“Someone had wedged the main door open so they could go back and forth with some furniture,” he replied. “Now please tell me you have the name of the person who tried to kill you yesterday. Or even better, his severed head.”
“I wish I could.”
He cursed beneath his breath. “He needs to be found before he thinks to try it again. Shit, Havana, I can’t believe you almost died.” Dieter’s gaze switched to something behind her, and then his entire body went tight.
Glancing over her shoulder, Havana watched as Tate slowly stalked into the living area. His unblinking stare was locked on the newcomer as his long legs covered the space with his usual animal grace. Then he was at her side, his arm brushing hers.
And now she felt awkward. Dieter wasn’t her ex-boyfriend, but he was close enough to count. Tate knew that; he knew she’d once cared for this man. She didn’t want him to think that those feelings still lived inside her, but if she touched Tate in reassurance, he might think she was trying to shove their relationship in Dieter’s face to make the guy jealous or something.
“Everything all right, Havana?” Tate asked, his eyes still fixed on their visitor.
“Yeah, fine.” She was about to make the introductions, but Dieter spoke before she had the chance.
“Who are you?” he asked Tate, his tone somewhat belligerent with a note of territorialism … like that of a bratty juvenile who didn’t like finding an unfamiliar guest in his home.
The male at her side didn’t bristle. “Tate Devereaux, Havana’s—”
“Landlord, right,” Dieter finished, narrowing his eyes.
“Among other things.” Tate flicked up a brow. “And you are?”
“Dieter,” he replied simply. Like Tate would know who he was. Like Havana must talk about him all the time or something.
“Just Dieter?” asked Tate. “Like just Madonna, or just Cher?”
The eagle shifter’s nostrils flared. “Dieter Lincoln. I thought your enforcers were supposed to be guarding Havana.”
“They were,” said Tate. “Hence why the shooter targeted her via drive-by. He no doubt figured it was his best bet of hurting her without being caught.”
“Well, he was right, wasn’t he?” Dieter snarked. “She took three bullets yesterday. Could’ve died.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Tate, his voice so carefully calm it raised the hairs on her nape. It must have had a similar effect on Dieter, because he seemed to resist the urge to toss more shitty comments at Tate. Wise decision.
“Ever since Tate realized there was a danger to me, he’s been on top of this situation,” said Havana. “You don’t get to come here and point fingers at people who have been trying to keep me safe when you haven’t done a single thing to help.”
“Not because I don’t care,” said Dieter. “I was just—”
“With Tabitha. Which is where you should have been. All I’m saying is that you need to jump off your high horse.”
“And you need to leave this place and lay low for a while. These people after you? They either know your routine, or they’re having you followed—neither of those scenarios are comforting. You could move in with me until it’s over. Or I can arrange for you to stay on my girl’s territory for a while.”
Havana stared at him. He couldn’t honestly think either of those things would happen. “I don’t have any intention of going into hiding.”
“Swallow your damn pride. Being an alpha doesn’t make you invincible. What happened yesterday should have taught you that lesson. Laying low is best and you know it. Jesus, Havana, surely you realize you’re lucky to be goddamn alive.”
A growl rattled Tate’s chest. “I get that your emotions are running high right now, but you need to watch your tone.”
He’d taken the words right out of her mouth.
Dieter blinked. “What?”
“I don’t like the way you’re speaking to her,” Tate went on, his face hard. “More, I don’t like that you think you can talk to her that way. It stops. Now. And while we’re on the subject of what I don’t like, you can take a step back as well. I don’t want you this close to her while you’re angry.”
Dieter’s brows slid together. “You think I’d, what, hurt her?”
“Don’t know. Don’t know you. I just know I don’t want anyone near my girl while they’re in the mood you’re in right now. Simple as that.”
“Your girl? What does that mean? The fling’s back on, is it?” Dieter asked, a sour note to his voice.
“I didn’t say that.”
His face flushing, Dieter glared at Havana. “Wait, you’re dating this guy?” He asked it in the same tone someone would ask if she held satanic rituals in her basement. “For God’s sake, he’s your landlord. What, you want to lose your home? He’ll evict you if it doesn’t work out in the long-run. And it won’t. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s only interested in shallow relationships.”
“That bite mark on her neck says different,” said Bailey.
Dieter went utterly still. His eyes dropped to Havana’s neck and darkened. “You let him mark you?” he asked, his tone so even she could almost miss the anger there.
Havana sighed. She’d never allowed Dieter to leave brands on her because she’d known they wouldn’t have meant anything to him—they wouldn’t have been marks of possession, they’d merely have been wounds he left in the heat of the moment.
Dieter shook his head. “I don’t get any of this. You don’t do commitment any more than he does.”
She felt her head jerk back. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never been in a relationship. You like to keep things casual.” He gestured from her to him. “Case in point.”
“I don’t have some kind of phobia of commitment. It just took me a while to find someone I wanted to commit to.” Which had originally been Dieter, but she didn’t say that. “Which is exactly what happened with you. Meeting Tabitha changed things and made you want more.”
Dieter snapped his mouth shut. “And meeting this guy changed things for you, did it? Did you stop to wonder if meeting you changed anything for him? Because I don’t buy that it did, or he’d have offered you ‘more’ straight off. He didn’t. And did the fling progress to more? No. It ended. Then he comes back on the scene, and you two are dating. Sounds to me like he doesn’t really know what he wants.”
“Right, you’re done here,” declared Tate, officially through with this asshole. Just looking at him, knowing Havana once cared for the man, was hard as fuck. Hearing Dieter badmouth him and try to make her doubt his commitment to her … it was tempting to sucker punch the piece of shit. His cat was all for it.
Dieter scowled. “Well, this isn’t your home, so you don’t get to tell me when I’m done here. Butt the fuck out.”
“Dieter,” groaned Bailey. “Don’t be stupid. He could probably kill you with his thumb alone.”