I shake my head. “Can you post someone outside, just in case the nutcase returns?”
“I’ll send an officer over to ask some questions, but to be frank, I don’t expect anything to come out of it. Unless you have nosy, bored neighbors who like sitting at the window, controlling everything that moves outside. And without an eyewitness, we have nothing to go on.”
Right. At least he’s honest. I shove my hair out of my eyes and get up to go.
“Listen, Hansen.” He gets up, too, resting his knuckles on his desk. “It’s probably nothing to worry about. Kids playing a prank, by my guess. There are other kids on your street, aren’t there?”
I give him a long, flat stare.
“Or maybe you talked to someone about your time in Milwaukee? Maybe some guy at the place where you work had a look at your resume and decided to scare you off.”
I frown and scratch at my beard. “Ross,” I whisper.
He’s such an asshole I wouldn’t put it past him. Could it be him, attempting to make me uneasy, getting back at me for spoiling his fun with Octavia the other day? I’d thought it weird he didn’t come after me right away.
“Who’s Ross?”
My shoulders are all tensed up, my jaw so tight it hurts. “Owner’s son at the garage where I work.”
“Where?”
“Jasper’s Garage, in Destiny.”
“Had a run in with him?”
I shrug. “He was being an ass.”
His look tells me he doesn’t necessarily believe me. I know I look rough with my unkempt beard and hair, and my wrinkled clothes. People naturally assume I go looking for fistfights.
But the only fight I have is with myself.
“Okay, fine. We’ll look into it.” John shuffles the papers on his desk. “Meanwhile, any new incident, message, or phone call, or anyone hanging around your house, give me a call. Here’s my cell phone.”
He passes me his card, and I take it without glancing down at it.
“And what about Ross?”
“I said we’ll look into it. You stay out of it, Hansen. Unless there’s evidence pointing at this guy, let’s not go creating trouble for no reason.”
“You’re shitting me.”
But he’s not.
What a fucking waste of time this has been. Then again, if the culprit is Ross, well… At least I know who to watch out for. Octavia didn’t mention him harassing her since she came to work for me, but it’s not like we talk.
Not like it’s any of my business. And my blood shouldn’t boil at the thought of him near her, touching her, hurting her.
Fuck this.
Time I took matters in my own hands. No one fucks with what’s mine. If that son of a bitch, Ross, as much as shows his fucking face in my neighborhood, I’m gonna rip him a new one, and my job be damned.
Octavia unlocks and opens the door as soon as I ring my doorbell. I’ve never been happier for the sound of a heavy bolt dragging on metal as it’s being pulled back.
Or hell, for the lack of a threatening note on my door. My heart is still banging around in my chest, the shot of adrenaline I got when I found the piece of paper earlier still pumping through my veins.
And then she’s there, and seeing her relaxes something inside me, turning my knees weak. Pleasure, and relief, and pure fucking lust that has my dick hardening, and Christ, I’m so screwed up right now.
Can’t trust myself for shit with her, not on the best of days and certainly not after the day I’ve had. Not when she’s standing there, all pretty and damn hot in her soft blouse and jeans, a hint of cleavage torturing me, the dip of her waist turning my breathing shallow and my balls heavy.
“Matt?” She’s giving me a quizzical look, and I curse inside.
Brushing past her, I step inside. “We need to talk.”
“Who are you,” she says, closing the door, “and what have you done with Matt Hansen?”
I blink stupidly at her, standing in the middle of the living room. The sun casts golden squares on the dark carpet.
“I mean, you never want to talk, so…” She shakes her head, and looks away, giving me a faint smile. “Never mind. I figured something happened when you said to lock the doors.”
Jesus, she’s so fucking pretty. It’s a subtle beauty, though it hit me from the first moment I saw her—the way her lashes curve, the clear blue of her eyes, the plump upper lip and the softness of her cheeks. The line of her neck, the roundness of her tits, the delicate shoulders, fuck…
Swallowing a groan, I sink down on the sofa and run my hands over my face. “The police think it’s probably a prank, but yeah. There was a message stuck to the front door today, and it wasn’t the first time.”
“A threatening message?”
“Not exactly.” I glance at her as she wanders closer. “But it was stuck to the door with a goddamn kitchen knife.”
“Oh.” She sits across from me, and I need her closer with a sudden visceral urge I do my best to battle. “Wow. Any idea who it might be?”
“About that…” I glance up at a noise from the stairs and find Mary and Cole at the top, staring down at us. They stay a moment longer, then they disappear again. “Have you seen Ross around?”
“Ross?” Her mouth falls open. “You think he’d come here and put a knife into your door?”
“You tell me. I got the impression you’ve known each other for a while.”
She nods. “You could say that. We went to school together, like everyone in this town. He’s a bully.”
“He bullied you back then, too?” Anger sweeps through me like a wildfire, setting my heart off again until it’s booming in my chest. “I’m gonna wring his fucking neck.”
Her smile catches me by surprise. She turns her face away, but not before I see the pretty flush on her cheeks. “You’re crazy.”
Yeah, that’s for damn sure. Off my rocker. So fucking hard I can’t stand it anymore.
Hard for my eighteen-year-old nanny who probably goes out for ice cream holding hands with her pimply boyfriend and wears PJs with teddy bears on them when she crawls into bed.
Dammit, I’d tear off her PJs, punch her boyfriend out of the way, and as for the things I’d do to her in her bed…
Getting to my feet, I start toward the stairs, hoping she hasn’t noticed the fucking tent I’m pitching in my pants. “Gonna check up on the kids.”
I don’t wait for her to join me.
“Be good, okay?” Octavia kisses Mary on the cheek, Cole on the forehead, and he throws his arms around her neck. “Aww, sweetie. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I’m watching them from the bedroom door, rubbing a hand over my chest. The kids really like her.
But they can’t love her. Right? They barely know her. She’s not their mom.
She can’t replace her. Nobody can. My kids can’t love her like they did their mom.
And why am I thinking of this now? Nobody said anything about replacing anyone. She just works for me. It’s good the kids like her, that they feel comfortable. That they have no problem with her.