Page 12 of Graveyard Dog

“If you notice any changes in her breathing, hives, swelling, if she complains of dizziness, anything like that, call the nurse immediately.” She and a colleague pushed the gurney down a bright hallway to an oversized elevator. She selected the third floor and added, “But we’ll be close by if you’d like to get coffee or grab some breakfast.”

“Maybe later,” he said, never taking his eyes off Emma. Izzy realized he had an arm around her shoulders, steering her down the hall.

The feeling of having someone with her, of not being utterly alone, was new. It was both unsettling and oddly comforting. She chastised herself—she had no idea who this man was—and tried to put some space between them. He let her, yet kept a hand lightly on her upper back as though knowing she needed the support. Was she so transparent?

They took Emma to a room in the pediatrics wing. It had a recliner that doubled as a bed so a parent could stay the night. The nurses flitted around Emma, getting her settled before heading out.

One of them turned back, a pretty blonde who couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Michael. “There’s also coffee and soda right down the hall.” She pointed. “There’s usually pastries, too. And there’s always ice cream in the freezer if you need a pick-me-up.”

“Thank you,” Izzy said, wondering if the man she’d assaulted not more than five hours earlier had noticed the girl’s interest. Not that it mattered to her.

Michael pulled one of the two chairs closer to Emma’s bed and motioned for her to sit, then went around and grabbed the second one for himself. They sat on either side of Emma, facing each other, and Izzy did everything in her power to avoid eye contact. She smoothed the blanket. Checked the IV on the back of Emma’s hand. Reached over to adjust the canula under hernose and over her ears so it didn’t pull and cause soreness. Then she remembered the paperwork and stretched to grab the clipboard on the windowsill behind her when he spoke, his voice harder than she’d expected.

“She felt like feathers.”

She turned back to him, his stare accusatory.

“She weighs nothing. Why is she so thin?”

Izzy couldn’t help the emotions his questions stirred inside her. He knew nothing about them, yet his words sank into her chest like a knife. It tightened, and her bottom lip trembled. She pulled it between her teeth to stop it. He had no idea what they’d been through. How dare he accuse her of…what? Abuse? Neglect?

Then she looked at Emma. The tiny being that made her life worth living. Emma had never let their circumstances crush her spirit. She was Izzy’s light. Her sun. Her reason for living. Now, she understood how a mother could give up her life to save her child. She would do that very thing a thousand times if that’s what it took to keep her daughter safe.

“Izzy,” Michael prompted.

She shook out of her thoughts but didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t think she could take any more accusations, and this was not the time or place to launch into defense mode. So, she simply said, “She’s five.”

He didn’t buy it. “I know what a five-year-old girl weighs.”

Surprised, she looked up at him and made a disgusted face to try to throw him off course. “That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

His expression flatlined. “My charge was five years old.”

Wonderful. A change in direction. She’d take it. “Your charge?”

“The daughter of two of my best friends. I’m part of her security team.”

“Security? That’s your job?”

“One of them. As I was saying—”

“Wait, shewasfive years old? How old is she now?”

He narrowed his eyes on her, probably figuring out her game. “Fourteen. Ish. But she was five not that long ago.”

Izzy frowned. “She was five nine years ago.”

He drew in a deep breath and went back to watching Emma like a wolf watches its prey, not waiting for the symptoms to return but hunting them down before they dared show themselves. “It’s a long story,” he said, his voice soft, his expression contemplative. “Suffice it to say I know what a five-year-old with more attitude than a runway model in Gucci weighs.” She smiled at his startlingly accurate description of her daughter, until he added, “So, what’s her story?”

How could she explain the complexities of their lives without giving away the truth? “We haven’t always had an easy life.”

After a long moment, he looked back at her, his gaze somber, and she realized how incredibly handsome he was. Eyes like sunshine on the Mediterranean Sea, so blue they were startling. A nose almost imperceptibly crooked, much like the smile he’d cast her more than once that day. And a strong, shadowed jaw that begged to be touched like the sharp side of a machete begging to be tested. All brooding charisma and rugged charm. He could handle himself in a fight. That much was clear. He had a boxer’s shoulders and a perceptive nature—almost wary, from what she’d seen so far.

But those types of people tended to lean toward violence to solve their problems. Just like her ex. Then again, he didn’t have the calmness this guy had. Like a hand grenade, powerful and explosive, sitting quietly, biding its time until all else failed and power was needed. He may have been a member of the infamous Bandits, but he was probably one of the more levelheaded of the bunch. Did that make him less dangerous? Or more?

“Why?” he asked, his tone gentle but stern.

“Why?”

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