the top, Dix held her breath, twisted the knob, flung open the door and burst into the kitchen, running into a solid wall of muscles.
A strong hand wrapped around her wrist, holding it and the butcher knife at a distance.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with a knife in your hand?”
At the sound of Stratford’s voice, Dix sagged against him, at once relieved, quickly followed by chagrin that he’d found her running out of a scary basement because of a noise. Some bodyguard she’d prove to be if his house gave her the willies.
She pushed her free hand against his chest, inhaling the faint yet tantalizing scent of aftershave. “Thank you, but I was doing fine until you stepped in my way.”
He chuckled. “Where were you going, brandishing that butcher knife?”
She pulled her hand free and tilted her chin. “I was headed to the drawer to put it away.” As if to prove out her lie, she walked to the drawer where she’d found the knife and slipped it in. Gathering her wits, she turned to face him, her brows rising. “I have a question.”
“Try me. I might have an answer.”
“Where’s the breaker box?”
His brows dipped. “Why do you ask?”
“The lights went out in the basement while I was down there checking windows and doors.”
His frown deepened. “The breaker box is in the basement. I had the wiring upgraded several years ago. Since then, I can’t recall having issues with breakers being thrown.” He walked to the door Dix had stormed through a moment before and flipped the light switch. The light came on. “Seems to be working now.”
Dix’s face heated. Could she have hit the switches by accident?
“I’ll check the breaker box, just to make sure. But if this light is on, the others will come on, as well. The basement is all wired to the same breaker.”
Dix nodded. “I’d feel better if you did check. Perhaps there’s a short in one of the wires.”
Mr. Stratford descended the steps.
Dix followed, wishing she’d brought the butcher knife.
A wooden chair that had been stacked on top of an old table lay on the ground, its legs broken and splintered. She could have brushed by, dislodging it from its perch. But that still didn’t explain the lights extinguishing when they did.
She followed Stratford to a metal box mounted in the wall. He opened it, ran his finger down through the labels until he stopped on the one marked Basement. He flipped the switch and the lights went out.
The breath caught in Dix’s lungs and she strained to hear the sound of footsteps, like she had a few minutes before. Silence stretched until another loud click heralded the lights coming back on.
Stratford turned to her. “Seems to be working fine.”
Great. She looked like an idiot. But that didn’t bother her as much as the memory of shuffling footsteps when she’d been hiding behind the cardboard boxes.
She didn’t believe there was a real problem with the electricity. The problem was that something or someone had to have flipped the breaker to make all of the lights in the basement go out at once.
“Besides you, me and Leigha, are there any other people who live in this house?”
Stratford shook his head. “No. Mrs. Purdy comes in every day to cook and clean for us. But that’s it.”
Dix nodded. She’d be sure to carry a gun with her whenever she entered the basement. If for nothing else, to shoot at the rats.
“Any more questions?” he asked.
“Yes.” She stared up into his eyes. “Where will I sleep?”
Stratford cupped her elbow in his hand and led her toward the stairs. “I have Leigha in the room next to mine with an adjoining door. I’d like for you to sleep in the bedroom beside hers.”
Dix nodded, her skin tingling where his hand rested on her arm. In a structure the size of Stratford House, she could have been assigned a room in a completely different wing. She was glad he put her close to Leigha for the child’s sake. But being close to the man added an entirely different dimension to this task. “One more question.”
His lips quirked on the corners, making the wicked scar less menacing. “Shoot.”
“Where’s Leigha’s mother?”
The hint of a smile vanished, replaced by a fierce frown. “Why do you need to know?”
“I was sent to protect the family. I assumed husband, wife and child. If I’m to protect the entire family, I need to know who that consists of.”
“All you need to be worried about is making sure Leigha is safe. I can take care of myself.”
Dix persisted. Stratford wasn’t happy about something and he was avoiding a direct response. “Your wife?” She held her breath, part of her hoping there wasn’t a wife. The other part of her wondering why she cared. She’d just met the man.
“Leigha’s mother is dead.”
* * *
Andrew turned away from Dix and marched up the steps to the kitchen. He didn’t wait for her to follow. The sooner he got away from her, the better. All the old rage roiled up in his belly, threatening to take him to that dark place he’d lived in when he’d been in the hospital suffering the pain of skin grafts. All because of Jeannette and her horrible, hateful revenge.
A hand on his arm slowed him to a stop. He breathed in and out like a bull preparing for the charge, but he refused to face Dix.
“As a bodyguard, I feel like the more I know about you, Leigha and this place, the better equipped I’ll be to take care of all of you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step over the line. I didn’t know.”
“I told you—I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Focus on Leigha. She’s the one who needs you. Not me.” He shrugged her hand off his arm.
“I’m sorry. Losing your wife is hard enough without someone dragging up the memory. You must have loved her a lot.”
Fury surged upward. Andrew was powerless to hold back. He spun, gripped Dix’s arms and shook her. “Jeannette wasn’t my wife, and I can honestly say that I hated her with every fiber of my being. Any mother who could willfully set fire to the apartment she shares with her daughter, and then stand by watching it burn with her daughter inside, is a monster. I’m glad she’s dead.” He shook her again. “Do you hear me? I might rot in hell, but I’m glad she’s dead.”
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