Using a circular saw, he cut the plywood in half, carried the larger piece to the Jeep, and shoved it into the rear bed. At the front door, he fitted the remaining piece over the broken pane and pulled a nail from his carpenter's belt.
"Do you know of any reason why someone might want to hurt you? Any arguments over money? Angry boyfriends? A stalker?" Even as he said the words, he felt his protective instinct kicking in. Resisting it, he drove the nail through the plywood with three even strokes of the hammer.
"You're purposefully trying to frighten me," she said.
"I'm asking questions that need to be asked."
"I lead a boring life, Talbot. I don't have any enemies. No deep, dark secrets. And I've never been part of the KGB or Colombian cartel, in case you're wondering. Satisfied?"
"What about family? Work? The shop here? Anyone been hitting on you recently? You piss anyone off?"
"Look, just because the robber didn't take the money doesn't mean I'm on some kind of a hit list. If you're that desperate for customers maybe you ought to put an ad in the Yellow Pages."
He drove another nail through the wood. How the hell could he tell her, without scaring her half to death, that he believed someone had tried to kill her tonight? Hit her with 'the truth. he supposed. She was too damn stubborn to be affected by something watered down.
Hooking the hammer over his belt, Randall turned to her and took a step closer. "The shooter was carrying a Walther TPH .22 pistol. Designed for close range, very expensive, and deadly as hell. The coat he was wearing cost more than you make in a month. He didn't so much as look at the cash register. He didn't ask for money. Not once did he point the pistol in my direction despite the fact that I was about to blow him to kingdom come." Frustrated by the whole damn scenario, Randall gave her a harsh look. "How do you explain that?"
She paled all the way down to her lips. "Maybe he was high on drugs. Maybe he changed his mind at the last minute—”
"Maybe he tried to blow your damn head off." With the plywood securely nailed to the door, he strode to his truck and tossed the carpenter's belt into the rear.
She held her ground at the door.
Her reluctance to listen to him was beginning to annoy him. No skin off his back. He didn't owe her a damn thing. If he was smart, he'd get in his truck, drive away, and never look back.
"Do you have someone to look after you tonight?" he asked.
She stared at him defiantly. "I don't need anyone—”
"You wake up screaming and you're not going to want to be alone." He hadn't meant for the words to come out so harshly, but they had. He was irritated with himself, annoyed with her, and downright pissed off by the turn of events that had him in a position he didn't want to be in. Dammit, he didn't want to be responsible for her tonight.
"I hate to ruin your image of me, tough guy, but I don't fall into the hysterical female category." She opened the door, casting him a frigid look over her shoulder. "Send me a bill for the door."
Before she could close it, he planted his booted foot in the jamb. "We're not finished."
"Yes, we are." She glared at him through the gap. An angry cat protecting her den from a prowling tom.
He bit back a nasty comeback. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted inside. With her. Right now. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."
"I do alone really well, Talbot. You should try it sometime. Builds character." She shoved at the door, squeezing his toes together uncomfortably. "You need it.”
"Did you tell Van-Dyne about your birth mother's murder?" he growled.
Uncertainty climbed into her eyes. "I didn't think it was pertinent." Her gaze narrowed. "What's your point? It's two o'clock in the morning. I'm cold and tired, and I want to go home."
Randall studied her soft features and decided she really didn't have a choice but to listen to him. He wasn't leaving. For reasons beyond his good judgment, he was feeling protective of her, "You were going to hire me to find your birth mother, weren't you?"
"Were being the operative word. You know, past tense. As in, it's not going to happen."
"I'm a P.I. I could look into this for you."
"You're a bully. I'll take my chances with the guy in the ski mask."
He squashed down his temper. "You're not the only one who got shot at tonight, for chrissake."
That stopped her. She relaxed her grip on the door."You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"I'm not standing out here in the cold because I like your smart mouth. And if I merely wanted to jump your bones I'd find a different approach." He almost smiled when her cheeks colored. At least she wasn't pale anymore.
"I'm glad you're at least smart enough to know that would be a waste of time for both of us." She moved away from the door, giving him room to pass. "You're wrong about this."
"I hope so." He stepped inside, the victor in a tiny war, but one of great importance. "Lock up and I'll take. You home."
*