“I don’t know. That will take more digging. Whoever set up Savannah Cole did a great job.”
“Can you find out who?” Vander asked.
“I can try.” Ace flexed his hands. “I’ll set up some searches, but then I need to head home to my baby mama.”
Hunt rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Call me if you find anything.”
Ace saluted.
Vander lifted his chin, and Cam clasped Hunt’s shoulder. “See you at Mom’s for lunch on Sunday.”
“Yeah.” Their mom liked to feed her boys as often as they’d let her.
Hunt drove home. As he passed, he saw that the Bean’s windows were boarded up. He’d checked on the man who’d been shot earlier, too. He was fine, and already discharged.
As Hunt pulled to a stop outside his place, he saw the light was on in Savannah’s bedroom. He wondered what she was working on.
As he walked upstairs, he turned on the lights and loosened his tie. It was nice to be home. He debated having a beer, versus going straight to bed.
Bed won.
He took a quick shower and pulled on some loose, gray sleep shorts. He dropped onto his bed, and watched the shadows dance on the ceiling.
A faint buzzing sound came through the wall. He frowned. The soundproofing in the townhouses wasn’t bad, but as proven by Savannah’s love for rock ‘n roll, sound still got through.
What the hell was the buzzing? Some artist’s tool?
Then realization hit him.
Savannah’s bedroom was just on the other side of the wall.
He heard a woman’s soft cries, and he stiffened. So did his cock.
Savannah was using a toy. And it had nothing to do with artwork.
Fuck.
He shoved the sheet off his overheated body. Another sweet cry and Hunt cursed again. He shoved his shorts down and took his cock in hand.
He imagined Savannah on the bed, his bed, her legs spread and blonde curls spilling everywhere. He tugged on his cock and his breathing sped up. Desire was like lightning down his spine.
Through the wall, he heard more moans and cries.
With a brutal grip, he jerked his cock harder, faster. Then he heard one distinct word.
“Hunter.”
Shit. With another hard jerk, Hunt cursed and came, spilling on his gut. He groaned through the pleasure.
He lay there, spent, breathing heavily. Fuck.
It was the best orgasm he’d had in a long time.
There was no sound from next door, now. Shaking his head at just how worked up Savannah Cole had him, he headed to the bathroom to clean up.
He returned to his bed, back in his sleep shorts. Now music thumped from next-door. He rolled his eyes and plumped the pillow under his head. She couldn’t help herself. Thankfully, it wasn’t cranked quite as high as usual.
Strangely, he found it comforting.
Then he heard a loud thud. He frowned. There was another thud.
Like someone had knocked something over.
Another thud.
Hunt sat up. Then he heard another noise. A woman’s muffled scream, quickly cut off.
Fuck.
He snatched up his SIG and charged out of his room.
The man’s weight hit her again.
Savannah’s easel crashed to the floor. He was big, wearing all black clothes and a balaclava over his face.
They spun, knocked over a chair, and went down.
Her heart was racing. Fear and panic crashed together inside her like paint splashed on the floor. She hit the floorboards hard, the man on top of her.
Savannah grunted. “Leave me—”
Gloved hands clamped on her neck and squeezed.
No. No.
Adrenaline shot through her. She didn’t want to fucking die. She kicked her legs, her feet hammering on the floor. She’d fought so damn hard to stay alive and protect her family.
The man squeezed harder. The pain was horrible, she couldn’t breathe. She reached out, trying to grab something, anything, but there was nothing in reach.
Wait. She still had the paintbrush that she’d stuck in her hair earlier. She reached up, her lungs burning.
Her fingers closed on the well-worn wood, and she yanked it out. Black splotches appeared in her vision.
Dark eyes stared down at her, showing no emotion.
Fuck you. She rammed the end of the paintbrush at his eye.
He turned at the last minute, but she still clipped him.
He muttered a curse, and his hands loosened. Savannah drew a breath into her oxygen-starved lungs.
But the guy kept her pinned under his larger body. He recovered quickly, gripped her neck again, and rapped her head against the floor.
Savannah saw stars. Her consciousness wavered.
No. If she blacked out, she’d be dead.
Those strong fingers squeezed.
She thought of her mom and brother. I miss you so much. I love you.
She thought of Hunter. Of never having the chance to paint him, taste him, touch him. Hunter’s strong hands protected, they didn’t kill.
In the distance, she heard a crash.
Her attacker tensed.
Then she saw a flash of movement, and the man’s weight lifted off her.
Panicked, she sat up and scrambled backward. She touched her sore throat, sucking in short, sharp breaths.
Two men were wrestling on the floor—one wearing black clothes, and one in shorts with his broad back bare, just smooth bronze skin.
Hunt.
Savannah leaned back against the couch. Her heart hammered so hard against her chest she thought it would burst out. She was lightheaded, and she tried desperately not to pass out.
She heard the thuds of knuckles on flesh, and deep masculine grunts. The man in black jumped up. Hunt did as well, swiveled, and tripped the guy.
There were more grunts, then her attacker managed to get to his feet and ran. She saw him sprint down the stairs, slamming into the railing as he went.
A bare-chested Hunt ran after him.
Then she was alone.
Panic closed in. What if the attacker wasn’t alone? Her mouth went dry, her vision blurred.
She fought to slow her breathing. She couldn’t pass out.
She heard heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.
Panic burned like acid in her veins. She snatched some scissors off the coffee table and held them up.
Hunt appeared and headed straight for her.
When he reached her, she dropped the scissors. They clattered on the floor. She flew into his arms.
As his arms closed around her, she burrowed into him. She felt warm male skin, smelled Hunt.
He sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap.
God. God. She burrowed deeper, her face pressed against his neck. When was the last time someone had held her?
When was the last time someone had made her feel safe?
“He got away?” she asked shakily.
“He got away. He ran off into the night, and I didn’t want to leave you unprotected.”
She breathed in his skin. His hand curved around her hip and tightened.
“You get a look at him?”
“No. His face was covered.” She swallowed. Her throat was sore and her voice was hoarse. “He had dark eyes. He was big.”
Hunt grunted. “I need to call it in.”
She gripped onto him tighter. “Can you…do it in another minute?”
“Okay, baby.” He hugged her tighter and stroked a hand down her back. “You didn’t know him?”
Her stomach did its best to scrunch into a tiny knot.