Page 119 of Unseen Danger

“That’s what I’m wondering.” Branson scanned the paper Nevaeh had found. “This one sounds different. Not like any of the others before.” He landed his gaze on Nevaeh. “I think it’s meant for you.”

“For me?” Surprise pitched her voice higher.

“Look at it.” He handed the note back to her. “No mention of what D-Chop owes the person like the other notes. And the ‘you’ll be next.’”

Nevaeh’s eyes locked on the words as he repeated them.

“It indicates there’s someone who’s first. D-Chop, I assume. Then you.”

Her belly tightened as her breath pinched. Her old companion lurked in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to sneak up on her again. No. She wouldn’t let the fear back in.

She shook her head. “I don’t think it has to mean that. It doesn’t have to be for me. Maybe the writer wanted the groundskeeper or Peter or…you to find it. Other people use that building, right?” Her plea probably sounded a little desperate.

Branson’s blue eyes softened as he watched her.

Did she look that worried?

“Yes. Other people use the building.” It was a concession. She could hear it in his voice. He still thought the note was meant for her.

No big deal. She could handle a stalker. An extortionist trying to get money from D-Chop and maybe revenge. Somebody who didn’t like her because he thought she could blow the whistle on him. Or her.

I’m watching. You’ll be next.

The words staring up at her from the page blurred as her hand trembled.

She stepped closer to Branson.

He didn’t have to touch her. Just his look was enough. The fierce protectiveness in his blue eyes.

She didn’t have to be afraid. Branson would keep her safe.

Thirty-Three

Branson smiled at the housekeeper when she gave him that disconcerted, confused look again across D-Chop’s dining room table.

Could Marsha sense the tension that tightened his muscles? Or was she nervous about the interview? Maybe she had something to hide.

The need to suspect the woman he’d always respected galled him even more than the boldness of the latest threat. First the patio by the pool, and now the knife in a pillow by D-Chop’s head. Whoever had risked that had to know D-Chop was a sound sleeper, often helped along by alcohol.

It was a brazen attack that not only threatened Branson’s client but also put his job more at risk than it had ever been. Which put his dad’s life in greater danger, too. How would Branson pay for the cancer treatments if he lost this position?

But even that pressing concern didn’t bother him as much as the note in the locked outbuilding. Where Nevaeh had been patrolling alone.

He glanced at the beautiful woman who sat beside him, facing the housekeeper. She wasn’t as close as yesterday on the sofa, but still close enough to keep his pulse running more rapidly than normal. Close enough to be very aware she was there and cognizant of the effect she had on him.

An effect that made him worry for her safety even though he knew she did this kind of work for a living. She was a professional who could take care of herself. Except when she couldn’t.

He wished she’d taken his suggestion to head home after her shift. She was probably exhausted after the long night.

Even Alvarez had collapsed at Nevaeh’s feet under the table where he slumbered with an occasional snore.

And Nevaeh would likely be safer at home, away from the person who’d left the note he still thought was aimed at her. But she’d been firm when she’d said she wanted to stay.

The determination in her eyes had stopped him from arguing. She seemed to want to end the threat against D-Chop as much as Branson did. And Branson wanted to end the danger to her even more. Neither one of them wanted to wait to interview the staff after the note on D-Chop’s pillow.

Twenty-four hours. And then instructions for leaving money somewhere? Or another attack to make sure D-Chop felt unsafe?

“Fifteen years.” Marsha’s answer to a question from Nevaeh that Branson must’ve missed brought his thoughts back to the interview. Their second this morning.

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