Page 47 of Playing with Trouble

When Violet started crying, it caught me off guard, but also, strangely enough, relieved me.

She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who cried often, especially not in front of someone else.I wasn’t even sure what had triggered it, but I didn’t think it mattered.She’d been running on fumes since her car accident—scared, stressed, stretched too thin.Eventually, something had to give.

So, I just held her.

Her face was pressed against my chest, her body trembling as I rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades.I didn’t say anything.Words weren’t what she needed right now, and if I pushed, she’d only retreat behind those walls again.

After a long few minutes, she pulled back, wiping away the streak of tears on her cheeks.“Thank you.”She winced slightly, her face flushed with embarrassment.“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said, and smiled.“I’m glad I could be here for you.”

She cleared her throat, staring at my chest instead of looking into my eyes.“I know you’re here with me because you’re paid to be, but it’s nice…having your support.”

I pressed my index finger beneath her chin and tipped her head back so that she was looking into my eyes.“You know we can still spend time together after this is over, right?”I said, keeping my tone casual, no pressure.“There’s no rule saying we can’t be friends.”

Friends.Right.Not what I wanted, but I’d take it if that’s all she could give me right now.

“I think this will wrap up soon,” Violet said, her tone lighter, more hopeful.“That car you thought was following us hasn’t shown up again.I think maybe…whoever hit me, if it was even the same guy, just gave up.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but she might be right.There hadn’t been any new leads, no reports of suspicious activity.Sutton had sent me a text letting me know that the casino was discussing closing the case and pulling me off her detail so she could go back to a normal life.

The idea twisted something in my chest.I wanted her safe, of course, but once I was no longer her bodyguard, it would be harder to spend time with her and she’d undoubtedly shut me out completely.

“We’ll see,” was all I said.

But as I took her hand and we walked up to her front door, I felt the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.I couldn’t see anything amiss, but I just knew instinctively something was wrong.That suspicion was confirmed when we got to her door and I could see that it had been busted in, the latch hanging loose, then someone had tried to close it again.But the damage was obvious.Whoever had come here hadn’t bothered with subtlety.They wanted her to know.

I felt her stiffen beside me when she saw the same thing.I handed her my car keys, my tone firm when I said, “Go back to the car and lock yourself in until I know it’s safe.”

I saw the fear in her eyes and she didn’t argue and did as she was told.

Once I knew she was out of danger, I pushed the door open and quietly entered, every muscle on alert.I grabbed a knife from the kitchen as a weapon and silently cleared each room.There was no sound.No movement.Just pure destruction.

When I was certain no one was still there, I returned the knife to the drawer and called in the burglary to the police.

Only then did I really let myself take in the extent of the damage to her home.

The living room had been trashed.Violet’s beloved art prints torn from the walls and slashed through the middle, the couch cushions gutted with a knife.Dishes were shattered across the kitchen tile.In the bathroom a pile of her clothes had been tossed into the tub and bleach poured over them, the chemical stench hitting me hard enough to burn my nose.I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.Violet’s life, her little sanctuary, had been desecrated.

This wasn’t theft.It was personal.A temper tantrum and a warning wrapped into one message:I can get to you.

I swallowed hard, forcing the adrenaline down as the police arrived.I waited with Violet by the curb while they did their job.Only once the scene was secured and processed, and statements taken, were we allowed back inside.

“I want to see what they did,” Violet said.The fear was now gone, and impatience rolled off her in waves.

Shit.I didn’t want to show her the inside of her place, but I knew that I had to.She’d be furious with me if I tried to protect her from this.

I nodded and led the way back up to the front door.“It’s not good,” I said honestly.“I want you to brace yourself.”

I led her inside, and when she saw the destruction, her breath caught.Violet’s face went blank for a split second, as if her brain refused to register what she was seeing, then utter devastation etched her features.She moved slowly through the room, her hands trembling as she reached for the torn art prints and bent to pick up shards of broken dishes across the kitchen floor.

“I got all these at swap meets and thrift stores,” she said softly, voice barely audible.A small, wounded sound escaped her when she reached the bathroom doorway and saw what someone had done to her clothes.“I loved my clothes,” she whispered, her voice breaking.“Silly, but…”

She shook her head, and the vulnerable look on her face made something deep in my stomach twist hard.Anger flared, hot and sharp under my ribs.It wasn’t silly.This was Violet’s world—vibrant colors, special touches, comfort and her brand of control.And someone had ripped that sense of security away from her.

While she stood silently amidst the wreckage, I forced myself to focus.I took photos of everything for her insurance company and any evidence, especially the art and ruined clothes.Then I opened my text messages to send one to my sister, Laney.

Hey, what’s that website you use where you always find high end clothes for cheap?Where people resell their stuff?You said you can find any kind of clothing on there.