Page 17 of Fast Kill

If she hadn’t seen him on the Baker video, she wouldn’t have thought twice about him showing up here, and she hated that part of her was now questioning his motives. Last time they’d spoken a few years back, he’d told her he’d given up his criminal ways and turned legit.

“I guess so.” But no, she’d make sure to tell Janet not to give out her address to anyone ever again, even to an old friend like Dillon. Her heart was still recovering from the shock. “You should have called me.”

“I felt really bad about cancelling tonight. I wound up finishing my work thing early, and thought I’d come by to surprise you.” He gave her another crooked grin, his sandy-brown eyebrows rising in question. “Surprise.” Then he opened his arms and waited, that goofy smile still in place.

Even though his methods felt invasive, she had never been able to resist that smile and couldn’t now. She’d missed him so damn much, and mentally reprimanded herself for being so stiff and standoffish with him. This was Dillon, and even if she still had some reservations about him being here, he’d gone to the trouble of coming here because he wanted to see her so badly.

As though pulled by some magnetic force, she closed the distance between them and stepped into the hug, wrapping her arms around his ribs. “It’s one hell of a surprise, all right.”

Dillon squeezed her tight, and the size and power of him was startling. He’d been big for his age as a teenager, but he’d filled out a lot since then and obviously worked hard at keeping in shape. “A good one, right?”

“Yes.”

God, he still smelled the same. Like home—the only one she’d ever known as a kid. She closed her eyes a moment and leaned her forehead against his solid chest, a huge lump forming in her throat at the feel of the familiar embrace and the rush of emotions and memories it unleashed.

There had never been anything remotely romantic between them, although she’d had a bit of a crush on him at one point when she’d first arrived at the foster home where he was living. During that unstable, frightening period of her life he’d become like a protective big brother, representing comfort, safety and security, the first she’d ever known with a man. For the better part of three years he’d been her safe haven, and then he’d gone.

“I’m really glad I came,” he murmured against her hair, his arms holding her close. “I’ve needed this more than you can imagine.”

Taylor sucked in a deep breath and fought the tide of emotion clogging her chest. He’d meant so damn much to her and then he’d just up and left. She understood why he’d done it, even agreed that he’d had to do it, but it had still hurt like hell. Losing him had ripped a giant black hole in her world and left her reeling and feeling abandoned for a long time.

Except now she was torn. She couldn’t stop thinking about the video.

He couldn’t be part of theVenenocartel. Not her Dillon, who’d been so brave and selfless and risked so much for her. Who’d stepped in and protected her when no one else would, even though it had cost him.

She swallowed hard, battling the rise of tears.

“Hey.” He nuzzled his nose against the top of her head. “Don’t cry.”

She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak. When she’d agreed to meet up with him, she’d never expected this kind of reaction at seeing him. But then, she’d long ago become an expert at burying her emotions deep down inside where they couldn’t interfere with the controlled façade she’d worked so hard to project to the rest of the world.

When the threat of tears finally passed, she lifted her head and gave him a wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you.”

The past arced between them, reflected back at her in the almost wistful expression in his chocolate-brown eyes. “You too.”

“Come on inside,” she said, stepping away and heading to the door. “Have you eaten?” She disarmed the security system on the way in, careful to make sure he couldn’t see her doing it. Even though she trusted him because of their past, she wouldn’t let her guard down completely until she knew why he had been at Baker’s house.

“Yeah, on the way here.” He followed her into the mudroom and through to the kitchen, then stopped to look around. “Nice place you got here. It’s a craftsman?”

She nodded. “1920s, I think. The people I bought it from did a good job with the restorations. I barely had to do anything when I moved in.” It had one main floor and a loft, her favorite spot in the house, and as soon as she’d seen it, she’d known this was home. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure. A beer, if you’ve got one.”

She got two from the fridge, excited and a little nervous to be seeing him in person again after all this time. After they talked a bit, maybe she could ask him about his work and find an innocent reason as to why he’d been at Baker’s party that night. Maybe he was a real-estate developer or businessman of some kind now. It would certainly take a load off her mind.

But she didn’t want to think about any of that right now. “Let’s go sit in the loft.”

“The loft?”

“Best spot in the house.”

She led the way up the wooden staircase, a cozy, comforting feeling surrounding her like an invisible hug at the sight of her private little haven. The dark hardwood floors gleamed in the glow of the table lamp set on a side table next to one of the couches, and a stone fireplace was nestled in the corner.

Her smoke-gray cat, Nimbus, lifted his head from the ottoman he was curled up on and eyed them with half-closed green eyes. Taylor paused to scratch him under the chin before sinking into the corner of the cream-colored couch and tucking a knit throw blanket around her legs.

Dillon paused a moment to look around, then sat on the couch opposite her. “This place really suits you.”

“Thanks. I love it here.” She stroked a hand over the length of Nimbus’s back as he climbed into her lap and began purring.

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