Secrets. Cynthia Eden
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society boy with more money than sense. Some guy handpicked by her father.
Only her father was dead. And he knew her mother had passed away when Jennifer was just a child.
As she stood before him, Jennifer seemed very much alone.
Not anymore. “You don’t have a...boyfriend?”
“No.” Her gaze met his. “There’s no one like that in my life.”
The relief he felt was wrong, and he knew it. So was the thought that he had... I’m here now.
In silence, they headed down to the main floor. The elevator ride was pretty close to torture. Mostly because the woman smelled better than sin.
“I heard about your parents.” Her confession was hushed.
He lifted a brow.
“Okay, I found out when I did an internet search on you. Brodie, I’m sorry. So sorry for what happened to them.”
Yeah, his family’s attack had been splashed all over the press in Texas when the murders occurred, and he knew there was still plenty to read about the horror online.
“Did you...did you ever find their killers?”
“We’re close,” he told her. Closer than they’d ever been before since they’d finally located the weapons used to kill his parents.
Surprise flashed in her eyes for just a moment. “That’s great.”
The elevator dinged. They stepped into the hallway and her high heels tapped against the gleaming tile. He nodded to the security guard as they left the building and the hot Texas night hit them. His SUV was parked right across the street. He caught her elbow in a light grip and headed for the vehicle.
Just as they hit the middle of that street, bright lights flashed on, locking them in a too-stark illumination. A car’s engine revved and tires squealed.
In that instant, Brodie realized the driver of that car was heading straight for him and Jennifer. Aiming for them. Jennifer yanked at his arm, as if she was trying to pull him out of harm’s way, even as Brodie grabbed tightly to her. They hurtled through the air, dodging that car—a long black car—by inches. The wind seemed to whip around them, and the acrid scent of burning rubber filled Brodie’s nose right before he and Jennifer crashed into the asphalt.
The car didn’t slow down. It raced to the edge of the street and swung a hard right. The damn thing vanished into the night.
That maniac just tried to kill us!
“See...?” Jennifer’s husky voice yanked his stare back to her. She was sprawled right beside him on that asphalt. “I told you... Someone is hunting me.”
Not just hunting her. Someone wanted her dead.
* * *
“YOU’RE STAYING HERE?”
Okay, so Brodie McGuire wasn’t exactly impressed with her choice of lodgings. His tone of voice made that fact loud and clear. Jennifer headed out of the bathroom, a wet cloth pressed to her scratched elbow. That hard contact with the pavement had ripped her skin right off. “Well, seeing as how I had the key to the room and my things are here...” She motioned toward the bed and her one bag. “I’d say that’s a yes. I’m staying here.” Jennifer tried to put a teasing note in her voice.
But Brodie glared at her. “I expected you to be in a five-star hotel. One with a guard downstairs, making sure that guests were escorted in and out of the place.”
Ah, right. He still saw her as Jennifer Wesley, heiress. That was very much the wrong image to have. “There was no money left when my father died.” Her words were totally true. Jennifer hated lying to Brodie, so she was trying to stick to the truth as much as possible. “And when my home burned—” burned, exploded into balls of fire “—well, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options available to me.” Her luggage bag was filled with clothes that she’d bought during a fast and furious purchase in New Orleans. “I’m trying to save as much money as I can.”
Because she was starting to think she might just need to vanish, and if that happened—cash would be vital for her survival.
“You’re on the first floor,” he said, a faint line between his dark brows. “The lock on that window is broken.” He stabbed a finger toward the left.
The lock was broken? Unease tightened like a knot in her stomach. The lock hadn’t been broken when she’d first checked in to the room. She knew because she had double-checked all the locks there.
Brodie’s hand dropped back to his side. “Anyone could get in here.”
She headed for the window. The lock was smashed all right. Maybe someone already has been in here. “I promise that lock was fine earlier.”
He swore.
She’d been aware of the furious energy surrounding him ever since that hit-and-run. There’d been no license plate on the car, at least not one that she’d seen, though Brodie had been able to easily identify the car as an older-model Mustang. He’d called the cops and spoken with a Detective Shayne Townsend. Brodie had told her that Shayne was a friend, someone he could count on to help him out with her case.
No uniforms had come out to the scene in order to talk with them, though. Instead, Brodie had bundled her into his vehicle and gotten them away from McGuire Securities.
“Is anything missing?” He pointed to her bag. “You need to check.”
Right. She dropped the cloth back in the bathroom and hurried toward her luggage. Jennifer opened up the bag and—
This time, Brodie’s curse made her flinch.
Her clothes had been slashed. A black-and-white photo lay on top of the clothes, a photo of her. One that had been taken near the Saint Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.
Someone had used a red marker and written across that photo. Two stark words: I know.
She didn’t touch the photo. Jennifer knew they could send it to the cops, to that Detective Townsend, and get it checked for fingerprints.
“What does he know?” Brodie asked, voice gruff.
Jennifer backed away from the bag. “I have no idea.” She looked up to meet his stare. The rage glittering in his gaze had her sucking in a quick breath. “Brodie—”
“You’re coming home with me.”
That didn’t sound good. Or maybe it did. But she shook her head. “I’ll just get a new room. We can turn this over to the cops, and—”
“I’ll get Detective Townsend down here with his crime scene team. If the intruder left DNA or fingerprints, he’ll find it.”
“You...you trust him?” Her experience with cops hadn’t exactly been stellar so far. Back in New Orleans, they’d pretty much thought that she’d had a breakdown after the alley attack, that she was just imagining the stalking.
I’m not imagining anything.
“Shayne Townsend is a friend. We can count on him.” He pulled her farther away from the bed. “But you aren’t staying here. Your stalker is watching this hotel, watching you, and I’m not just going to leave you alone so he can attack.”
The stalker had followed her from New Orleans. Had he been right behind her that entire time? On all those long twisting roads? Goose bumps rose on Jennifer’s arms. She’d actually thought that she might be able to just leave the guy behind in New Orleans, but, obviously, she wasn’t going to be that lucky.
“You can stay at the family ranch,” Brodie told her. “My brothers and I installed the security system there. There is no safer place, and I promise, no one will get to you there.”
Her gaze