Fields heads out with a single nod toward Sebastian, leaving me stewing in silence. What did they expect? That there’d be wads of cash hidden in the walls? Maybe there was. If that’s the case, then I guess I’m safe from a repeat visit. But if not . . .
I just want to get this over with and go back to Dakota’s.
“There’s a Home Depot not far from here. If I give you cash, can you—”
“Nope. You’re not staying here alone,” Sebastian replies quickly. He was silent during the detective’s visit—although I’m sure he was listening to every word.
I really don’t want to either, but there’s just so much to do . . . “It’s fine. The lock on the handle still works. Besides, who’s going to come back a second time? There’s nothing left to steal or break.”
Sebastian stands, pulling off his work gloves, and levels me with a look.
I rest my arms over my chest. “Are you always this bossy and paranoid? Or do you know something I don’t know, because if you do, maybe you should tell me so we don’t spend all afternoon arguing. Look at what I have to deal with.” I stretch my arms out at the mess. “It makes way more sense for you to grab the locks and me to keep collecting this shit so we can be done with this mess and I can go have a nap because I’m so damn tired of this nightmare,” I ramble on.
In three quick strides he’s over the pile of stuffing torn from the couch and on me, his fingers weaving into the back of my hair as he pulls my mouth to his.
The kiss is hard and fast, lasting just long enough to remind me of last night on the front steps before everything fell apart. “Shut up and get your purse,” he whispers. He turns and strolls out the front door.
And I follow, quietly, my senses suddenly wide awake.
TWENTY-TWO
SEBASTIAN
What the fuck is happening?
I go from hunting down a videotape with a highly sensitive, incriminating, and libelous confession to picking out paint colors and shopping for locks with the woman who used to be a potential target.
And I’m enjoying it.
Then again, I let that same potential target permanently mark my body with her hands. And I fully plan on being inside her the first chance I get.
So, this situation was already all kinds of fucked-up, even before today.
“Okay. What do you think about this?” Ivy holds up a dead bolt. “Schlage. That’s a good brand, right?”
“Not as easy to pick as some of the others.”
She shoots a sideways glance but doesn’t ask any questions, tossing it into the shopping cart, already filled with trash bags and new lightbulbs, to replace the ones that were smashed. Bentley’s guys had no reason to go as far as smashing lightbulbs. “Then I think we’re good, unless you need any other tools?”
“Nope.” Her uncle’s toolbox was well stocked, though its contents were scattered all over the garage floor.
“Okay, then. Cash register it is,” she says through a sigh. She seems to be taking this all in stride, though by her jumpiness and the look of dismay on her face when we saw the interior of the house in daylight earlier, she’s far from fine.
Ivy pushes the shopping cart down the aisle, not checking to see if I’m following.
I smile at her back. She changed out of that soft pink shirt the second we stepped into the house, switching it for a blood-red loose-fitting one that falls off one shoulder and covers that fantastic ass, and has the word FIERCE scrawled across the back.
How appropriate.
It’s that ferocity that keeps reeling me in tighter.