And now she was pacing in the cabin again—his cabin—because he’d been concerned for her safety. For Sophie, too.
Sophie hadn’t argued, only driven straight back to the kennels. When they’d returned and Sophie had explained to the guys, Brandon had insisted on seeing Sophie home—in a different car. All Sophie had told Lyn was that the men of Hope’s Crossing Kennels didn’t make requests like that unless there was a real issue.
Great. So now what? She’d have to wait until David returned to find out.
’Course, considering his military background and habits and…everything, he’d probably only tell her what he thought she needed to know. Which was next to nothing. As generous as her thoughts had been toward him a second ago, now she was thinking about him from this perspective and everything about David Cruz shouted military for all that he was honorably discharged.
Military equaled distance. Military meant you were never equals. Military meant you were forever shut out of a part of his life.
She’d spent her childhood watching her mom wait for her stepfather to come home. And when he was home, he wasn’t. Not really.
Gah. Frustrating. So much of what she respected about David had roots in the deeply ingrained military honor he embodied. He wasn’t just a man who used to wear a uniform. He was a man who made a uniform what it was. She couldn’t help admiring the qualities. And she couldn’t help being wary of what it’d mean to get involved with a man like that.
She’d hated it in a stepfather and sure as hell wasn’t looking for it in a relationship of her own.
Her phone rang and she rushed to answer it without even checking the caller ID, hoping it was David. Impulse now. Logic later. “Hello?”
“Miss Evelyn Jones?” An unfamiliar voice was on the other end of the line.
Her heart dropped into the bottom of her belly. Why was she so disappointed? “Yes?”
“I’m Officer Hanley.” The man cleared his voice. “I was responsible for taking your report from the night of the attack.”
“Ah.” She vaguely remembered the man. Sandy blue hair. Light-colored eyes. It’d been a difficult night, one she’d been actively trying not to dwell on. “Hello, Officer.”
It wasn’t her intention to sound flat. All the warmth got sucked out of her voice. Her mouth had gone dry. Maybe he needed to ask her a few more questions about the night at the hotel.
He went on when she didn’t say more. “It’s not normally our practice to call, and you seem to be with good friends, but in a situation like this I felt you would want to know…”
She waited as he trailed off. After a long, drawn-out second she grew impatient. “Yes?”
“The man who was taken into custody the next morning made bail today.” The words came out in a rush, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Stunned, Lyn almost dropped the phone. Cold fear twisted her gut and her heart rate kicked up until she heard it beating in her ears.
It’s really too bad you came back.
She did a slow turn, frantically scanning the room. Alone. But the curtains were all open and the night was dark beyond the windowpanes. Any minute his face could appear, peering through the glass. The hunger in his eyes. She remembered…
“Miss Jones?” Officer Hanley sounded concerned, maybe regretful. He hadn’t wanted to give the news to her.
“I’m here.” She yanked her thoughts into place, tried to pitch her tone to calm and grateful. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Like I said, miss, it’s not something we usually do but all things considered…” He cleared his throat again. Maybe it was a nervous habit. “Anyway, the guys at Hope’s Crossing are good men. Stick close to them and you’ll be fine. The man will see his day in court.”
Of course. Officer Hanley couldn’t refer to him directly as the man who’d attacked her. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. “I understand. Thank you again.”
He blurted out a few more reassurances then ended the call.
Lyn clutched her phone to her chest. After a moment she shook her head, pocketed the phone, and rubbed her hands together. Nervous. Scared.
This entire trip had spun her world around. She traveled alone all the time! Now, she was jumpy in a cabin on private property with better security than any hotel had. She wanted to be mad at somebody. The men who’d attacked her—there’d been two, not just the one—and whoever had sent them. Thugs like that had to have some sort of boss to tell them what to look for.
Only she didn’t know what she could possibly have. None of her clients gave her anything of value in print. They arranged for direct deposits to her bank accounts for her training and rehabilitation services. She never had access codes to their property or to any sorts of diagrams of their estates.