Marissa smiled, though he couldn’t see her from his new position at her back. She and Kara had been the same way, though their parents were often right beside them.
He circled back to face her. “These bruises are going to look a lot worse before they look better. I can get some ice in here if you want. That might help with swelling.” He widened his stance until his face was nearly level with hers and shined a light in her eyes.
She swatted it away on instinct. “Where’d you get that.”
“Pocket. Hold still and let me look.”
“I don’t have a concussion. I was attacked hours ago. I’m fine. Cole already checked. Remember?”
“You need to clean these abrasions.”
“I did.”
Blake straightened and cocked a brow. “When?”
“Bathroom. I never leave home without a first aid kit. The cuts are cleaned. They’re already beginning to scab. I’m fine.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Did Cole offer to get a female medic to give you a more thorough evaluation?”
She sighed. “I’m. Fine. What happens to you now? Will someone come to relieve you so you can go home and sleep?”
“I don’t sleep much.” He walked her to the bedroom and made a slow circuit through the room, peeking into the bathroom before returning to the doorway. “I’ll wake you if anything significant happens.”
Marissa dawdled, frightened by the prospect of being alone.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Blake nodded toward the sound. “Tell your family I said everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left.
Marissa climbed into the waiting arms of a comfortable queen-size bed and rolled onto her back. She lifted her cell phone into view and swiped the screen to life. She didn’t recognize the number on her new text message, but she opened it anyway.
Panic swelled in her chest and throat as she stared at the image of herself enveloped in Blake’s strong arms. The photograph was clearly taken from outside her bedroom window only hours earlier.
And the message read, Consider this Agent Garrett’s invitation to the wedding.
Chapter Four
The chair toppled behind Blake as he lunged toward the freshly closed French doors, the only things standing between him, Marissa and whatever had elicited her bloodcurdling scream. The barrier sucked open before he reached it, whipping suddenly inward to reveal his trembling charge.
“Blake.” She choked on his name, extending her cell phone in his direction.
His gaze darted through the silent room behind her. No signs of an intruder. The window was securely closed. The bathroom door was open. No one was inside.
“Blake,” she pleaded, wiggling the phone. “Take it.”
Slowly, he holstered his sidearm. “You’re alone.”
“Yes.”
His muscles unclenched by a fraction. He dragged his attention from her stricken face to the offering in her white-knuckled grip. He hadn’t left her alone for more than thirty seconds. He’d barely pressed the straw of his chocolate malt to his lips before she’d screamed. The fine hairs along the back of his neck rose to attention as he pried the small pink device from her hand. That scream. His guts twisted at the thought of what it could have meant. What he could’ve found behind the doors.
“It’s him,” she whispered.
The momentary relief he’d felt at the sight of her was quickly replaced by the image on her screen. Revenge boiled in his blood. “This was the text you received?”
She nodded quickly, her attention glued to the phone.
He powered the device off and used his own to dial West’s number. “We’ve got a new problem. Nash has Marissa’s number. He sent a text with a photo. I don’t know if he’s tracked her. I powered the phone down. I’m pulling the SIM card now, but we need someone to capture prints outside her house and match them to the ones at the site of her attack. Also, get me a burner phone so she can stay in touch with her family.” He disconnected and returned his focus to Marissa, the statue in baggy white pajamas.
Her attention remained wholly fixed on the phone. “I can’t have it back?”
“Not right now.”
“I have pictures on there.”
“We won’t remove anything personal from the device. I promise. I’m just keeping the card separate so Nash can’t track us here.”
Marissa’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “He can do that?”
Twelve hours ago, Blake would’ve said no, but his opinion of Nash Barclay was rapidly changing. “Better not to take any chances.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and lifted her chin. “Okay.”
“Why don’t you get back in bed? Cover up. Try to rest.”
Marissa cast a woeful look at the bed she’d no sooner climbed into than leapt back out of. “I could sleep on the couch.” Her voice lifted on the final word, bringing a hopeful expression to her pinched brow. “Then you won’t have to patrol both rooms.”
Blake rocked back on his heels. Having her in his line of sight would make his job a lot easier, but after the day she’d had, and whatever Nash still had planned, a good night’s sleep was best for Marissa. There was no way she’d get any decent rest on the couch. Not with local and federal authorities swarming in and out all night, trading intel and updates.
He dropped his chin an inch and cocked his head. “I’ll be just fine. You take the bed. I’ll keep watch.” If it meant Marissa could rest, he’d make the extra effort.
“Or,” she said softly, “you could work in here.”
Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the tenderness in the offer, but something stirred in Blake’s chest, extinguishing a tiny portion of the fire in his belly. His contempt for Nash had driven
