Page 48 of Healing Hearts
“I’m not dragging Emily through the mud of my past,” I say. “If even a spot of dirt got on her, I’d be so angry at myself for putting her in that situation. She’s had enough tough moments. She doesn’t need to be bathing in mine too.”
“You know her better than me,” Brett says.
Then we work in silence until just before lunch, when all the tools are accounted for, and I’ve decided to check the front reception and my office.
It’s then that I discover someone tried to break into my laptop computer in the office but ran out of password attempts. The two computers are synced, but I got into the desktop earlier to check appointments and schedules without issue. It makes me nervous that whoever tried to get into this one actually got into the other.
Immediately, I go back to the desktop and check the activity. There was one login attempt at three in the morning that failed, but that’s it. It’s hard to know if whoever it was tried that before or after the laptop.
“I think I should get cameras,” I say to Brett as we’re boarding up the front door, securing the other areas as best we can. “Maybe a security system.”
“I would,” Brett says. “No way to know yet if this was Dan, but if you’re right and he’s going to try to force your hand, ruining your business so he can ‘save’ it is the best ‘stray ball’ he’s got.”
It is, and that makes me really fucking nervous.
Chapter Twenty
Emily
Since the break-in, Trent’s been at the shop even longer hours than normal. Although he hasn’t said much to me, I’ve overheard conversations with security companies about cameras and sensors, and I can almost sense a thread of worry sewing itself underneath Trent’s tough exterior. I’ve always said he’s the softest tough guy I’ve ever met, but he’s been doing an impeccable job of putting up an impenetrable mental and emotional barrier between us the last couple of days.
Any other week, it might not bother me that he’s pulling back, distancing himself a little. In some ways, it’s a relief because we were becoming so close, and a tiny sign at the back of my brain has been flashing a bright yellow caution regarding my emotional attachment to him.
But the calendar doesn’t lie, and with the way Trent’s been behaving, I think there is a real chance today will go unnoticed.
So when I drop Amir off at jiu jitsu, I decide to pay Trent a visit at the shop. The front door is fixed, and when I open it, a doorbell goes off throughout the shop. That’s new.
“Hello?” Trent calls from the garage area.
“It’s just me,” I say.
He comes out of the shop, cleaning his hands, and my heart kicks at his rugged, disheveled beauty. Every time he fixes something at the house—big or small—it’s like my libido gets switched on. Change a lightbulb. Damp panties. Stop a toilet from running constantly. Clenched thighs. Fix Amir’s favorite toy so it works like new again. One grazed fingertip short of an orgasm.
Seeing him come out of the shop, noticing the way his gaze drags along my body, as though the sight of me does the same thing to him, gives me a boost of confidence. The distance that he’s stuck between us made me wonder whether I’d have the conviction to do what needs to be done.
“Everything okay?” he asks. “Amir at jiu jitsu?”
“He is,” I say. “Can I talk to you in your office for a minute?”
Trent throws the cloth he was using toward a wash bin and leads the way to the back. Once we’re in the office, I close the door, and I push in the lock.
He sits in his chair, rocking back and watching me.
On the wall is a bank of screens, and each camera seems to be pointed at a different part of the shop—the bays, the front desk, the parking lot. There’s even one that seems to be recording in here, and I glance behind me to see one perched high in the corner.
“Isn’t that overkill?” I ask.
“Whoever broke in tried to get into my laptop,” he says. “Until the police know who did it, I’ve got eyes everywhere.”
“How long does it keep the recording?”
“Each recording is saved for a month.”
“Can anyone else see the footage?” I ask, a hint of nerves hitting me. What I had planned didn’t account for this.
“Just me. Why?”
“Have you looked at the calendar lately?” I ask.
