Page 22 of Captive Omega

Return her to her life? Did he miss the fact that she’s our scent match?

I hadn’t realized Garrison had even noticed her hobbling or the bloody footprints leading into the kitchen doorway.

Resa stares at him, then glances at me. I tilt my head to the side so my right cheek is facing away from her.

“I’m okay,” she says, sounding a bit less hostile than before.

“I’d rather be sure of that. We can arrange for you to see one of the doctors we work with and ensure both you and the baby are okay?” Garrison offers.

Our scent match is pregnant, and I’m still so shocked she’s even here that I’ve barely begun to process how I feel about it. A long time ago, I liked the idea of having kids. Now I’m not sure that’s even an option. The doctors said it was still possible, but what woman would want to sleep with a man half covered in burns?

Her fingers flutter up to her gently rounded belly. She’s not far along, since Everleigh said Resa was between two to four months pregnant. “Why would you work with a doctor?”

“Like I said, we work in security.” Vaughn lifts his gaze from the floor to look at her, sweeping his shoulder-length blond hair back when it falls in his face. “That means we have someone who can help.”

Her gaze bounces between the hand he uses to brush his hair back and his face. “I thought private security. You have a gun.”

The only way she would know that is if Vaughn had to use it.

“Trouble?” Garrison asks Vaughn.

He doesn’t say what he must be thinking: is there something we have to prepare for?

Vaughn shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

So he left a body or bodies behind. Vaughn seems relaxed about it, but he is about most things. That doesn’t mean whatever mess he left doesn’t have a high probability of coming back to bite us on our ass.

“We can have a female doctor come and see you?” Garrison suggests.

Resa doesn’t respond.

“Or Vaughn can show you up to one of our spare rooms where you can rest?” Garrison says in the same patient tone.

Vaughn suddenly straightens, dipping his right hand in his back pocket, and comes up with a knife. Resa inches back, eyeing it warily as he flips it and offers it to her, hilt first. “Here.”

She stares at him like he’s lost his mind.

His grin is boyish. “No need to look at me like that. It took long enough to break Garrison out of the habit. Take it.”

She makes no move to reach for it. “Why?”

“It’s my emergency knife, and it’s something everyone could do with,” Vaughn says.

Garrison’s eyebrow rises, though he doesn’t say a word.

We’ve had years to get used to Vaughn’s quirks. Resa, who must have had a tough few days, weeks, or months, is getting a rapid dose all at once. I almost feel sorry for her.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she says slowly, eyes flicking to the outstretched knife Vaughn is offering her.

“Sure you do. One emergency knife free for the taking.” Vaughn swivels his head to Garrison. “Is the big first aid kit still in the second spare room or did we still need to re-fill it after that last job?”

People need different things in order to feel safe.

Most people lock the front door or have an alarm system they turn on at night. Vaughn needs to have something to protect himself close at hand. Sometimes that thing takes the form of a gun or his throwing stars. Mostly, it’s a knife.

I guess not everyone can understand that, especially coming from a blond, easygoing guy more often smiling than not. But Vaughn has his reasons, and we all understand them. It looks like he’s worked out that Resa might need something to feel safe in a place where she feels threatened.

Vaughn looks at Garrison as I subtly observe Resa.

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