His Soldier Under Siege. Regan Black
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“It’s unlikely,” Radcliff admitted. “No sign in here or out there of the object used to break the window.” He shrugged again. “Probably a kid on a dare.”
Derek hoped the officer was right. Because of the different jurisdictions, no one was likely to connect the attack at the hospital, on federal property, with this incident in her civilian neighborhood, unless Grace Ann suggested it specifically. Something he knew she was not ready to do.
“House is clear,” Willet declared from the doorway. “I don’t think anything is out of place, but you’ll know best.”
“That’s good news,” Grace Ann said.
“Come on in and take a look.” Willet waved them closer. “Thank you for your service,” he added.
Color rose in Grace Ann’s cheeks. What had the police officer seen inside? She hadn’t yet given them more than her name, and there was no insignia on her jacket. He waited near the kitchen, as inconspicuously as possible, while she and the police officer walked the house.
With a full view of the spacious front room, Derek decided he liked her home. She’d chosen comfortable furnishings, nothing fussy and cluttered or too sparse and sterile. He noticed the framed flag and a shadow box with an award of some sort on the shelves flanking a big-screen television. He didn’t go closer, unwilling to tread on her frayed nerves. On the counter she had a framed picture from her last deployment in Afghanistan. She stood next to his brother, both of them grinning, surrounded by the rest of their team. The date was engraved on the frame. He’d seen a matching piece at Kevin’s house.
“Everything is still here,” she said when she came back into the main room.
Once again he fought the urge to gather her close. “That’s a relief.”
“It is.” Her smile lacked any real enthusiasm. “It was a long day at work,” she told the officers.
The officers promised to look into any connected complaints as Grace Ann walked them out. When they were alone again, Derek caught Grace Ann staring at the broken glass.
“Go on inside,” he said. “I’ll sweep this up and cover the window for tonight.”
“You’ve gone above and beyond already. It can wait until morning.” She glared at the mess. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”
She had yet to sit down with the hot tea and ice pack, and he knew she needed both. Needed to unwind. Though he expected resistance, he had no intention of leaving just yet. “Are you hungry?”
She tugged at that high collar again before meeting his gaze. “A little.”
“How is it I don’t know if you like to cook?” Camp cooking wasn’t the same as enjoying the process of building a meal at home.
“We’ve never had reason to discuss it.” Her lips twitched. “I don’t enjoy it much. Unless cookies and brownies count.”
His mouth watered. “From a mix or from scratch?” Homemade brownies were his favorite.
“Scratch.” Her sharp chin lifted in a way that made him long to nip and taste. “If you’re mixing up ingredients, might as well do it right.”
“That counts.” Baking was one thing he’d never mastered after stepping into a parental role with Kevin. Even with boxed mixes, he’d always managed to mess something up.
He pulled out his phone before she could try to send him away again. “I’ll order a pizza and you can make dessert while I clean up the garage.”
“How is it I didn’t know you’re so bossy?” She said it with a sweet smile that made him want to steal a kiss. He resisted. Barely.
“Lawyer.” He tapped the wide-bristled broom to the cement floor. “Comes with the territory.” He set to work, smiling when he heard the door close quietly behind her as she went inside.
Lawyer, pseudo-parent, oldest child: he supposed he came by his bossiness naturally. In this instance, with a woman with such vivid pain haunting her gaze, he counted it as a helpful trait rather than a hindrance.
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