easier to be numb. Except Jordan invoked a confusing mix of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face.
“I’m fine.” Her head throbbed. “Still a little dazed, I guess. I’ll get the rest of my things from upstairs.”
Jordan reached for the paper and wrote, Let me go first, just in case.
Unable to speak, she nodded. Even going upstairs felt like an irrationally enormous undertaking.
The stairs were tight in the turn-of-the-century house, and Jordan had to duck his head.
Once upstairs, she relaxed a little. Her bedroom walls were a deep shade of salmon. A Turkish rug in a mix of magenta, orange and yellow covered the floor. Keyhole-patterned curtains blocked the late-afternoon sunlight.
She was running out of adrenaline, energy and outrage. There was no way to go back and pay attention to the niggling unease that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks. Someone had been in her house. Someone had been watching her. All she could do was move forward with a solemn promise to be more vigilant in the future.
Jordan hovered politely outside the door while she gathered her belongings, and his calm, steady presence gave her the strength to continue.
She tossed a few items onto her patterned bedspread and paused. When had she started doubting her own taste? She enjoyed the blue streaks in her hair and her quirky wardrobe. She enjoyed standing out in a crowd. Yet, when she was alone with herself, the walls of her private life were a dull gray.
She sometimes wondered if she’d made herself unique by default because there was nothing inherently special about her. She sometimes wondered if Brandt would have gotten bored with her once the newness of their relationship had worn off.
The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and she quickened her pace. Without giving herself too much time to think, she stuffed clothing and toiletries into her overnight bag. The agents hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about how long she was going to be away.
Jordan indicated the second room. “Is this your office?”
She pushed open the door and grimaced. “Yes.”
Bookcases lined the room and her rolltop desk was layered with papers, pencils and various office supplies.
He riffled through the top layer. “Do you ever bring work home?”
“No. Never. We’re not allowed.”
He lifted a stack of manuals. “What’s all this?”
“I’m teaching myself a new programming platform in my free time. It’s a hobby.”
Admiration widened Jordan’s eyes. “This is a hobby?”
“I can’t seem to stick with one thing for long,” she mumbled. “I have a short attention span.”
“You sound like my stepsister. Smart people bore easily.”
“You should explain that to my mom,” Lucy quipped beneath her breath.
According to Vicky Sutton, smart people did not hop from subject to subject like hyperactive bunny rabbits.
“What was that about your mom?” Jordan asked, glancing up from his study of her egg-shaped digital personal assistant.
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
He thumbed through her latest manual. “You have complicated hobbies.”
“I haven’t mastered it or anything,” she babbled. His praise made her uneasy. For some reason, it was important he understood the truth about her from the beginning. “I’ve learned enough to know I need to learn a lot more.”
He surveyed the room with a critical eye, and her skin felt as though she’d brushed through cobwebs. A stranger had rifled through her personal belongings. They wouldn’t have discovered anything beyond her utility bills and programming homework, but that didn’t make her feel any less violated.
Jordan took the overnight bag from her stiff fingers and waved her forward. “We’d better get going. I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” she answered woodenly.
The full weight of her new circumstances settled over her, and she stumbled blindly after him. Had it not been for this morning, she doubted she’d have noticed anything out of place. She’d have continued along, blissfully ignorant that someone was listening to her, maybe even watching her. If this experience had taught her anything, it was that safety was an illusion.
On the first level once more, a scuttling sounded from the opposite end of the house.
Jordan shoved her behind him and drew his gun.
Her pulse spiked, and horror clouded her vision in a red haze.
She lunged before him. “Stop!”
Trapped between Lucy and a threat, Jordan’s extensive training fought a losing battle with his instincts. He jerked his weapon safely to one side.
“Lucy!” he whispered harshly. “Get out of the way.”
Her hair was a wild, pale halo framing her fierce expression, and she positioned herself like a miniature warrior before him.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered loudly.
Jordan stuck out his hand. “I don’t know what to think yet.”
He was larger and stronger, but something kept him from forcibly moving her out of the way. If there was someone else in the house, there’d been ample opportunity to ambush them before now.
“It’s just Mr. Nibbles,” she declared.
Wavering, Jordan struggled to connect a logical meaning in her words. “Come again?”
“My guinea pig.” Lucy indicated the smoke detector to remind him of their audience. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, you’ll have to get better acquainted with Mr. Nibbles.”
He stowed his gun, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Your guinea pig is in the other room?”
“Yes.”
Rather than reveal how ridiculous he felt, Jordan maintained a stoic expression.
“He’s in the sunroom.” Lucy crossed the distance. “He’s the sweetest little thing in the world, but he gets nervous around strangers. That’s why I have to fetch him myself.”
“I see,” he replied, even though he didn’t.
He certainly didn’t need instinct or training to recognize he was walking into some sort of trap. People tended to overestimate their pets’ appeal to others. When someone followed the phrase he’s really the sweetest little thing with a qualifying but, there was reason to be worried.
Willing
