Page 29 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“Told you.” Noah bumped against her.

“They’re ugly, though.” She pointed to one-way mirrored shutters on her windows. “Not that I don’t appreciate them.”

“It’s cool, I understand. Just remember, they’re only temporary. Once this situation’s over, you can have them taken down.”

“I am glad you came up with a way for me to see outside. Thanks for that.”

“Team effort,” he mumbled as he gestured to her work area. “Your phone was smashed, and your computers didn’t survive their gunshot wounds. Although we managed to save the hard drive from one of them. I’m afraid there was nothing we could salvage from the rest of it.”

Annabelle tried not to get emotional about the loss. They were machines and could be replaced. Still… her tech was her connection to the outside world, and now it was gone. “I back up everything to the cloud,” she said, reaching desperately for that silver lining.

“Thought you might,” Noah said. “You’ll need to talk to your insurance company about replacing everything, but I don’t see why you couldn’t order new stuff in the meantime.”

“Does insurance cover damage caused by a gun-toting gang?”

He shrugged. “Seeing as this is Texas, I’m gonna guess yes.”

“I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.” She wandered further into the loft.

“Some of your drawings got trampled in the attack,” Noah said. “But we didn’t throw any away. We just piled them up on your desk.”

Annabelle’s heart ached as she ran her fingers over the comic book panel she’d been working on before her life went to hell. It was torn, crumpled, and dirty. Her artwork was her baby, and it hurt to see it damaged.

She became aware that Noah was watching her intently and cleared her throat. “This whole situation seems so surreal. I remember the attack only in weird flashes, like a movie trying to depict a drug high or something. There are random bits and pieces, but mostly it’s distorted and out of focus and like it happened to someone else.” She paused, her hand resting on the ruined drawing. “Now I’m here, seeing the aftermath of the assault, and I feel…”

“Vulnerable? Victimized? Unsafe?” Noah offered.

“Not unsafe, not with you and your team here. But definitely the other two.” She gestured around the room. “This is meant to be my safe space, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore.”

“It will again,” he said solemnly. “I promise you.”

Annabelle nodded, although she wasn’t sure she shared his confidence. How safe would she feel once the Benson Security team was gone and she was all alone in the building? She shuddered to think.

Noah touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes because that’s what you do when people ask, right? Instead, she gazed into his dark eyes and said, “I could really use a hug.”

Noah smiled. “We’re a full-service security agency. Hugs are included in the package,” he said, and she stepped straight into his arms.

Annabelle was sure she should have felt ashamed for asking him to hold her, but she couldn’t muster the energy. She needed comfort, and she wanted it from the man who’d protected her when she was completely incapable of doing it herself. He’d been injured because of her. And even though she knew she was suffering from a touch of hero worship, she didn’t care. Noah was a real-life hero, and she was grateful.

His arms felt good around her—firm and solid and real. She pressed her cheek to his chest and breathed deeply, letting his warmth seep into her. She could have stayed there forever.

“You know, if this is included in the service, and I’m paying your bill…” She grinned up at him. “Does that make you a gigolo?”

Noah’s laughter vibrated throughout her body before he gave her one last squeeze and stepped away. “Come on,” he said. “I need to explain where you’re sleeping.”

“In my bed, I hope.”

“Sorry, your bed’s gone. It was bullet-ridden. And a few of your plants didn’t make it either. Everything in the panic room was shredded and had to be replaced. We fortified the walls and door while we fixed it up. Now that it’s steel reinforced, it’s much less likely to let bullets through than plasterboard,” he said with disgust.

“You really weren’t impressed with my panic room, were you?”

“Considering I nearly died in it, no.”

“Fair point.”

Annabelle tried not to let the damage to her apartment get to her. The security team, along with the builders they’d vetted before hiring, had done a good job of cleaning up the place and getting it ready for her. The broken and missing items were, at the end of the day, only things. Most of them could be replaced or repaired. However, she wasn’t sure it would be possible to fix the tear in her sense of security.