Brent drew her more fully against his chest and shifted his arm to her waist. “It’s okay to sleep, Rowan. I’ll be here.”
“But this is where you’re sleeping,” she mumbled.
A soft laugh. “When I’m ready to call it quits for the night, I’ll move you.”
The next thing Rowan knew, she was being lifted. She gasped and clutched onto the nearest hard surface.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Brent said. “I’m carrying you to your room.”
“I can walk.”
“Let me do this for you. It’s little enough after the night you’ve had.”
“Mmm.” She shifted her hold from his shoulders to wrapping her arms around his neck. “Guess the western worked.”
“Told you. Works for me every time.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder to eye him. “Have you been asleep, too?”
“I’ll never tell.” Brent turned sideways to carry her inside the room. He set Rowan on her feet. “I’ll see you in a few hours. If you need anything, I’ll be on the sofa.”
“Good night, Brent.”
He brushed her lips with a light kiss, then left.
A keeper, she thought as she toed off her shoes and climbed under the covers fully dressed. Too tired to change. She dreamed of gunshots and screams in the darkness.
Sometime late into the night, Rowan sat up, heart slamming against her ribcage. Had the blood-soaked nightmares woken her or was it something else, something more sinister?
Her gaze shifted to the doorway. Brent had left her door wide open. Had he made a noise that startled her? Rowan listened to the silence, not sure what she’d heard. She was ready to chalk it up to the trauma of losing Heather when a sound by her window caught her attention. Against the curtain, a man’s silhouette moved closer to her window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A scream from Rowan’s room ripped away the veil of fatigue. Brent leapt from the couch and, weapon in hand, sprinted down the hall. Despite his need to reach her, his movements were utterly silent. No need to alert an intruder to his presence. Brent would love to take this guy down, if indeed one of the clowns who killed Heather and Jay were coming after Rowan.
“Brent!” A rush of feet indicated Rowan’s dash toward him.
“Here.” He caught her with his free arm as she barreled into his chest. “What’s wrong?”
She shivered in the cold breeze blowing from the open window. “A man on my fire escape. When I screamed, he ran.”
He bent down and grabbed his backup weapon from his ankle holster. “Ever fire a gun?”
Rowan shook her head.
He pressed the weapon into her hands. “Hold it like this.” Brent wrapped her hands around the stock. “Point and shoot. Keep shooting until the magazine is empty. Got it?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Track this guy down. If anyone comes after you, take him out. You go with no one but me or one of my people. They’ll identify themselves. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“After you lock up behind me, go to the living room and wait. I’ll be back soon.” He crossed to the window and slipped out onto the fire escape into the cold pre-dawn air.
Brent spotted a figure clad in black racing down the alley. He took the stairs two at a time and set off in pursuit once he reached the ground. The intruder glanced back, saw him, and surged ahead.
No way. Brent’s jaw clenched as he increased his speed. He wanted to question this guy. What concerned him the most was the man didn’t have that black van idling nearby which told Brent he had no intention of taking Rowan to Alexa. This guy planned to kill her. What had Jay Maxwell gotten himself into that was worth the risk of killing three adults and kidnapping a child? This guy had to know law enforcement would be all over a child’s abduction.
He jumped over a trashcan the guy overturned to slow him down. Brent still gained ground on him. The other guy was becoming winded. Must not have spent any time pounding the pavement or running on a treadmill. One final burst of speed, and Brent tackled the other man and brought him to the ground.
The ski-masked man twisted, throwing punches to Brent’s face and ribs. He blocked, countered with a roundhouse punch to the jaw and a short jab to the gut. The guy subsided with a groan.
Brent flipped the intruder to his stomach again and, with a knee in the middle of the guy’s back, grabbed a zip tie from his pocket. Once his hands were cinched, Brent yanked the man to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“What do you want, man? I didn’t do nothing.”
“Right. Tell it to the cops, buddy.”
The guy tried to jerk away from Brent and was unsuccessful, which led to a string of vile curses.
Brent scowled. “Shut up.”
The guy glared at him, but lapsed into silence as Brent frog-marched him back to Rowan’s apartment. At the door, he knocked. “Open up, sweetheart. It’s me.”
A moment later, the locks disengaged and the door swung open. Rowan gasped when she saw the masked man standing beside Brent. “You got him.”
Amused, he grinned. “You’re surprised?”
Rowan’s cheeks flushed as she stepped back to allow them to enter the apartment. “He had a head start. I didn’t think you’d be able to catch him.”
“Your peeping tom isn’t in good shape, something he can work on in prison.”
Another glare from Ski Mask again, trying to jerk free.
Brent cuffed him across the ear. “Knock it off.” He turned to Rowan. “Bring one of your dining chairs. Once this clown is secured, we’ll call Taylor.” Wouldn’t take long for his detective friend to arrive.
Rowan hurried off and returned with a sturdy chair.
“Perfect. Back up a few more feet, babe.” When she complied, he said, “Point your weapon at him. If he moves, shoot him.”
The color drained from Rowan’s face, not a
