Page 92 of Locked In Ice

“New lessons, sweetheart.”

“Uh, Lane, someone is at my door.And it’s nearly three a.m.Don’t you think we need to investigate?”

“You have killers knocking at your door.”

Her head tilted.“They don’t usually knock or ring the doorbell.Too polite for them.”

Oh, was she trying to be funny?Not working this time.“You risk yourself too damn much.Like you don’t have anything to lose, and it doesn’t matter what happens to you.”He reached for her hands.Took the gun from her.“It matters.A whole hell of a lot to me.So how about when someone tries to hurt you, we say that they have to go through me in order to do it?”

The doorbell rang again.

“I like that you’re protective,” she assured him.“It’s sexy.Truly, but I’ve got a ton of experience in the PI world—”

“Fuck your experience.”

“Lane!”

“To hurt you, people will need to go through me.”Simple fact of life.The sooner she accepted it, the better.

“It’s that naturally protective streak of yours again.”She licked her lower lip.“You’re always trying to protect everyone.”

He shook his head.“Not everyone.Just you.”

“Why did you help Gerald Baldwin?”

The doorbell pealed again.Without answering her question, he whirled and stormed down the hallway, keeping her gun gripped in his hand.

“Lane!”

He didn’t stop.

She grabbed him in the foyer.Spun him toward her.“Wait, dammit!Let me check the app to see who is outside.”Then she picked up the small evening clutch she’d dropped earlier on the entrance table.She pulled out her phone and swiped her fingers over the screen.A frown crinkled her brow.“Why are they here?”

He peered down at the screen.The Feds.On her doorstep.At nearly three a.m.

He didn’t let go of his weapon.While Ophelia disengaged the alarm near the door, he held tight to it, and when they finally swung open the front door—

“Wow!”Pierce Wayne threw up his hands.“You always greet visitors with a gun?”

He didn’t have the gun up or aimed at the Fed.“You always pay visits in the middle of the night?”Lane threw right back.

Ophelia eased to Lane’s side.“Why are you here?”

“Had a break in the case.Wanted to tell you personally.”

“Phone calls work better,” Lane assured the agents.“They work just fine.”

Tameka cleared her throat.“It’s a phone that gave us the break.Or, rather, the texts that were sent to your phone.”Her gaze darted between Lane and Ophelia.And noted their dress.Or undress.

Whatever.Lane didn’t care that he was half-dressed.He didn’t like it, though, when Pierce’s gaze dipped down Ophelia’s body.He moved a little to partially block the agent’s view.“What did you discover?”

“We traced the texts,” Tameka told him.“Found the man who sent them.Considering all the pressure Ballard has been applying on us, thought you’d want to know.Thus, the personal visit.”

Lane waited.

Tameka grimaced.“I’m sorry, Ophelia.”

Why was she apologizing?

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