Oh, goodie, we were back to nicknames. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have any porn saved on my desktop, Graham Crackers. And even if I did…Thor? He doesn’t do it for me. Captain America, on the other hand…”
This, he did not deign to answer.
“All I’m saying is,” I babbled on, for reasons unknown. Looking back, I think I might have been in shock. “It’s not about you looking through my computer. I have nothing to hide.”For the most part.“I’m just pointing out, it’s sort of an invasion of privacy—”
“You’d have preferred I left you to rot down there? Good to know. I’ll remember that for next time.” He sounded seriously peeved. His pace increased along with his annoyance, until he was dragging me through the dusty, abandoned house at such a clip, I nearly lost my footing on a loose floorboard.
“Would you slow down?” I scowled at his back, avoiding a particularly thick cobweb. “I’m in heels, here.”
He sighed, but his pace slowed. Marginally. We reached the entryway. My eyes widened when I saw the window panel in the front door had been smashed out — presumably by Graham when he broke in earlier.
“Careful,” he muttered, kicking some of the glass shards out of my path before he yanked open the door. He pulled me onto the front stoop, then down a set of uneven steps. Tufts of grass were shooting up between the bricks of the walkway. The hedges lining the chainlink fence were so overgrown, they practically formed a thicket around the gate.
It was pitch black out, the full moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. The street appeared deserted, every house on the block dark and quiet. A few were boarded up, like the one we’d just exited, with faded foreclosure signs planted in their overgrown lawns, but most were patently ordinary. It looked like any other neighborhood in any other average American town. Not at all what I’d expected as the site of my kidnapping. Then again, nothing about my kidnapping had gone as expected.
We walked half a block, turned a corner, and stopped beside a familiar vehicle. Graham’s black Ford Bronco. He jerked open the passenger door, snagged me around the waist, and planted my ass inside before I could even think about struggling.
“You don’t need to manhandle me, I’m—”
The door slammed shut before I could finish.
I settled back against the smooth leather of the seat, trying not to let annoyance get the best of me. He had saved me, after all. If anything, I should be grateful. But my heart was racing with other emotions — a mix of pure adrenaline, simmering anger, and residual fear from the past six hours. I pressed a hand against my chest as though I might somehow calm my thudding pulse. It was still twice its normal speed when Graham folded his tall frame into the driver’s seat beside me. He had a cellphone pressed to his ear. His words were low and clipped as he spoke into it.
“I’ve got her.” He paused, listening for a beat. Whoever was on the other line said something that made his brows furrow inward. “Because you didn’t need to know, that’s why.” Another pause. “You’re cracked if you think I was about to put her at risk by announcing my presence with a light show courtesy of Salem PD at the scene. I made a judgment call. Deal with it.”
My brows shot up in curiosity. I opened my mouth to ask who he was talking to, but was startled into silence before I had a chance as Graham reached suddenly into into my space to open the glove compartment. I shrank back against the leather seat, eyes locked on him as he retrieved the sleek, black handgun from the back waistband of his jeans and stashed it away. I heard the distant click of the compartment closing, but all my attention was fixed with laser-like focus on the back of his head. The fall of his lush hair, inches from my nose. I had the strangest urge to run my fingers through it.
Get it together, Gwen.
His warmth was there and then gone, so quickly I might’ve imagined it — except for the undeniable tingling on my thigh, where his forearm had pressed against it for the briefest of moments. I don’t think I took a proper breath until the gun was shut out of sight and he was back on his side of the cab.
“I haven’t gotten the details yet.” His eyes flickered over to me, zeroing in on the hand at my heart. I hadn’t realized it was still pressed there, and instantly pulled it down to my lap. “Because I was a bit busy untying her from a fucking chair in a fucking basement, that’s why.”
Who is it?I mouthed at him.
He glanced away, ignoring me as he listened for a moment. “Oh, fuck off. I’m not doing anything half-cocked. I never do. And if I chose this to be the first, I certainly wouldn’t admit it to law enforcement.” He paused, voice lowering to an ominous growl. “You don’t get to lecture me on calm. You didn’t see her down there.”
My breath caught.
“I’m going to hunt these fuckers down and make them regret they ever touched a hair on her fucking head,” he continued lowly. “And when I do, they’d better pray I’m in a more forgiving mood.”
Um.
I shivered at the undiluted rage in his vow. His fury was in check — but only barely. It burned just below the surface, like a volcano on the brink of an eruption. Graham was silent for a moment, listening to, what I gathered from his expression, was an unwanted attempt at placation from the other caller.
“No. Not until she gets some sleep.” He paused again. “Tough shit, Hightower. Tomorrow or never.”
Hightower?
Caden!
Without saying goodbye, Graham disconnected, tossed his phone into the console tray by his gear shift, and jammed his thumb into the ignition button. The engine roared to life.
“Seatbelt,” he ordered, not looking at me as he reached for his own. Hearing his tone — which was simmering with wrath — I didn’t think it wise to argue. For once, I simply did as I was told. And as we peeled away from the curb and began to careen down the street at twice the legal limit, I was glad for the safety measures. Graham’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, the knuckles white with tension. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed in a dark expression that mirrored his brooding mood. He said nothing, and I didn’t dare shatter the silence. Despite his claims about my so-called smartassery, I was not completely immune to his intimidating demeanor.
I glanced out my window. We’d crossed the bridge and were headed back toward the center of town. I watched until unfamiliar streets became recognizable once more, the seedy outskirts swapped for the well-lit suburban downtown I called home. It wasn’t until we sped past the turn-off that would lead to my neighborhood that I risked a glance back at Graham’s severe profile.
His scowl had deepened in the ten minutes of silence. A muscle ticked rhythmically in his cheek, like a bomb set to detonate. Swallowing down my anxiety, I cleared my throat with a light cough.