The wood behind her vibrated with the powerful energy of an angry male’s knock. “Ashley?” Mr. McClane asked politely, his voice rough and rumbly. He didn’t sound as perturbed as she’d expected, and he hadn’t really knocked that loudly. Fear magnified everything, that was all. “This is what you wanted to tell me? That I need to get a blood test? Is this all? I can explain.”
Ashley didn’t reply, just turned to face her locked door.
Did she dare open it?
Chapter Six
Tripp stared at the paper Ashley had thrown at him—for all of ten seconds. Shit, damn, and son of a bitch! Another official Health Department notice, like he hadn’t seen this exact kind of bullshit before. Trish had done it to him again. Damn her. This lying piece of trash was her work, her stab at him for being the good twin. The nerve of her to name him—her one and only flesh-and-blood brother!—as one of the many lowlife sleazebags she had sex with. He didn’t have STDs, gawddamn it! And he’d never paid for sex, but now his pretty neighbor thought he did? Jesus H Christ.
Slamming his door shut, he raced down the hall to intercept Ashley before she got away. What an unreal coincidence, that the woman he’d rescued Friday night was his neighbor. He’d known that then, but deliberately hadn’t let on. Thank fuck she hadn’t recognized him. That much was good. He’d meant his asking about her bruise as a segue into what he’d hoped would have been a real convo. Guess not.
Too late. Her door slammed in his face. Of course. What’d he expect? She thought he was a douchebag, like any smart, upstanding woman who thought he’d engaged in risky sex with hookers, would. He knocked anyway, convinced she hadn’t recognized him. Which gave him a second chance to make a better first impression than the ones he’d made Friday night and two seconds ago.
“Ashley?” He pleaded through the sturdy wooden barrier between them, one fist still against the door. “This is what you wanted to tell me? That I need to get a blood test? Is this all? I can explain.” Please answer.
Tripp bowed his forehead to the door, embarrassed for her more than for himself. He’d been down this road before. She, obviously, had not.
Because the last two nights on the street had been tough, he’d called in late to work this morning. Saturday night, two punks harassing a homeless veteran, found out how hard asphalt could be. The vet found himself warmed and fed in a local shelter; the kids found themselves in the river, alive, but well-warned not to try that shit again. Sunday night, he’d patrolled the riverbank in case the kids came back, looking for another target.
Which was why’d he’d been giving his home gym a good workout this morning when Ashley knocked. He’d turned his two-bedroom apartment into one bedroom and a modestly equipped weight room with Parkour bars up the walls and over the ceiling. He was lucky. His employer demanded his team maintain above-average physical fitness. To that end, Alex Stewart maintained an on-site gym that provided plenty of strength, core, and cardio, including a more rigorous Parkour workout track than Tripp’s. Vigilantes couldn’t afford to go soft. They had identities—and women, like Ashley—to protect. The world needed men like him to be all they could be, all the time.
She was a helluva lot tougher than he’d expected. Yes, she was banged up. He’d known which hospital she’d been taken to. He also knew she’d come home early Saturday, but he hadn’t expected she’d be back to work today. Or that after what she’d gone through Friday night, she’d still be smiling. Ashley Cox was definitely one of those indomitable morning people. Usually, chipper people annoyed the living shit out of Tripp until he’d had at least two cups of coffee. But not Ashley. She was different. He’d known it the second he’d laid eyes on her. Just seeing her made him smile.
Until now, there’d never been time for anything but quick, hurried greetings. His move to Seattle, then back again to Alexandria, hadn’t helped. Seattle was the primary location he’d signed up for when he’d hired onto The TEAM, a locally-owned security business. Working out of the Seattle office would’ve given him the distance he craved from his troublemaking twin. He’d trained hard, and he’d deserved a break from his family drama.
But he’d no more than settled into that spacious loft overlooking Elliot Bay, when Trish pulled her latest disappearing act. He’d moved back a week ago to help his mom locate his sister. Now this official piece of crap notice. Once again, Trish had screwed his chance to be free of her sorry ass. When hadn’t she been a pain in his butt? In everybody’s butts? Including his mom’s? Short answer, not in this lifetime.
Tripp stared at the crumpled letter in his hand. Mom always said things happened for a reason. Could Ashley please be the reason he was back on the East Coast this time? Not Trish?
Because as much as Tripp didn’t want a relationship, he still meant to keep Ashley safe. She didn’t have to like him for him to watch her back, uh-uh. She just needed to keep on breathing. He was her shadow, and that would be enough. It had to be. Because he was the night, not a hero. If she knew half the things he’d done… Yeah, not going there.
“Ashley?” he asked again, keeping his tone sincere and pleading. More than anything, he wanted a chance to explain. What better way than by taking her out to coffee or drinks or hamburgers or… man, anything? Maybe just a walk in a public place where everyone could see them. Where she’d feel safe. That was important to her and now, to him.
Dead silence was his only answer, but his gut told him that Ashley was
