Page 17 of Protecting Paige

“I’m glad I’ve kept up my skills.” He holds me for another few seconds before saying, “I need to call the police. Are you going to be okay if I let you go?”

Will I? Yes. Do I want him to? No.

Cillian looks at me for a second before he shifts me to his side, still keeping his arm looped around me. “Nevermind. This works, too.” His eyes search mine. “If this is okay?”

I nod at him. “It’s okay.”

From there, it’s a flurry of activity.

First, Cillian calls the Fredericksburg police and cooly informs them that yes, there was something wrong at my house, and perhaps the responding officer should have done a betterjob investigating, since I was being held hostage by an intruder right in my basement.

As we wait for the police to arrive, I tell Cillian everything; from the moment I heard the first sound inside my house to Derrick dragging me into the basement with a gun pressed to my back, and finally, Derrick’s deranged demands for me to psychically repair his screwed up life.

“Maybe I should stop working as a phone psychic,” I say at the end. “I like some of the callers, but I never imagined one would want to hurt me.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Cillian replies, “I’ll help you. And regardless of the job you choose, I’m installing better security at your house. Please let me do it, Paige. No matter where things go between us from here.”

Wherewillthings go between us? It’s a question we can’t exactly delve into with a criminal zip-tied on the floor and the police on the way. But later? I definitely want to get into it.

And I hope he feels the same way as me.

Once the police arrive, it’s over an hour of controlled chaos. Officers reading Derrick his rights, replacing the zip ties with handcuffs, then dragging him out to a waiting police car. And there are the dozens of questions for me and Cillian, with a few dicey moments when one stern officer asks Cillian, “How do we knowyouweren’t involved? You show up and conveniently find the exact spot where the intruder got in. Then you swoop in to be the hero.”

But Cillian isn’t fazed for a second. With an edge to his tone, he replies, “I thought Paige might be in trouble. So I surveilled her house. Like the responding officershouldhave done. And if you have any questions about my integrity or background, feel free to contact Colonel Nichols at Fort Campbell. He was my supervisor while I served in the Fifth Battalion. Special Forces. He’ll vouch for me.”

The suspicious glances in Cillian’s direction turn to respectful ones after that. Thankfully. Because if anyone else even hints at Cillian being involved in Derrick’s messed-up plan, I’ll share some choice words with them myself.

It’s close to midnight when the police finally leave. I feel a bit like a truck has run over me, or I’ve been through a wash cycle and left in a crumpled pile to dry. Cillian takes my hand as he leads me back upstairs, but halfway there, he puts his arm around my waist instead.

“I know you must be exhausted,” he explains. “I don’t want you tripping. Hurting yourself again.”

I’m not complaining. Even though I’ve only just met Cillian—in person, that is—being held by him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Once we get into the living room, he deposits me on the couch before going around to adjust the lights, dimming some and turning on others. Then he spends a couple minutes wandering the house, returning to announce, “Okay. All the windows and doors are secure. Until I get your security upgraded, I’ll put some temporary wedges in the windows so no one can open them from outside.”

He looks so serious about it, so determined, I wouldn’t dream of disagreeing. And honestly, I don’t want to.

“Okay,” I reply. Then I pat the couch cushion beside me. “Can you stay? For a little while, at least? I know it’s late, but I’d really like to talk to you without crazy Derrick or police officers around.”

Cillian crosses the room and sinks down beside me. His leg bumps mine, sending more of those electric sizzles through me. I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll stay put or put distance between us.

He stays put. And better yet, he leans back and rests one arm along the back of the couch, displaying a very impressive arm thick with muscle and an upper sleeve of intricate tattoos.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he says. “I wouldn’t just take off. Not after… Well. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

My heart makes a little leap. Not a frightened one, like before, but a hopeful one.

With his other hand, Cillian reaches over to graze his fingers along the white gauze now wrapped around my wrist. “How are you feeling? Do you want some ice? Painkillers?”

“It’s not that bad. Just a little sore.” I hesitate for a second before touching his hand. Our fingers lace together, like matching puzzle pieces finally finding their home.

His eyes drop to our entwined fingers. His features soften. “I’m sorry you were hurt at all, Paige. I wish I could have stopped it.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have been more cautious. Used a different name when I answered my calls. Installed more security, like you told me to.”

Cillian grimaces. “I know that was presumptuous of me. We hadn’t even met, and there I was?—”

“It wasn’t,” I interrupt. “You just wanted me to be safe. And you were right.”