Page 35 of His to Protect

Chapter 8

Trina

I should have been gone before he returned home. I didn’t know if it took me longer than five minutes to gather the rest of my things and carry my bag downstairs, as well as collect all of Boomer’s things, or if Declan moved with supersonic speed when a woman was in trouble.

Regardless, as I zipped my bag, Boomer next to me, his tail thumping maniacally on the carpet at my heels, I heard the front door burst open.

“Trina!” Declan yelled my name at the same time he appeared in the living room.

He stopped suddenly and my fingers froze on the zipper.

My jaw dropped open and I stood up. “You didn’t have to come home.”

Home. It wasn’t even my place.

I’d become too attached, too secure.

I leaned down and finished zipping the bag, stopping only when his hand covered mine.

“Don’t go,” he said quietly, almost a whisper, but not quite. “Tell me what he said.”

I shook my head and then jerked my chin up when movement behind Declan caught my attention.

“Who are they?” I asked, pulling my hand from Declan’s grasp.

He looked behind him, and my eyes followed his until I was looking at a man in dark-blue jeans and a black T-shirt that almost matched his dark hair. His blue eyes were fixed on me with unspoken and unknown intent, and as I took in the handsome, incredibly muscled man, my gaze went to the woman next to him.

He had one hand in a front pocket, and she slid her hand through the crook of his arm and pressed closer to him.

She was beautiful, with inky-black hair that fell down past her breasts, and wore a simple, light-blue dress that hit her just below the knees, with sleeves that came down just past her elbows. She was elegant and casual, and as I lifted my eyes to hers, she seemed friendly.

Her blue eyes narrowed as her lips spread into a cautious smile.

“Hello. I’m Blue.”

It took only a moment for me to recognize the name, and my gaze snapped to Declan, turning into a scowl before I turned back to the other man.

Tyson Blackwell and Gabriella Galecki.

FBI agent and ex-Mafia princess.

I hadn’t forgotten what Declan said about them. I also remembered the news story being on television for weeks.

“You’re law enforcement,” I said to Tyson.

“Tyson Blackwell,” he said, “I’m with the FBI. And you’re running from an abusive husband.”

He stated it so simply. He knew.

My eyes flicked to Declan’s. “You said you wouldn’t tell him.”

Blood boiled in my veins. As if Boomer could sense my anger, or my fear, he got to his feet and for the first time in my life, backed up against my hips. He let loose a low growl, his eyes directly on Tyson.

I reached out and rested my hand on Boomer’s head, letting him know it was okay.

Of all the times for him to turn into a guard dog.

I almost laughed, but the room was too tense, the air too thick.

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