But Bruiser. Bruiser’s hands were on his hips, low-rise jeans tight across his butt, boot cut over brown hiking boots. T-shirt tucked in. No butt-dragging, sloppy look for this guy. Buff, muscles bulging, short brown hair. Remembering the twins, I wondered how old Bruiser was. My interest stirred, and I shoved away curiosity; it killed the cat. Feeling an interest in Leo’s favorite wasn’t smart, especially if the blood bond between them included sex.
I lifted a hand to catch his attention. He looked from me to the cops and raised his brow in question. I shook my head in a “No, I have no desire to talk to cops” gesture. I pointed to the back of Katie’s, hopped my hand up and down, as if hopping a fence and dropping down at my house. He almost grinned and nodded fractionally. I wheeled the bike around and took the long way to avoid the cops. I figured Bruiser could find his own way. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been there. Or the second, I thought sourly. I’d have to deal with the invasion of my home and privacy at some point. Maybe now. Beast half woke from sleepy purring. Fun . . .
I motored up to the house to find Bruiser at the front door, leaning against an iron support that held up the three-foot-deep balcony overhead. He held himself with the easy balance and readiness of the experienced martial artist, though as I pulled up, he crossed his arms and his muscles bulged. Very nice.
I pointed to the side gate, gave the bike a little gas, rolled over, and let myself in. Bruiser came after and I locked it. Should have asked him to lock it, I thought. I eased the bike into the garden and turned it off, removed the helmet, and shook out my hair. I hadn’t taken the time to braid it before I left hunting, and I watched Bruiser’s eyes follow as it fell. His scent changed, a minuscule shift. Bruiser liked long hair. A lot. “Want tea?” I asked.
“Coffee would be better,” he said, returning his gaze to my face.
“I have tea.”
He lifted one corner of his mouth and shrugged. “Tea it is then.”
He followed me to the door and I paused. No time like the present. “Let yourself in. Like you did last time”—I stepped back, giving him access to the door and lock—“when you came to snoop at the cameras.” He slanted a sharp look at me. I shrugged and added, to make sure he understood what I was saying, “And the time you came with your bloodsucking boss to wait for me in my dark house, hoping to pull some vamp crap and scare me.”
He thought about that for a moment, as the day grew even hotter and brighter and the flowers in the garden began to wilt and droop. “You angry about that?” he asked, sounding honestly curious. When I didn’t reply, he explained, “It’s part of the job as Leo’s security. You should understand that.”
“And if he told you to kill a little old lady, would you do that too?”
He thought about that, amusement lurking at the corners of his mouth. He shrugged by tilting his head to the side. “If she needed killing.”
He was serious. Ice shot through my veins. Beast crept forward. “And if she didn’t?”
“Then Leo wouldn’t want her killed.”
I snorted. It was a Beast sound, originating at the back of my throat, full of nostril movement and derision. When that was all I did, Bruiser turned and pulled a ring of keys from a pocket, chose one, and opened my door. I thought about ripping them out of his hand and feeding them to him, but why bother? His bloodsucking boss would just get more. I liked that term. Bloodsucking boss. Bet Leo would hate it when I used it on him.
Inside, I unstrapped and lay the Benelli and my helmet on the kitchen table. Followed them with gloves, neck collar, and various weapons. The crosses. As I removed steel and stakes, mud crusted off my jeans and pattered to the floor in little shushes. I could smell my sweat.
Bruiser set one hip on the table and watched as I divested myself of weapons. His eyes were hooded, but that small smile still played over his lips. He said, “Am I supposed to stick a dollar in your garter when you’re done?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. And Bruiser grinned. I set the kettle on to heat, then spooned Nilgiri Tiger Hill leaves into the strainer and set it inside the open mouth of the yellow ceramic pot. The tea was robust enough to maybe suit a coffee drinker. And it wasn’t so expensive that I’d care if I had to throw his out. I placed the teapot in the kitchen sink.
He took a chair, resting his forearms on the table. I noted that he instinctively took the seat to the side, so that window and front and side doors were within line of sight and the sun didn’t blind him. I got out mugs, a plate, spoons, and sugar, and sat at the foot of the table to his right. Second-best seating from a security standpoint.
“You want to tell me what happened this morning?” he asked.
I started to say that I heard screaming, it woke me up, and I rushed over. But I doubted that a human could have heard the screaming. I said, “I keep weird hours. I was awake, in the back garden, when I heard screaming. I grabbed a few weapons and raced over.”
“Naked.”