Page 4 of Out Of The Ashes

She softens around women. Smiles and speaks and allows herself to enjoy their company and conversation. But around men? Different story. And that tells me a lot.

A hand lands roughly on my shoulder, and I jerk to look at MacGyver, the nickname for Chase McDonaldson. The dude can fix anything with what amounts to a paperclip and some duct tape, and in his off hours as a cop for Carolina Cove, he's usually tinkering inside his garage or hanging out at Safe Harbor, a gym mixed with self-defense training owned by Lawson Pike, another Saint. "Hey. What's up?"

"Stare any harder and you're going to get a restraining order put on you," he says in a low voice before he grins.

A rough laugh escapes me because, yeah, I guess I am pretty obvious. I nod my head toward the phone. "Something's riled her up."

This time, MacGyver's the one laughing. "How can you tell, man?"

I smile at that, too, because my grumpy sunshine could make a grumbling old man yelling for kids to get off his lawn look like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "She's stressed. She's not all that bad."

"She's not bad at all," he says in an admiring, masculine tone. "Just watch yourself before you wind up on her hit list."

I huff another laugh but note that Violet still hasn't turned around. She's facing the wall and the phone, her knuckles white around the portable like she wants to slam it down or throw it across the room. I still, wondering who or what could get that kind of reaction out of her.

Like the battle-ready warrior she is, though, I see her square her shoulders and painstakingly replace the phone onto the charger with slow care. She doesn't turn, and my gaze narrows when I see her fingers visibly tremble before she releases the phone and closes her hand in a tight fist.

I lean harder against the bar in front of me, willing it to disappear so that nothing stands between us.

She stays there a second or two, back to me, shoulders tight. Finally she slides along the wall, ignoring a request for another beer as she walks toward Ty's office.

I shove my unopened bottle toward the guy and stand, tossing some money behind the bar to cover the drink before following her, noting she walks like her feet and body aren't quite in sync.

Shock.

That's a move I recognize due to my training. Whatever—whoever—was on the other end of that call has shaken her.

I get to Ty's office just as I hear Vi speak.

"Ty, I have to go. Now."

"You okay?" Concern laces Ty's voice. "What's wrong? You look white as a sheet."

"I don't feel well."

Her words sound breathless but firm.

"Okay, yeah, of course. I hope everything's all right," Ty says. "I'll cover for you. No problem. You going to be okay getting home?"

"I've got her," I say, stepping up behind Violet.

Her boss's gaze flicks to me, and I'm glad to see relief on his face at the news. Other guys might not be as trustworthy to look after her right now without trying to take advantage, but Ty knows I'd take a bullet before ever deliberately hurting her or any woman.

Vi's stillness and easy compliance scares the life out of me as I gently grasp her elbow. She allows me to tug her back toward the rear door, and with every step, my worry grows. "Lock up the back," I call out to Ty.

I hear the man's footsteps behind us as I unlock and push out the door, leading a silent Violet into the darkness with me.

I feel her trembling. And I know for a fact this woman right here doesn't scare easily. I want to throttle whoever was on the other end of that phone call.

The alley smells of salt air, garbage and the lingering remnants of alcohol as I lead her toward my bike. I open a locked saddlebag and pull out my helmet, then dig deeper for the spare.

Vi remains silent, and it's unsettling. Give me her grumpy glares and grumbles any day of the week over this. "Here," I say, gently plopping the helmet atop her head and fastening the strap beneath her chin. Once I check that it's on properly, I curl a finger beneath and tilt her face. "Whatever it is, you're going to be okay."

I drop a kiss atop her nose and then shrug out of my leather jacket. I zip her into it, glad I'd bundled up in a tee and thick flannel before leaving home and heading to the bar. I tend to run hot, so I'll be warm enough, especially with her behind me.

I hike a leg over my bike and wait. She stares at me for a long moment before placing a hand on my shoulder to climb on behind me.

I lock my jaw. The fact she got on my bike without arguing says more about her state of mind than her pale face or clenched fists.