hard against my ribs.

Delilah just stares at me, her eyes too wide now.

“Jesus. It is…” she swallows. “Is it really the same one?”

“If it’s not, it’s one just like it,” I clip.

“Then the Xs… oh my God. What if they’re not strikes, Lucas? What if they’re…” She can’t finish.

“The number of women Montero has crossed off since my sister,” I finish for her, choking back bile.

“Then that bracelet means he’s marked me. And he’s the one leaving those X-marks and Roger’s got nothing to do with it. He probably doesn’t even know where I am!”

“Possible,” I say. “Though I don’t think he or Ulysses is the one painting them. The Arrendells never get their hands dirty when they could get caught. They have an accomplice. Probably some dick in town they’re paying, thinking it’s a harmless prank.”

Or not so harmless.

A million gut-wrenching blackmail scenarios come to mind. With great wealth and deep roots comes overwhelming power, and this family has half of Redhaven on a tight leash.

Delilah leans forward to drink her tea and sets the mug back down on the square wood coffee table with a sharp thunk!

Then she lurches up, this tiny ball of vibrating energy. “I’m going to kill them. Kill them both.”

“Delilah,” I bite off.

Her eyes whip to me, bright and spinning.

I can’t help myself.

I laugh warmly, breaking this bubble of misery. Wrapping both arms around her waist, I drag her back before she can make it more than a step, pulling her curvy body against me, hauling her into my lap.

“Lucas, I’m not joking. I really mean it,” she hisses.

“Stop.” I bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair. “Woman, you can’t just go charging up to that mansion in the middle of the night making threats. Also, you probably shouldn’t be confessing intent to murder right in front of a cop.”

God, she overloads me with so much feeling, this pint-sized dynamo of raw energy.

Five minutes ago, she was shaking with fear. Now she’s revved up to slay dragons.

My brave little cactus.

Only, she isn’t really mine yet, and that bothers me a hell of a lot.

Also sobers my dumb ass up.

I hold her tighter as she settles against me.

“You wouldn’t rat me out,” she throws back with a huff. I like the way her body fits against mine, compact and warm and close. “So what do we do then? If we can figure out who’s helping Montero, wouldn’t that give us evidence that he’s responsible for Emma Santos? And targeting me next?”

“We don’t do anything,” I say firmly, bracing for a fight. “Look, I’ve been working this case for a long time on the down-low, Lilah. What I need you to do is stay safe. Don’t go to that party. Don’t let them pull you in, no matter what, even if you’re just trying to help. I won’t be solving your murder next.”

“But…” Groaning, Delilah slumps against me, then turns herself sideways, curling up in my lap with her head pillowed against my chest. Her legs are stretched out on the couch, bare and tanned and too tempting for life in those tiny cutoff shorts. “I just want to do something for Emma.”

“Emma would want you to be safe.” I rumble, running my hand down her thigh, her warmth melting into me.

When she doesn’t pull away, I let my hand settle, keeping my other arm wrapped around her. “Trust me, the best thing you can do for her is to not wind up just like her.”

“I just feel like she’s haunting me, you know?”

“Maybe she is,” I answer. “Not begging you for justice. More like she’s watching over you.”

Delilah smiles faintly, and there’s a sadness to it.

“That’s a sweet thought,” she whispers. “But it still means Montero Arrendell got away with murder.”

“Only for now. I promise you I’m looking for a way to expose him without them being able to use their money and connections to wiggle out of it.” I kiss the top of her head, closing my eyes, breathing her in. “For Emma. For Celeste. For every woman he’s ever hurt. For you, darlin’.”

With a soft purr, Delilah snuggles in closer.

It’s a nice feeling, basking in her warmth with the quiet night all around us. Feels like we’re curled up in the eye of a storm.

Nothing but me and her and the scent of tea filling the room, a refuge from the chaos outside.

Her body heat bleeds through me in this soft swell.

Fuck, I want to ask her so much if the fact that she’s letting me hold her like this means what I hope it does.

That maybe, just maybe, she feels something more serious than a hankering for another one-off fuck, too.

But this isn’t the time or place for feelings.

Not tonight.

Not when I could just be misreading her needing comfort, her fear, and the physicality of someone close by grounding her and keeping her safe.

I can be her rock, without any expectations.

Still, I can’t stop thinking that right on the other side of that wall there’s a yellow ribbon of crime scene tape and a splash of blood against Delilah’s wall.

Resting my chin on top of her head, I break the silence between us and say, “If you’re set on staying here, let me put some motion sensor lights in the yard. The prick who’s been creeping on you, peeking in your windows, he’s using the shadows to slink around and hide. He won’t expect a floodlight to the face. We can try to ID him that way, whoever the hell he is.” I stop and consider, then add, “And maybe you ought to get a dog.”

“A dog?” Delilah’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“Sure. A nice pup might help, having someone here to protect you who doesn’t piss you off so much.”

“You only piss me off a little. Lately.” She beams me a saucy smile, then touches her fingers to my nose. “You remind me of a dog, anyway. One of those big ones. Maybe a Norwegian Elkhound. Or a husky.”

Leaning in closer, pressing into that light touch of her finger, I drop my voice to a growl and look at her very seriously, letting a one-word growl build in my throat.

“Woof.”

She doubles over laughing when I let it out.

“See? Right now you’re not annoying at all. You’re actually kind of cute.” Her fingers slip down to rest over my lips.

I never knew how sensitive a pair of lips could be till her touch ignited every last one of my nerve endings, electrifying my skin.

Her smile turns sly as she leans in closer and purrs, “Meow.”

Goddammit, I laugh, inadvertently kissing her skin.

“So are you saying we bicker like cats and dogs?”

“Something like that,” she teases softly—and the way she’s looking at me right now grabs me and holds on.

She’s a prickly one, all right.

All fire, but there’s a difference between heat and warmth.

That difference is in her eyes right now, turning those glimmering stars into constellations that feel like if I knew how to read them, they could point me straight to her heart like a navigator’s charts.

There’s a gravity between us.

No denying it.

If you’d asked me this morning, I’d have thought maybe it was just lust. Denied attraction exploding in charged arguments, then in that wildness that turned us into rutting animals giving in to our primal instincts.

You ask me now, with the air crackling and her fingers tracing the corner of my mouth and those starlit eyes watching me so intently, fuck.

No.

The way my heart thrums right now sure as hell isn’t lust.

It’s the biting urge to kiss her so goddamned bad I could die.

Hilariously, she beats me to it.

That little hand drifts up, curling against my cheek, her thumb stroking the corner of my mouth, her eyes searching mine.

“You confuse me so much,” she whispers.

Then she stretches herself up and presses her lips to mine.

You’d never think a little whirlwind could kiss so softly, so sweetly.

I hold still, letting her do whatever she pleases, her lips moving against mine, her tongue searching as it teases me like mad.

It’s like she’s asking me not to fight with her tonight.

She’s telling me she doesn’t want to be alone.

Gently, I draw her closer, gathering up her hair against her sleek back, and slowly leaning into her kiss. Meeting her energy instead of clashing with it.

Fitting my mouth to hers, our lips part in this burning intimacy.

Fuck me, she’s like nectar.

Before, I had no time to savor her sweetness.

Now, I drink her in.

Now, I let myself feel everything that blew past me like lightning before.

She’s got a mouth like sinking into rich cream when I kiss her.

Her tongue is slow and shy, stroking mine, and when I twine my tongue with hers and tease her, flick her, she gives back a soft sound in the back of her throat, arching against me until her tits press against my chest.

Goddamn, woman.

Her body is all lush curves on the outside, but toned underneath.

I rake my fingers down her back, still tangled up in the silky wisps of her hair.

She really is a wildcat through and through.

Sinuous.

Sleek.

Grace and sensuality in one firecracker package.

Her delicate weight in my lap is a goddamned torment.

Every time she moves against me, twisting to the rhythm of our slow kisses, she churns my blood.

In no time, there’s a hell of a lot more pressure between my lap and the undersides of her thighs.

Slowly, I curve one hand over her hip, spreading my fingers across the heavy swell of her ass.

I sink my fingers in till firm flesh gives in a way that makes me groan, that makes my cock jerk hard against my jeans.

Delilah responds with a moan, lifting herself against me.

Her hot, thick thighs quiver.

Just enough warning before she pushes herself up, moving over me, spreading those luscious thighs to straddle me without ever breaking our kiss.

“Fuck,” I rasp against her mouth—and I can’t help grinding up, thrusting against that hot place between her thighs. She’s already spread open for me, waiting, nothing but this damn fabric in my way. “You’re gonna drive me crazy, Lilah.”

“So go. Go crazy,” she breathes, curling her fingers in my hair, sinking down and rocking against me.

Her soft, husky cries come in waves as she tortures us both, grinding against my cock.

Fucking hell, I can smell her wetness. The scent grows every time she writhes her hips, using me to tease herself and I sure as hell don’t mind.

“Go crazy, Lucas. Don’t hold back tonight.”

This girl.

This girl’s gonna rip my heart out and shred it right in front of me.

She’s already left my self-control in tatters, but I can’t fuck her in here.

Not in the living room, not feeling so exposed.

Stealing one last taste of her mouth, I bite her lower lip before I say, “Hold on to me.”

Before I stand, I haul her up in my arms.

Just getting up fucking hurts, dragging my jeans against my straining cock. I ignore it as I turn to carry her down the hall. Delilah stares up at me breathlessly, her eyes dark and dilated.

“Really? Carrying the damsel off to bed?”

“Just being efficient,” I tease, bending to press my lips to her brow. “If you’ll let me stay tonight, I’d rather not have to get up after.”

There’s something almost beautiful about how this bold, fearless woman turns soft and shy as she presses her face to my shoulder like she wants me to hide her from the world.

It makes my heart swell, knowing she finds me that safe.

Not nearly so much as it swells when she whispers, “Stay. Stay until morning. Please.”

No words.

I have no fucking words for the way she makes me feel, so I don’t say a damn thing.

Instead, I show her.

One more step into her bedroom.

One plodding step, and then I’m tumbling her down against the tangled sheets, her hair spilling everywhere like ink.

Underneath me like this, it’s impossible to escape how tiny she is.

She’s the sort of doll you’d expect to be breakable, wispy and sweet instead of the little cherry bomb she really is.

That fire lashes in her eyes as I devour her with a glance.

“Stop staring,” she whispers, her cheeks turning a furious red.

I smirk.

“Can’t help it, darlin’.” I smooth my hand over the taut curve of her stomach—a real woman’s belly, not model thin, soft and supple and ready for a man to put a baby in her someday—the thin layer of her tank top isn’t nearly enough to stop me from feeling her heat. “You’re too damn beautiful to do anything else, and I appreciate beautiful things.”

Her lips turn up in a losing battle.

Delilah presses her bare foot to my chest and pushes. “Don’t start with cheesy pickup lines or you’ll turn a sure thing into a maybe.”

“Well, hell, since I’d hate to ruin my odds…” I set to work, giving this bossy girl what she wants, using my mouth for better things.

I catch her foot, lifting it up to press my lips to its arch.

Her breaths catch softly, her chest rising and falling in a swell that makes her breasts strain against her top.

She’s a vision.

Every little reaction captivates me as I kiss up her inner calf, my fingers following my lips, gliding over her skin in slow caresses higher and higher.

The closer I get to the sweetness waiting between her thighs in blushing pink, the more she shudders. I bite down gently on her inner thigh.

She whimpers real sweet for me.

Then she claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in embarrassment.

I grin like mad as I stamp a kiss to the button of her shorts, skirting around those tempting hips to the slip of skin above the waist of her cutoffs.

Then the dip of her navel just under the fabric of her tank top.

Then the apex of her ribs.

Mine, mine.

Fucking all of her.

“Don’t hold it in,” I demand as my lips graze her naked, smooth skin between the round swells of her tits. “Let me hear you, woman.”

Seizing her nipple with my teeth, I draw it out through the layers of her shirt and bra, letting the fabric go hot in my mouth.

I tease her, flicking my tongue over that pink bud, pulling more pleasure out of her.

She answers me brilliantly with her back arched, her chest thrusting toward my mouth, her fingers digging in my hair.

The longer I suck, the harder she gasps.

A charging bull couldn’t rip my eyes off her.

Can’t stop myself from taking more, claiming new inches of her with my mouth.

Every sound she makes drugs me till all I want is the high of the next moan.

This inescapable craving burns me down, igniting my blood, thrilling my cock with the sensual pain of a hard-on pulsing with one raging heartbeat at a time.

The way I want Delilah hurts me wonderfully.

Each jolt leaves my jeans tighter, turning my cock to pure steel.

With the gentlest pinch of my teeth, she shudders again, squirming restlessly under me.

Catching her under the knees, I spread her open slowly, then lower my body to rest on hers till there’s no escaping just how much I eclipse her with the way she fits so snug against me.

It’s a fucking heady feeling, this closeness, teeming with desire.

Pleasure boils up my throat as I slide along the length of her, bringing us together in a mutual rush of gasping friction.

Goddamn.

God fucking damn.

I could overpower her so easily.

Break her without a second thought.

Which makes it that much sweeter that she’s letting me, trusting me with every bit of her.

Soft thighs clenching against my waist.

Nimble, pleading fingers drag through my hair.

A stifled moan pours out when I switch to her other nipple, sucking hard, scratching her skin with my stubble, cupping her other breast until its fullness spills over my hand.

Not enough.

I need skin.

Growling, I drag the front of her tank top down, taking the cups of her bra with it. Her tits spill out in a ripple of full, swaying flesh that makes my mouth water with hunger.

A carnivorous hunger I satisfy by taking one dark-pink nipple back in my mouth, flicking and twisting and sucking and teething till she writhes against me helplessly.

I sate myself by sinking my fingers deep into the plush globe of her breast.

This woman’s a sensory feast, overwhelming me with the way it feels to touch her, to feel her against me, to hear her gasping my name and—fuck.

Fuck.

That scent, that soft mix of fruit and florals mingle with something musky and creamy and tart that just screams desire.

It’s a level of sexy that must be illegal in forty states.

“Lucas,” she whispers, her small nails biting into my scalp. “Stop. Stop teasing me.”

“You telling me this doesn’t feel good?” I drag my tongue over her nipple.

Delilah tosses her head to the side, her lips parted and gleaming.

“Or this?” I growl.

While she curses my name, I flick the button of her cutoffs open and flatten my hand against her belly.

Then I slide down, into the secret space between layers of fabric, molding over the lace of her panties as I skim down between her thighs.

When I press two fingers up, she curls forward, almost hugging me to her breast as she whimpers in my ear, giving me her answer with every breath.

I’m gonna love this woman even more when she begs.

She’s absolutely soaked, dripping all over my fingers as I rub slow, taunting circles over her drenched panties.

I press my lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses over her jaw and throat, adding teeth as I play with her flesh until her voice breaks.

Until she tenses.

Until her thighs clench against my sides and her hips buck up and my fingers are so fucking coated in her that I can feel it running over my skin.

I slow down, my fingers just barely resting against her.

“Still want me to stop?” I whisper.

She whimpers against my shoulder.

“No! I’m—I’m going fucking crazy,” she breathes. “Lucas, please.”

Damn her, I smile.

“Lucky you, darlin’. Won’t make you beg tonight—not much. I want this just as much as you do.”

It almost hurts to pull away from her, lifting myself off her and tugging my hand out of her shorts.

Only for a second.

Only long enough to fish around in my back pocket for my wallet, fumbling till I snag the condom tucked inside and drop the leather wallet on the bed.

In a flash, her shorts are gone, tossed on the floor.

She watches me with smoky eyes as I unzip my jeans, reaching up to touch my lips as a slow, mocking smile spreads over her lips.

“…so you keep condoms in your wallet all the time?” she teases.

“A good cop is always prepared,” I answer.

Then it’s too hard to form words as I roll the condom over my cock, my mind centered on one thing.

The pressure torments my blood.

She’s got me so ready.

Hell, she’s got me on a string.

Just the slightest tug and I’m hers.

Don’t know how this prickly, wild woman got under my skin so deep, so fast, but I’ll be damned if I know how to fight it.

There’s no question she wants it just as bad, lying under me with her breasts bared and her legs spread with the blue lace of her panties soaked dark against her pussy.

Her fingers lace with mine as they curl around my cock.

A ragged, tortured growl rips out of me as she draws our laced hands fully down my shaft.

Shit.

I didn’t know a man could get any harder than this.

My dick jerks in our grasp, pulsing like a second heart.

“Lucas,” she whispers again, longing and sweet, and I’m so fucking done for.

I sink down over her, capturing that pleading mouth with mine, taking over her mouth like I can mark her from the inside and leave my brand.

We’re already moving together, both of us shivering in perfect chaos.

Her mouth opens for my tongue, taking me in, surrendering so deliciously as I fill her.

“Lilah.” I grind out her name against the slickness of her lips as I shift my hips just between her thighs, one hand drifting down to catch her panties and tug them aside.

I don’t know why that gets me so fucking hot, leaving her in soaking wet lace and just pulling them aside to fuck her, but it’s the last straw.

I need her.

Right the fuck now.

With one more kiss that burns my mind blank, I grip her hips, lift her up, and take her.

Last time was so raw, wild and swift, an explosion of sensations.

It was over before I ever had time to process more than the pleasure storming my nerves.

Now, I take my sweet time, savoring every last sensation of her tight flesh wrapped around me in a luscious grip.

She envelops every inch of me in her burn and it urges me on, deeper and deeper in her hot wetness.

Fuck, she feels good.

I have to stop myself barely an inch in, and then again—one inch at a time, as far as I can make it before I’m wrecked.

Every time I pause in little jolts she jerks and clenches around me with buttery moans, little ripples inside her caressing the length of my cock like she’s trying to pull me in deeper.

Deeper.

Goddamn, deeper.

I bury myself inside her a little more with every stroke till we’re locked together.

I can hardly breathe from the intensity.

From being joined to my Lilah.

I just kiss her harder, thrusting into her mouth, meeting the dueling spear of her tongue.

I fight the urge to kiss her into oblivion and the desperate need to keep moving, to take more of her with every thrust.

When she bites my bottom lip, when she wraps her legs around my waist, when she tightens her body around me and writhes in a sinful little twist, I don’t know who or what the fuck I am.

I lose anything that resembles control.

I lose my mind.

I lose a piece of my sex-cursed soul.

Snarling, I dig my hands into the bed on each side of her, bracing as I rock my hips hard, dragging in and out of her with a surge so fierce it steals our breath away.

I don’t know what we’re doing.

Kissing, fucking, fighting, worshiping, or maybe all four at once.

I just know we’re tangled up together now.

And it feels so fucking divine I can’t imagine ever feeling it with anyone but her.

My hips drive on, one hand pulling at her hair, urging her up into a biting kiss that devours her as much as she’s consuming me.

My mouth hurts with the fierceness.

My whole being throbs with the pleasure as we flow, two crashing symbols of flesh and desperation.

Every second I’m buried inside her ignites me till it’s unbearable.

We’re too wild.

Too perfect.

I pinch my eyes shut, losing myself in this, and then open them again because I can’t bear to miss even a single second of her face, her body, the beauty in every tensed, straining line of her.

And I see it when she comes.

Ecstasy crisscrosses her face, an agonized bliss that leaves her lips slack under mine.

Her eyes dilate, exploding with stars like the night sky.

Then it hits me, too.

This crushing impact, this force, everything that brings her off in a piercing cry, clutching at me desperately, losing our rhythm with her legs thrashing around me.

It’s the last ounce of pressure I can take, building up inside me to a bursting point.

When she locks around my cock, when her tightness wraps me up and pulls me so deep into those fluxing shudders, when I feel the wetness coursing between us as she comes, making my every stroke slick and smooth, I can’t hold back.

I’m gone in growling fuckery.

Dissolved into our beautiful mess, coming so hard it turns me inside fucking out.

My cock plunges deep, swells, and unloads.

My spine goes electric.

I become one long pulse, fusing my release to hers.

I’m wrung dry from head to toe and spent like I’m being crushed by the hand of God—and I adore every manic white-hot second.

I can hardly breathe as we fall down in a tangle of sweat.

My body doesn’t want to move.

But that doesn’t stop me from holding her close, from pouring everything I have into cradling her against me.

Even now, it’s like my body is hardwired to protect her.

To guard her at all costs.

To shelter Delilah Clarendon, including her poor beat-up heart.

Hell, especially her heart.

God help me, I will, for as long as she’ll let me.