Page 12 of Bad Guys Need Love Too

Ren flipped the light at bottom of the steps before hitting the button that closed the bookcase door behind them. Lark flinched when the door locked, but bravely kept her chin up.

She looked ridiculously adorable with Mace under her arm and his Smith & Wesson in her dainty hand.

It wasn’t just her adorableness he was currently admiring, though. The fact that she’d made it this far—after everything she’d been through today—and wasn’t a puddle of tears was a miracle. She had a cool, rational head in a crisis, and to Ren, that was sexy as hell.

But then again, pretty much everything about Lark was sexy as hell to him, so…yeah…here they were.

It wasn’t until he looked around hisrealhouse, trying to see it from her perspective, that he realized how strange this all must seem to her. Hell, it was strange to him, too. No one other than Tenley had ever been here. This was his safe space, and he’d never felt the need to invite anyone else into it.

Until now.

If Lark was uncomfortablehere, in this space that was basically an extension of who he was on the inside, she’d never be comfortable with him. And until this very moment, he’d had no idea just how much he wanted her to be comfortable with him. To approve of him and trust him.

Desperately. That’s how much he wanted it.Desperately.

Her eyes widened as she took in everything she could see from the stairs, which was…a lot.

He realized the idea of a decoy house was unconventional. And if the authorities came looking for him, they’d probably eventually find the hidden entrance. But for a standard, run-of-the-mill robbery or home invasion, his real residence would be safe and only the decoy place (which was awful) would be damaged.

Therealhouse was energy efficient with exposed brick and stone walls, fire resistant, surprisingly spacious, and had natural light (thanks to a skylight in the middle of the living space that was hidden in the bottom of the swimming pool above it in the backyard).

Overall, he had about two-thousand square feet of space. The open concept living room, kitchen, and dining space was flanked by two bedrooms, each with its own en suite. The furniture was simple and natural—all leather and wood. It was functional and clean. Not what he’d consider homey or overly warm after seeing her space, but it wasn’t embarrassing or anything.

His real worry, the part he thought might be a little scary to Lark, was his command center.

Four giant computer monitors, one for each of the people he stalked, were mounted on the wall in a grid. A giant bin of burner phones, and two more of assorted electronics, flanked the giant desk that was covered with multiple laptops, cords, and headsets. All in all, it looked like an NSA war room in that corner.

If anything was going to freak her the fuck out, it’d be allthat.

She glanced back at him. “This isreallyweird.”

His heart rate picked up speed. “Yeah, I realize this is?—”

“I fuckingloveit!”

He blinked at her. “You do?”

Her answering smile felt like the sun on his face after a long, cold winter. “Iloveit.”

Well. That was…unexpected.

Lark was on her way over to check out the bank of computer monitors on the west wall of the basement—which, she used “basement” for lack of a better term. This was actually more of a security center—when something stopped her dead in her tracks.

The biggest dog she’d ever seen wandered out of what she assumed was Ren’s bedroom. He stopped in his tracks, too, staring up at her, looking almost comically shocked to see someone in his space other than his daddy.

It was, without question, the most intimidating dog Lark had ever seen. She’d volunteered at the local shelter and had fostered dozens of dogs over the years, but she’d never seen anything likethisbefore.

He was a little taller than hip-high on her, and since she was above-average in height for a woman, that was saying something. Lark wasn’t great at guessing weights, but she’d say he was at least a hundred twenty pounds, too, and his short, thick-looking coat was black as sin without a speck of any other color in it. His head was the biggest Lark had ever seen on a dog, with jowls she really wanted to squish, even though he was looking at her like he was doing the math on whether or not he should label her as an intruder and eat her for dinner.

Ren gave the dog a command in what sounded like French, then told her, “It’s OK. I told him you’re a friend.”

She blinked up at him. “Your dog speaks French?”

“Only for the friendly commands,” Ren said. “I give him the not-so-friendly ones in German.”

Lark was going to ask a few questions about the definition of “not so friendly” commands a dog the size of a pony might need to know, but that’s when she noticed the dog’s expression had shifted as soon as he received the French command. His tongue was lolling out of his squishy-looking face, and he was giving her a doggy smile that was nothing short of adorable. “What’s his name? What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a Cane Corso. His name is George, but he’ll only answer to Dammit George.”

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