CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TOGETHER THEY GOT out and moved closer.
Avoiding the paint—still fresh and sticky—Cannon unlocked the front door and helped her inside. “Stay put one second, okay?”
With a nod, she stood there, looking a little numb, a lot defiant.
So proud.
He did a quick surveillance of the house, but everything was in order. He checked on the garage, the small backyard, each window.
When he returned, she had her cell phone in her hand. Without him having to ask, she said, “I was ready to call for backup if we needed it.”
“Smart.” Wishing he could have shielded her from this, he drifted his thumb over her cheek. “Nothing else seems disturbed, though.”
“Good.” Moving away, she dropped her purse on the couch and stalked into the kitchen. He heard water running and, bothered by the way she stayed so contained, followed her.
She had a bucket in the sink, filling it with soapy water.
Cannon reached around her, turned off the water, and hugged her up to his chest. “That’ll only smear it and make it worse. In this heat, it’ll be dry in another half hour. Then I can sand it off.”
“The door will be ruined.”
“So we’ll replace it.”
“It’s all over the porch, too.”
“A power washer will get it off.”
Through a strained laugh, she leaned back against him. “Do you have an answer for everything?”
“For chickenshit stuff like this I do.” Keeping her close, he turned her in his arms. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She looked up at him with those big green eyes both sad and sweet, and like every guy everywhere, his reaction was a throbbing boner.
“Promise me,” he said.
“I’m not budging.” Patting his chest, she moved away. “But I’m not leaving that paint out there for all the neighbors to see either.”
“I can cover it up.”
“I’m going to take a picture first.” Solemn, she reminded him, “Margaret wanted us to document everything.”
So she figured it was Heath, too? “All right.”
Together they went out front and took care of it.
After reporting the vandalism to Margaret, he sanded off as much of the paint as he could. It looked terrible, but now no one would know what it had said.
Yvette brought out a sheet and tacked it over the front of the door while he had a quick chat with their closest neighbors. Unfortunately, most of them were elderly and hadn’t seen anything.
Or they didn’t want to get involved.
If any of the neighbors had businesses in the area, he’d have an in. But they were quiet, retired people who wanted to avoid trouble.
Not a problem. He had a network that could cover a lot of ground. Starting tonight, he’d put as many people on it as he needed to.
“Nothing?” Yvette asked when he rejoined her.
He shook his head. “I should have put a damn security camera here, too.”
Though she tried to hide it, he could tell the sick prank had distressed Yvette. “I’m the one who should have realized how far Heath might take it. I just never guessed he’d follow me from California. Why he’s suddenly being so persistent, I have no idea.”
Cannon knew it was because of him. Heath had probably assumed she’d remain available until he could figure out a way to coax her back to him.
Now, with another man in the picture, he felt threatened.
“We’ll both be more careful from now on.” He put his arm around her. “Come on.”
Once inside he attempted a casual demeanor to conceal his anger. “While I grab a shower, why don’t you get something together for us to eat?”
“Got a preference?”
You. No, he shouldn’t think that. Especially not with her watching him so expectantly. He’d need to either handle things in the shower—or make it ice-cold. “Something light. Maybe a sandwich?”
“I can handle that.” Again she patted his chest, and, damn it, it felt too much like a dismissal. “Fifteen minutes?”
He wasn’t a chick. “Make it more like seven.”
Unwilling to leave her alone for long, he grabbed clean clothes and rushed through a head-to-toe scrubbing. Even with a quick jerk, he was back out of the shower a minute shy of the designated seven.
He’d taken the sharpest bite off the clawing lust, but hadn’t even come close to denting the possessiveness.
Someone, likely Heath, wanted to scare Yvette. Given the man’s obsession, he might even want to hurt her.
Wouldn’t happen.
One way or another, Cannon knew he had to put an end to the harassment.
She was in her designated spot on the couch, a tray of food on the coffee table. Cannon soaked up every nuance of her mood as he joined her. On top of fixing the food, she’d washed up and changed into a long nightshirt. Now, sitting yoga style on the deep cushions, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and with dexterous speed worked it into a braid. She held a band in her teeth and when she reached the ends of her long hair, she secured it.
Her lashes swept up as she faced him. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted chips or pickles. I mean, because of your training.”
She had both on the tray, so he grabbed up a pickle slice. “This is good, thanks.”
She’d cut the sandwiches into little triangles. Cute. He ate the first one in one bite.
She nibbled on hers, and since she wasn’t a picky eater, he took that as a sign she was still troubled.