No, he wouldn’t want billions. “Bummer. Can you introduce me to Easton?”
Hunt gripped the back of her neck. “Sure, but he’s happily engaged.”
She wrinkled her nose. No doubt Easton Norcross was engaged to some statuesque supermodel.
Hunt nipped Savannah’s ear. “And you’re mine.”
She shivered.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Savannah stopped to take it all in. She totally loved the industrial feel to the warehouse interior. Whoever had done the work, had done an excellent job.
The next thing she spotted was a tall, golden-haired man in a tailored suit, kissing a petite, dark-haired woman in a sleek, blue dress that Savannah instantly coveted.
The man lifted his head, saw Hunt and smiled.
“Can’t stay away from your woman, Buchanan?” Hunt asked.
The man slung his arm across the woman’s shoulders. “Why would I want to stay away? She’s gorgeous, mine, and going to marry me.”
“She’s going to smack you if you don’t let her leave. I have a meeting, and Ashley will skin me alive if I’m late. Sometimes I wonder who’s the boss and who’s the assistant.” The brunette eyed Savannah with interest. “Hi, I’m Gia Norcross. This is my man, Saxon Buchanan.”
“Savannah.”
“Vander’s taking care of Savannah for me,” Hunt said. “She’s got some troubles.”
Gia’s gaze flickered briefly to the bruises on Savannah’s neck. “Bodyguard duty.” There was sympathy in the woman’s voice.
A slightly disheveled brunette in a fitted, green pantsuit stepped out of an office. “Rhys, I have to go.”
A far-too-hot-for-his-own-good man stepped out behind her. He looked like a rock god crossed with a fallen angel. He had a handsome face, thick, dark hair with curl to it, and a wide smile.
Oh, Savannah wanted to paint him, bare chested, guitar in hand.
“Oh, hello.” The woman blushed prettily, especially when the man kissed the back of her neck.
“Rhys Norcross and Haven McKinney, this is Savannah Cole,” Hunt introduced her.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Haven said.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to introduce you two,” Hunt added. “Savannah’s an artist.”
Haven’s face perked up. “Really? I’d love to see your work.”
“Well, sure,” Savannah said.
“Haven works at the Hutton Museum,” Hunt said.
Savannah gasped. “I love the Hutton. I’ve spent hours there. The Carolina Exhibition is amazing.”
Haven beamed. “I spent hours securing that collection. I’m the curator.”
Brynn and Vander strode down the hall, and Savannah took a second to admire them. They had a similar, take-charge vibe. A matching set. Then Vander pulled Brynn close, he ran his nose down hers, and watched her intensely the entire time. Savannah felt like a voyeur. Phew. They sure generated some heat.
Vander lifted a hand to the crowd.
“Hi, Savannah,” Brynn said
“Hi.”
Gia frowned. “So, Savannah, do you know Hunt from a case?”
“Sort of…”
“She’s my neighbor,” Hunt said.
“Oh,” Gia said.
“I need to go,” Hunt said. “Stay inside, follow Vander’s orders.”
Savannah nodded.
“So, there’s nothing going on with you two?” Gia asked, not even bothering to hide her nosiness. The woman had a look in her eye.
“I have a stalker,” Savannah said.
“That’s terrible,” Haven said. “I’m so sorry.”
“But there’s also plenty going on.” Hunt tugged Savannah close and laid a kiss on her.
When he finally stepped back, her head was swimming, and her girly parts were doing the rumba.
She looked up. The men all looked amused, and the women were eyeing her with wide grins.
“I’ll pick you up this afternoon,” he said.
She watched him stride to the stairs.
Damn the man.
It was a little surprising to find herself in a beautiful, light-filled space, showing her sketchbook to Haven.
“Oh, look at Hunt in this. That man has hot, dependable, cop written all over him.” Haven smiled at Savannah. “But don’t worry, I like hot, sexy, rock-star investigators myself.” She looked down at the sketchbook. “Your style is amazing.”
“I paint and sculpt, too.”
Haven’s blue eyes lit up. “Can I see?”
Savannah nodded. “I actually had some showings, before…”
Haven grabbed her hand and squeezed. “When I got together with Rhys, I found myself in some trouble. There was a theft at the Hutton, and a Monet was stolen.”
Savannah’s mouth dropped open. “I heard about that in the news.”
“I was there. It was horrible. It turned out my ex, who’d hit me, was involved. Anyway, I have no idea how it feels to have a crazed stalker after you, but I do know how it feels to have your life spin out of control, and to be afraid. I also know how difficult it can be to trust a gorgeous man who wants to help you.”
Savannah felt a sense of kinship and understanding. Smiling, she pulled out her phone. “I’ve got some pictures of my paintings. It’s not the same, of course, but…”
She showed Haven and the woman squeed. “Amazing. Your painting style is incredible. Oh, my God, you’ve had to hide this?” Haven straightened. “Once Hunt has your stalker locked up, you’re having a showing at the museum.”
Savannah froze, certain her hearing was suddenly failing. “Wait, what? At the Hutton?”
“Yes. I’m going to make it happen.”
Savannah blinked. “Haven, I…” She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been safe for so long. Hadn’t been in a position where she could actively plan for the future.
Haven hugged her, and Savannah’s throat tightened. She hadn’t spoken to her best friend, Saskia, since she’d been on the run.
Savannah missed her so much—the camaraderie, someone to confide in, joke with.
“Trust the good,” Haven said. “Grab him with both hands and hold on.”
Savannah smiled. “You’re right. Thank you, Haven. Oh my God, my art in the Hutton.”
Vander appeared, striding down the row of glass-walled offices. Something about him made her think of a stalking panther. Then she saw his face and the bottom of her stomach dropped away.
“Something’s wrong.” A rock lodged in her throat. “What happened?”
Vander put his hands on his hips, his face grim. “Hunt’s been shot.”
The world blurred around her. Noise roared in her ears.
Haven grabbed her hand and squeezed hard.
“Is he—?” Savannah’s voice broke. “Is he okay?”
God. God.
“He’s on the way to the hospital.”
“Was it a criminal?” Haven asked. “Were cops targeted?”
Vander’s lips flattened. “He was shot at a crime scene by a long-range sniper rifle.”
Savannah tasted bile. “It’s Walkson.” This was all her fault. She should have left. She’d known Walkson would target Hunt. “This is my fault.”