Page 55 of Under Fire

A strange pause unfolded between the two men. Warren held her tighter, silent.

Eventually, the cop continued, “She can’t enter the premises, even once they get the flames out. Does she have somewhere to stay?”

“Yes,” Warren confirmed, his hand reaching out to take something.

“With you?” the cop pushed.

Warren remained quiet, shoving something into his pocket.

The cop grunted, concluding, “That’s my card. You’d better call me tomorrow.”

Alisa pressed her eyes shut as she thought of the few things she’d still had of her mother’s as well as her textbooks, her med notes… Why the hell had it happened?

Warren ushered her forward, but she stumbled, buckled and nearly fell. He wasted no time in picking her up, getting her bag from her car and settling her into his truck. He was in control, and he was moving her to safety. It only reaffirmed everything she’d come to believe about him.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, she caught his expression as he jumped into the driver’s seat. A troubled look had taken over his features—a look that told Alisa that something was very, very wrong.

Chapter Twenty

Warren

Warren didn’t expect to be leaning over his bathtub at half past two in the morning, but there he was—a wet cloth in hand. He dripped hot water down Alisa’s shaking back, warming her, reviving her. She remained curled up, her head resting on her knees—frozen, scared.

And she had damn good reason to be, he griped silently to himself. Someone was clearly after her.

“Should we call someone for you?” he probed, studying her reaction. “Your fiancé, maybe?”

Her back muscles noticeably flinched as he said the words, telling him everything even as she remained silent. He grabbed the bar of soap, lathering and washing her arms and shoulders, massaging the tension out of her.

“Seems weird that you’re not calling him,” he said.

“What do you want me to say to that?” she whispered, her trembling voice barely reaching his ears.

“Is this what you meant when you said you needed help?”

He let the question linger, trickling soapy water down her delicate back. He wanted her to respond but wasn’t sure she was fully with him. She was so goddamn shaken.

So he employed every tactic he knew.

As he kneaded, he enjoyed how smooth and soft her skin felt under his calloused hands. Bathing her was nearly the distraction he needed to stay cool. But it wasn’t enough to take his mind off the burning urgency of the matter. Dogged, he pushed on.

“Tell me about him.”

“What do you want to know?” Her dark eyes flitted up to him, looking at him for the first time in a while.

“What type of guy is he?”

“Not like you,” she admitted.

He found a knot in her back, working it, giving her space to elaborate…and she did.

“He’s an asshole.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head as she slowly peeled upward from her position.

“Yeah? And why are you marrying him?”

“I don’t want to,” she said too fast, then chewed her lip.

As she averted her gaze, she unconsciously told Warren something. She didn’t want to talk about it. That was exactly the moment when he really needed to know the truth about her engagement. Something was clearly very wrong.

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