revealing rows of parallel wrinkles on her forehead and shining eyes. “Shopping?”
He didn’t back down from the intensity of her gaze. “Dodging the question.” The room was so full that he had to slide between the overstuffed racks like a sand snake to reach her side. Without drawing undue attention from the pair of women on the far side of the store, he leaned in so that she couldn’t look away. When she blinked up at him with ocean-blue eyes and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, his stomach lurched. “Tristan is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. He’s worried about you, and so am I. I promised him I’d check in on you. Let me help.”
Fear flickered through her eyes, and she broke eye contact, taking the moment to hang the orange monstrosity back on its hanger, which seemed to take a lot longer than it should.
Matt couldn’t do his job if he couldn’t read body language, and right now hers was telling him that she felt she was in over her head. Something had happened to put her in danger, even if she didn’t want to admit it. The direct approach hadn’t worked—maybe he could ease her into it, if he could get her talking.
“Tristan tells me that you’re running a battered women’s shelter.”
“That’s right.”
He caught her gaze as she picked up several tops at least two sizes too big for her. “He brags about you all the time. Tells us how smart and talented you are.” She looked away. He’d stepped over the line. She may have been like a little sister, but it didn’t mean he knew her well enough to gush like he had. Time to get the conversation back on track. “But he says that not everyone is happy with the work that you’re doing. That sometimes the husbands and boyfriends of the women you’re helping get angry. Make threats. Maybe even...attack you directly.”
Still not meeting his gaze again, she whispered, “Someone wasn’t paying attention and almost ran me over.” She ran her fingers over the hangers on the metal frame, studying the shirts as though there would be a test on them later. “It just rattled me a bit, but I’m sure it was just an accident now.”
“Tristan said something about a letter,” Matt pressed.
Ashley nodded, examining a stain on the front of one of the shirts. Frowning, she put it back and picked up another. “When I got home that day, there was an anonymous note saying that someone wanted his property back.”
“You get a lot of anonymous letters?”
Her nod was slow and thoughtful. “I suppose. More than a normal person.”
His gut clenched. What kind of jerk threatened a battered women’s shelter? Someone without any respect. And a man who didn’t respect women could be dangerous. “Was there anything that made you think that particular note was connected to the car that almost hit you?” He followed her to shelves piled with blue jeans.
“Ye-es,” she said slowly. “That is, I thought there was at the time. The note said something about missing me—that even though he’d missed me, I shouldn’t think that that meant I could keep his property. But maybe he just meant he’d missed seeing me—that he’d come by the house when I wasn’t there for him to yell at me in person.”
“Did you turn the note over to the police?”
The glance over her shoulder at him was more resigned than worried.
Had threats become such a part of her life at Lil’s Place that she couldn’t even recognize a real one when it came along?
And this one was real.
“Of course I did. The chief told me they couldn’t do anything. The threat was too vague. It wasn’t...well...threatening enough.”
Matt subdued the growl growing at the back of his throat. Abusive men weren’t to be trifled with. They weren’t concerned about anyone but themselves. Matt knew that firsthand. He also knew that they didn’t give up. If this guy was angry enough to try to run Ashley over, he wasn’t going to give up if she didn’t capitulate after a note. This guy would try other, more forceful tactics until he got what he wanted.
Maybe he hadn’t always been able to protect his foster moms from being beaten when he was a kid, but he most certainly could do something to protect Ashley from an abuser now. Ten years on the teams and more training than any man could use at one time, he knew how to defend himself and how to protect the innocent. And with her platinum-blond hair, freckled nose and shining eyes, she looked like the epitome of innocence.
“Listen, I’m just going to be in town for a few days. I’m already set up at the hotel down the street. Let me just look into things while I’m here.” He followed her to the register as she purchased several pairs of jeans. “I won’t get in your way.”
She smiled up at him as though he was a child. “Thanks, but I’m okay. Really. I’m used to taking care of my girls.” She stepped through the door that he held open and strolled toward her parked car. “I got the note more than a week ago. If there was any danger, something else would have happened by now.” She laughed up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “So now what will you do?”
He pushed her arm as he’d seen Tristan do a thousand times, pushing aside a decidedly unbrotherly thought. “Well, my hotel doesn’t have ESPN, but I am trained in spec ops. I’ll come up with something.”
Something like setting up a perimeter around her home to keep the threat at bay, and making sure that her security system would do its job. He’d stop by the police station and see if he could get them to pay a little more attention to Ashley’s situation, just in case he needed them down the road. And then he’d ask around to see if there were any troublemakers in town. Pressing on them might reveal the coward afraid to stand by his threats.
As they reached her car, her laughter died on her lips. He didn’t have to ask if she still thought the threat had passed. Pure terror flashed across her face as she took in the smashed windshield of her coupe. And tucked over a spiderweb of cracks and under a wiper blade, the person responsible for the mess had left a clear message.
If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.
TWO
Crossing her arms against a chill coming from somewhere deep within, Ashley stared at the note still wedged beneath the wiper blade.
If I don’t get what’s mine, you’ll get what’s yours.
Another line beneath the first gave instructions for returning his property. Put it back where you found it.
The words made her skin crawl as another shiver shot down her spine, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her gaze traveled up and down the sidewalk. The chalkboard signs and colorful awnings were the only signs of life, except for Matt, who was marching backward toward the closest alley, his eyes squinting at her hard. “Stay put.”
At any other time, she might have resented being ordered around, but at that moment she was too worried to even notice. Apparently the note and near hit-and-run hadn’t been a fluke. Someone really was after something. Or someone.
And that meant she might need the SEAL’s help to protect her girls. As uncomfortable as she was with the thought of trusting her safety—and especially the safety of the families in her house—to someone else, her discomfort seemed a small price
