Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
My eyes fly open wide. "You wouldn't."
He smirks, a challenge glinting in his eyes. "You sure about that, baby?"
Crap. What am I saying? He absolutely would. I'm not sure there's anything he wouldn't do when it comes to me. That's how badly he wants this—wants me. So why the hell am I still fighting it? Oh, right. Because I'm an idiot, that's why.
"Fine, I'll go," I say, swallowing the pit of anxiety in my stomach. "But only because you're forcing me to do it, Easton."
His thumb slips between my lips, making my core clench. "Fucking liar," he growls, his eyes practically smolder as my teeth rake the pad of his thumb. "But since we're in public and I can't slip my hand in your panties and make you lick up the proof of how badly you want to go out with me, I'll let you keep telling yourself that."
"Easton," I groan, heat blasting through me.
He chuckles, leaning halfway out of his patrol unit to brush his lips across my forehead. "Go get some sleep, princess. I know damn well you've still got another ten hours of torture to plan for me."
"Only ten? We work a twelve tonight."
"I'm fucking aware, baby." He narrows his eyes at me. "But even God got one day of rest. At least give me two goddamn hours to eat and bring you coffee."
My lips twitch. "We'll see."
***
"What the heck?" I mutter, stopping short just outside my front door when I notice it standing partially open half an hour later. I blink bleary eyes, thinking maybe they're playing tricks on me…but they aren't. The door is open.
I know I locked it when I left last night. I grew up in Houston. I always lock my door. I take a step closer, and my gaze lands on the crack in the door frame. My heart jolts against my ribcage.
Someone broke in.
Holy crap.
What if they're still inside?
I no more think it and something thuds from inside.
I practically race back to my car, not willing to stick around when they may have a weapon, and I don't. The keys shake in my hand as I frantically jab the button on the fob. The stupid battery is low, so it takes six times before the door finally unlocks.
I throw myself inside, flinging my stuff into the passenger seat. I back out of the driveway quickly, feeling oddly…calm. I'm scared, there's no denying that. But I don't feel panicked. I don't want to cry. I just want to get somewhere safe and get someone here, in that order.
The curtains in the living room shift and a face briefly appears. Blue eyes lock with mine before the curtains fall closed, hiding the man from view.
Jesus. He's still in my house.
"Call Easton," I demand, hitting the button on my steering wheel that makes the car dial for me. I don't know why I call him instead of dispatch. I just need to hear his voice right now. I need him right now. Whatever that means, I'll sort it out later.
"Miss me already, princess?" he practically purrs down the line.
"Someone is in my house," I say.
"What?" He sobers immediately. "Where are you? Are you safe, baby?"
"I'm in my car. I left as soon as I heard the noise. But I saw him at the window. White male, blue eyes, dark hair."
"I'm on my way," he says, his voice hard, lethal. His sirens start up, coming through the line. "Pull up at the end of the block and wait for me. Do not turn your car off. If you see him again, you drive off as fast as you can."
"I need to call dispatch," I whisper.
"Already on it, princess. Stay on the phone with me," he orders, his voice shaking. And it kills me a little to know he's afraid for me. He's so unshakable, so damn strong. But right now, he's scared.
"I won't hang up," I promise, speeding down the block. I drive to the very end and then flip a U-turn, pulling up on the side of the road facing down the block toward my house.
"Unit 232 to dispatch. 10-33 traffic," I hear him say, alerting dispatch that he has emergency traffic. A second later, he gives my address and explains the situation, his tone tense. "I'm en route. Code."
"Easton, it's Dillon," Dillon's voice crackles down the line as he responds to Easton over the radio. "Is that Molly's address?"
"10-4," Easton growls.
"I'm on the way."
I wrap my arms around myself, shivering.
"I'm on the way, baby," Easton promises me a second later. "Dillon is coming too. You okay?"
His voice is still shaking. Is he thinking about what happened to him? God, I hope not.
"Yes." I lick my lips, searching for something to say to keep him talking so he doesn't think about what happened to him last time he answered a call like this. "How do you know my address?"