Page 96 of Keep You Close

I inched around the back of the building, wondering if the owners had any cameras around.

I didn’t see any outside, so I didn’t imagine there’d be any inside either.

Reaching out, I tested the back door, finding it unlocked, and couldn’t help but feel my adrenaline surge, wondering if it was a trap of some sort.

But it didn’t seem like Joss was the kind of man who had weapons. Lord knows, he liked to use his bare hands on AJ.

Taking a steadying breath, my free hand going to my gun, I yanked it open, and rushed inside.

There was a strange scent in the house, something I couldn’t quite place, but had me wrinkling my nose as I moved into a small kitchen.

It was a cramped space with canary-yellow cabinets and faded linoleum. The table was pressed up against the walls, and the table was scattered with bags, some of the contents scattered about.

Gauze.

Peroxide.

Ointment.

Painkillers.

For the stab wounds?

I took another breath, that strange scent stinging my nostrils again.

Almost hay-like

But we were inside. In the winter. Away from any sort of farm animals.

I’d never smelt anything like it before.

I turned away from the first aid supplies, creeping through the doorway from the kitchen, trying to be aware of any rooms or doorways where a man might be lying in wait, ready to fight.

All of that concern was for nothing, though.

Because as the low sound of a TV news program running met my ears, I laid eyes on the man who’d dared to try to break a woman as amazing as AJ.

He was a lot more… average than I’d imagined.

I guess I’d sort of figured that a guy who could take a girl as gorgeous as AJ was, then somehow slowly convince her she was anything short of perfect, would have had to be really attractive himself.

He just… wasn’t.

He was shorter than I’d pictured, with a weak chin and a receding hairline that made the age difference between him and AJ all the more obvious.

But I didn’t spend a lot of time analyzing his overall looks.

Because… the man was not in good shape.

I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong with him right away. He seemed sweaty and pale, with mottled skin and a chest that was rising and falling too quickly, considering he was just sprawled on a couch, and he was racked with chills, despite the sweat.

His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem like he was seeing much, not even as I inched closer.

Between his lips came low moaning sounds.

Pain?

Disorientation?

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