this,” Mitch said, kneeling in front of her.
She focused on his face, on the compassion in his brown eyes. He wrapped her numb hands around a bottle of water. She managed to raise it to her lips, taking one sip, then another. “Don’t leave,” she said. “Please.”
“Not a chance.”
* * *
Mitch picked up the note and read the brief message, wondering about the significance of each name. He might not have a lot of experience with stalkers, but this note—and her severe reaction to it—meant leaving wasn’t an option, regardless of the assignment.
He’d seen plenty of shock victims through the years. Julia, in her current emotional state, needed rest and assurance more than anything else. Still pale, the water bottle wasn’t shaking quite so much as she burrowed deeper into his coat.
He read the note again. Aubrey Wallace, Karen Neal and Justin Carter. None of the last names matched Julia’s. “How are these people connected to the Falk case?”
“They aren’t.” She pushed her fingers into her hair, closing her eyes as she tipped her face to the ceiling. “He listed my best friend from college, my mom and my brother. In that order.”
No wonder she’d nearly fainted. Mitch gave a low whistle as he tucked the note into his back pocket. He was tempted to drag her into his lap and cuddle her as if she was one of his young nieces fighting off a bad dream. He almost smiled, imagining how poorly that would go over with the prickly attorney. “So the stalker targeted you for personal reasons.” He’d be furious if someone threatened his family to force his cooperation. He didn’t want to contemplate how fast he’d give in to keep them safe.
“No,” she murmured. “No one here knows I have a brother,” she murmured. “Other than my mother and whoever did the required background search before Marburg hired me.”
Her low, flat voice unnerved him. It seemed as if the note had smothered all that pride and fire she’d shown from the moment she’d walked up to his bar. Then her words hit him like a sucker punch. “Pardon me?”
She burrowed into his coat. “Justin is several years older than me. He joined the Marines when I was in high school. We lost touch while I was in college. Mom called me when he overdosed on painkillers. That was my first year of law school.” She rubbed at the frown creasing her forehead. “I did a little digging after that. He’d gone to rehab but didn’t complete the program. Checked himself out early. As far as I know, no one’s heard from him since. He might already be dead.” She leaned forward, her green eyes wild and fierce. “That’s actually good news.”
“It is?” Mitch didn’t believe any threat to family was good news.
“Yes. The creep must be mining old records. He doesn’t realize only Aubrey still matters to me.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “Well...that makes me sound like a terrible person.”
“Not at all.” He used the tone that calmed down panicked victims during a rescue. People had countless definitions of family, not all of them as strong and unified as his. “You’re not close to your mom?”
“No.”
That one word packed a hefty warning to back off the sore subject. He swallowed his follow-up questions. “Then why were you so upset to read the note?” He could be of more help, be less of an intrusion, if he understood her.
“It’s an invasion.” Her shoulders shifted under his coat. “Bad enough he’s jeopardizing my integrity and twisting up my finances. This? Dredging up old baggage and dumping it here in the place I made for myself?” Her hands fisted on her knees as she emitted an angry growl. “The envelope...he was in my building.”
He seized on that point like a lifeline. “Would you rather stay somewhere else for a while?”
She shook her head and shut her eyes tight for a moment. “I won’t give in that easy.”
“Good.” He admired her courage. “Remember, you’re not alone.”
Her eyes met his again, held. “Okay.” She rubbed her palms briskly over her knees and took a deep breath. “We’ve found a silver lining. I’m home safe and although he got close, the creep isn’t lurking in a closet. What next?”
Good question. He was in over his head here. He fought fires, not stalkers. “We should warn your friend.” That sounded logical. “And your mom.”
Julia’s features smoothed into an unyielding, emotionless mask. “And say what? They don’t live here in Philly.”
“All right.” Mitch flared his hands, unwilling to push her any further tonight. His job was protecting her. Grant could tackle this issue of warning others if necessary. “Why don’t we get some rest and start fresh in the morning.”
She glanced at the small, antique sofa. “You won’t be comfortable there.” Her gaze slid toward the privacy screen hiding her bed.
He wasn’t about to make her sleep on this hard sofa. “Don’t worry about me. If you have an extra blanket and pillow I’ll sleep just fine on the floor.”
The little furrow between her brows as she examined the small apartment was endearing. Or it would be under different circumstances. This wasn’t the right time to be charmed and distracted by the woman he was supposed to be protecting. One of the hardest lessons of firefighting was doing the job without getting emotionally invested in the people saved.
While he denied it every time it came up, no one seemed to believe he’d finally grown past the foolish damsel-in-distress complex he’d had as a kid. Yes, his last girlfriend had used that specific soft spot against him and it had taken him too long to see her true colors. But he’d eventually corrected that mistake. The nature of the job was to race into danger and bring people out alive. Without his innate drive to protect those in need, he wouldn’t be a decent firefighter.
“You’re really staying over.”
He nodded, unable to tell if she was more relieved or frustrated by his protective intrusion. He managed not to remind her she’d asked him to stay only a few minutes ago.
In a flurry of motion, she stood up. Shrugging off his coat, she folded it neatly over the back of the chair. Moving behind the privacy screen that divided the space, he heard her open a closet. A moment later she returned with a pillow in an ivory satin case and the quilt that had been folded neatly on the foot of her bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Will do.”
“Are you a morning person?” She crossed her arms as if she was cold again.
“I’m a firefighter. I’ve learned to adapt to the situation and timing, whatever it is.”
Her auburn eyebrows arched, then knit into a hard scowl.
“Is that a problem for you?”
“No.” The scowl remained, the arms tensed more.
“Something’s got your wheels turning.” He tapped his temple.
“How can this work?” She spread her arms wide. “You can see my place
