sign above the garage door. He and Derek had nailed it up there together.
Brady didn’t move. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
She reached for the handle with her free hand. Her left arm was tucked safely into a sturdy black sling. “Thanks for the ride home. I’ll call someone to pick me up on their way to work in the morning.”
He shook his head as if to shake off a stupor. “I’m not leaving.”
Before she could ask exactly how long he planned to stay, he’d exited the vehicle and ushered her to the porch. Taking her key, he unlocked the door and entered first, flipping on lights and performing a sweep of her home.
“Even if this guy has my address, he can’t get to me here.”
He peeked into the half bath tucked beneath the stairs and dodged a collection of cardboard boxes packed with books. “Not necessarily. He could be military or have contacts that would grant him base access. Civilians staff the commissary and other businesses. They have access, too.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Feeling light-headed, Olivia managed to reach the couch dominating the opposite wall and sink onto a broad cushion. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.
A blanket whispered over her. She lifted her head and was surprised to see Brady so close, tucking the corners around her shoulders. His blue-gray eyes, which she associated with bleak winter skies, reflected concern. Shocking.
Crouching before her, he proceeded to untie her tennis shoes and gently work them off her feet. Her mouth dried.
“Stay put.” He straightened and strode to the kitchen.
Ordinarily, Olivia would’ve bristled at his authoritative tone. She certainly wouldn’t have remained on the couch while he rustled around in her domain. But this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
Warmth from the fuzzy blanket seeped into her aching, limp body, and her eyelids grew heavy. She curled into the sofa and was dozing off when he returned with a bowl of steaming soup. The aroma of chicken broth made her stomach growl.
“I heated up chicken noodle soup,” he said, setting a green soda can on the coffee table and handing her the bowl. “I couldn’t find crackers.”
“I didn’t bother restocking the pantry since I’m moving soon.”
“I noticed.” His careful gaze slid over the bare walls studded with protruding nails before returning to her. “Do you need help eating?”
“I can manage,” she croaked out. Brady spoon-feeding her? Not happening. “What about you? Wasn’t there enough for two?”
He lowered his lean, athletic frame into the recliner and splayed his hands over the curved arms. He had nice hands, she noted. No rings.
“I’m not hungry.”
She balanced the bowl on her knees and took several bites. “You seem comfortable taking care of the sick and injured.”
His eyes became hooded. “My grandmother was frail when I first got there. By the time I was fifteen, she was barely mobile.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a kid,” she said cautiously.
“I owed her.”
A lump formed in her throat. Had his grandmother resented having to raise her young grandson? Had she made him feel like a burden?
Instead of voicing those questions, she kept the tone light. “What did you do for meals?”
“She taught me the basics.”
“There weren’t friends or neighbors to help out?”
His fingers gripped the leather until his knuckles went white. “My grandmother and I were basically on our own.”
She could picture him as a gangly young teen, hiding his hurting heart with defiant pride. Or maybe he’d been like he was now...polite to a fault, efficient and closed off. A loner determined not to give anyone the power to hurt him again.
Olivia now wished that she’d asked Derek how he’d managed to make friends with Brady. Knowing Derek, she thought fondly, he’d made a nuisance of himself until Brady had given in.
“You had to do the grocery shopping and house cleaning?”
“And pay the bills, when there was enough money to cover them, as well as the yard work and anything else that needed doing.” He leaned forward. “That’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you, Olivia. Who would want to kill you and why?”
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