Sarah looked up him warily. “Why?”
“Because it’s about time you experienced life. I know what it’s like to be wrapped up in your job, making it your entire world, so I can’t say I’m not guilty of doing the same thing. But there have to be certain moments where you make time for other things. Pleasurable things. The best memories I have of Patrick were going out fishing for the day, or getting on our motorcycles just to get out of the city. I haven’t balanced my life very well, but I plan on starting. Patrick used to tell me that life was too short not to take the time for guilty pleasures. I think he was right. And now I’m not just living my life for me; I’m living it for him. I’m going to do all of the things I’ve always talked about doing but never had the chance. I think he’d like that.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Dante’s expression turn from angry to regretful. He wasn’t over his partner’s death, but he was moving in the right direction. “I think he would, too,” she told him solemnly, moving her hand up to cup his cheek.
“Are you ready to take a few chances?” A slow grin formed on Dante’s face, growing steadily larger. “I’m a very willing teacher.”
He was right. Her upbringing and history had kept her from doing a lot of things she’d wanted to do. Although she’d grown emotionally once she’d moved away from her mother, she was still a long way from really breaking out of the shell of isolation she’d surrounded herself with during her childhood and adolescence.
She wanted to spend more time with Dante, explore these new emotions and her sexuality. Her ethics would have eaten her alive if he was still her patient, but now that he’d solved that problem, she was free to explore this—whatever it was—thing with Dante. “Since you’re not my patient anymore, I think I’d like that. Although Dr. Samuels isn’t nearly as good a doctor as I am,” Sarah teased. Honestly, Dr. Samuels was a fine doctor who’d been in practice for at least twenty years, but she couldn’t resist giving Dante a hard time for dropping her services.
“I’d rather settle for a mediocre doctor than have you keep protesting and refusing to spend time with me,” Dante rumbled impatiently.
Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Dante swiftly captured her lips in a demanding assault that made her immediately forget whatever it was that she wanted to say. His embrace was brief, but rough and dominant. By the time he let her breathe again, her body was already clamoring for him to give her more.
“Go inside before I take you right here against the wall,” Dante said rigidly as he unlocked the door and opened it before handing her back her keys.
“You’re not well enough for that,” Sarah argued, still gulping for air as she caught the grim expression on his face.
“You’d be surprised,” Dante replied ominously.
Sarah stepped through the door, still dazed from Dante’s kiss. But in less than a heartbeat, her mood went from hazy to horrified.
“Oh my God!” The first glance at her tiny, adorable cottage left her mouth hanging open in fear and revulsion, unable to say anything else. It literally looked like a bomb had exploded. Her cute little lamps and anything else made of glass was shattered, the shards of glass scattered on the floor. All of her furniture was shredded, every picture on the wall destroyed. In the place of the pictures that were now on the floor, only one thing remained . . . a message.
Her already racing heart skipped a beat as she read the message painted in red on the bare wall:
Die Bitch!!
“Fuck! What the hell?” Dante growled as he came in behind her. “Don’t touch anything.” He grasped her by the waist and physically hauled her out of the house. He deposited her on the porch. “Stay here and dial nine-one-one.” His voice was graveled and angry.
Sarah watched as he darted to his truck and came back with a gun in his hand, and a look as coldly lethal as a killer on his face. He’d changed in an instant, and Sarah had to remind herself that Dante was actually the good guy. Panic seized her as she watched him enter the house while she fumbled for her phone. She watched as she explained what had happened to the dispatcher and was assured that help was on the way. She hung up the phone, gaping as Dante prowled through the house, holding the gun like it was an extension of himself, careful not to touch anything as he searched.
“Dante,” she whispered softly as he moved out of sight and into the hallway where the two bedrooms and bathroom were located. Sirens sounded in the distance, but Sarah’s entire focus was on Dante.
What if someone is still there? What if he gets hurt? He’s not even healed yet.
She reminded herself that he was an experienced detective, a police officer, but it didn’t matter. Cops died. He’d just lost a partner.