Shea’s eyes grew round with worry.
I shook my head. “Leave it. Whoever it is can wait. I need to know what you’re talking about, baby.”
She hesitated, before the bell rang again, followed by a fist pounding on the door.
“Shit,” I muttered. That same anger blistered through me that I’d been subject to throughout the entire day. The sorry fucker who had the audacity to come knocking at Shea’s door, shoving microphones and cameras in our faces, was going to pay.
Shea wiggled out from under me and started to roll from the bed. I snatched her by the wrist. “This isn’t over, Shea.”
She grimaced as she looked back at me from over her shoulder. “No, you’re right. This isn’t over.”
She rushed to pull her pajama shorts back on, fumbled through the buttons of her sleep shirt while I was dragging on my jeans, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow her to face whatever bullshit was waiting for her outside alone. My bullshit. What I’d dragged into her town and into her life.
Guess maybe that statement I promised to make would be coming tonight rather than in the morning.
Someone pounded again and Shea jogged downstairs. I was right at her heels. I haphazardly raked my hands through my hair, trying to tame what I was sure were the telltale signs that Shea and I had just been going at it. Considering Shea’s mussed-up state, there wasn’t going to be much denying it anyway.
More fuel for the fire.
Fucking fantastic.
Shea hit the bottom floor and rushed toward the door. She stopped short to peer through the peephole.
A small gasp shot from her and she took a shocked step back, and her head began to shake in clear confusion as she warily inched away from the door.
I moved around her, pushing a hand out toward her as if to tell her to stay.
I peeked through to see what had Shea completely frozen.
Two police officers stood behind a middle-aged woman who was dressed in a cheap suit, her dark hair twisted up in a shrewd bun.
My chest squeezed, and over my shoulder, I glanced at Shea, looking for help, for an indication of what the hell was going on, before my own reality slowly pressed in.
In resignation, I shook my head. “Baby, they’re coming for me. I pushed down that asshole at the hospital who was implying we weren’t watching Kallie on the beach. He was tossing around the threat of charges today.”
Should have known those bastards would never let me get away with defending those I cared about.
“Baz, no.” She swallowed hard, like she couldn’t fathom it.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promised.
Reluctantly, I unlocked the door and pulled it open. I stood in the doorframe with arms crossed over my bare chest, almost daring them to come for me, silently calculating how I was going to make that scum’s life a living hell.
The woman in the suit reared back, like I’d taken her by surprise, before she cleared her throat and lifted her chin in authority. “I need to speak with Ms. Bentley, please.
Not for me.
What the fuck?
My hackles rose, apprehension shaking me down, and I slowly turned to look back at where Shea’s hands trembled where she twisted them out in front of her.
Her voice cracked. “I’m Shea Bentley.”
The woman set her hand on the door, as if she were holding it open, keeping us from slamming it in her face.
I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to do exactly that, to run for Shea and wrap her up.
To preserve and defend.
I knew it all the way to my soul.
That was my job now—taking care of Shea, taking care of Kallie.
“I’m Claribel Sanchez with Child Protective Services…”
I felt the bottom drop out of Shea’s world.
It dragged mine right along with it.