“Hopefully, neither. I thought it was a good idea to have backup...for whatever goes down. I just want to talk to one of the models who keeps showing up wherever Connie is.”
Connie hadn’t been happy about him meeting with the guy, especially since she wasn’t sure he was the one she’d seen at the bank. Trace had made it clear that all he wanted to do was feel the guy out and ask a few questions. If he suspected anything, they’d get the Feds involved.
“Hold up.” Hudson pushed away from the wall that he’d been leaning against. “Connie has a stalker? Why didn’t we know about this?”
“No, she doesn’t have a stalker,” Trace said. “At least as far as we know.”
Connie had decided from day one that she didn’t want the LEPA team, aside from Trinity and Trace, to know about the bank situation. As for her and Trace being together all the time, no one questioned it. There’d been a couple of guys he’d been on assignment with who speculated that he and Connie were an item. Trace never confirmed or denied, but he hadn’t made it a secret that he was interested.
A few weeks ago, Riley had wished him luck with Connie, but threatened to kick his ass if he hurt her. Neither would ever happen because Trace had no intention of ever hurting her.
A quick knock sounded on the door before it opened, and Riley ushered in the model. Trace sized up the guy. The man was taller than he’d appeared while modeling, maybe six-two or six-three. They might’ve been close in height, but Trace had him by at least thirty pounds.
The gray-eyed man looked from Riley, to Trace, to Hudson. Then he returned his attention to Trace. “What’s going on here?”
Trace folded his arms across his chest and studied the man whose eyes were similar to the sketch Connie had helped with. “That’s what I’d like to know. Who are you?”
Trace could easily get his name from the fashion-show organizers and forward it to the Feds. But he wanted a face to face with the guy, especially after Connie’s reaction. Seeing the way she freaked had Trace’s protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Besides all of that, technically, the guy was just a model minding his own business. What Trace didn’t want to do was have an innocent man get harassed by FBI agents for no reason.
The model glanced around again. He didn’t appear to be bothered by the fact that three huge men were staring him down as if he had stolen something. Even Hudson’s signature stare-down didn’t seem to faze him.
That spoke volumes. Either the man was too stupid to be afraid, or he thought he could take all of them if anything broke out.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but unless one of you tells me why I’ve been summoned, I’m out.”
There was a commotion on the other side of the closed door, seconds before it swung open. A thick silence fell over the room when Connie appeared in the doorway.
Noah stood behind her with his hands out in front of him. “I tried to stop her, but...” He shrugged off the rest of the statement.
Without speaking a word, she slowly entered, her gaze steady on Mr. Gray Eyes. Noah closed the door and stayed in the hallway.
Trace sighed. So much for trying to keep Connie away from this man.
“I thought that was you. The hottie from the restaurant,” Mr. Gray Eyes said and moved toward Connie until Trace blocked his path.
Now that he was in the man’s face, Trace sensed that there was more to this guy. Something felt off. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but the uneasiness stirring in his gut was getting stronger by the minute. And he always trusted his gut.
“Do you know her?” Trace asked. He hated the way the man was leering at Connie. Like he desired her.
“I’ve seen her around,” he said in a noncommittal tone.
The possessiveness Trace was feeling for Connie was almost suffocating. By nature, he was a protector. Not a fighter. But for her, he’d destroy anyone who caused her harm or even thought about hurting her.
“What’s your name?” Trace asked, trying to keep his head. He wanted to put his fist in the man’s face for the way he was still ogling Connie.
Mr. Gray Eyes seemed to grow taller right before Trace’s eyes.
“Never mind who I am. Who are you, and what is this about?” He glanced at Connie. “This is the second time I’ve seen this fine-ass woman in a week. Each time, she looks at me like she’s imagining me naked.” His gaze took in the length of Connie, and he licked his lips before his eyes met Trace’s. “Maybe she is. If you can’t handle her, I’d be glad to show her what a real man—”
Trace didn’t even feel himself move. All he knew was one minute he was trying to get information, and the next, he had the model pinned to the wall.
Connie gasped.
The gray-eyed man’s eyes widened in surprise before they turned deadly.
Riley and Hudson must have anticipated Trace’s move. They were at his side within a heartbeat. Neither said a word, but they didn’t back away, either.
Anger boiled inside Trace while he had his forearm to the man’s throat. Not hard enough to suffocate him, but hard enough to keep him plastered against the wall.
“Get. Off. Of. Me,” the man said from between gritted teeth.
What surprised Trace, though, was that Mr. Gray Eyes didn’t try to get out of his grasp. He kept his arms to his sides as he glared at Trace, a murderous look in his eyes.
“Who are you?” Trace asked, keeping the same amount of pressure on the man’s throat.
“You can call me John Doe. I’m the man who is going to press charges and make sure you
