Page 41 of Jersey

Anything wet?

What the fuck is wrong with me and my lack of control where this woman is concerned.

I tilt my head, refusing to apologize, although I know I should.

It's not her fault that I got my wires crossed, that I got confused as to why I felt a deeper connection to her in the first place. I have no idea what that mistake is going to cost either of us, but I have to confront the danger she's facing first before we can get all reflective on what has already happened.

What I can do is not let it happen again. I realize just how fucking hard that's going to be when instead of putting my attention right back out the window like I should, my eyes drop to her ass when she turns toward the kitchen.

I force myeyes out the window, standing just to the side for safety's sake. Standing directly in the front would make for an imposing picture, but it also makes me an easy target.

"Here," she says.

I turn and see her several feet away, the glass of ice water in her hand. Her arm is stretched out as far as it goes, and she maintains a distance from me.

I want to assure her that she's safe with me, but I'm not so sure it would be received very well. I made hasty accusations on the porch not long ago, insinuating that she makes a habit of entertaining men there, and as disgusted as I am by those words, I can only imagine how they made her feel.

"Thank you," I say as I take the glass, making sure to position my hand in the spots on it that keep me from touching her.

She steps back the second I lift it to my mouth, but her eyes stay on my lips.

I could easily call her out on it and bring light to how her body speaks to me, but it would do us no good. Attraction is a battle that can be fought and easily won. We're both adults, not wild, rutting animals.

"What happens next?"

After a long sip of water, I place the glass on a drink coaster on the nearby table.

"I need to make sure he doesn't come back."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

I fully understand her instinct. Like many others in society, I imagine she thinks of the police as fully trained specialists who solve every crime reported to them, but that's far from the truth.

"For stalking?" she continues when I remain silent.

"Stalking requires a pattern, Caitlyn. You said you've never seen him outside of your house before."

"I haven't," she confirms.

"So it doesn't fit theelements of a crime."

Her lower lip trembles, and I doubt she's very far away from crying.

"We can be proactive," I tell her, stepping further into the room. "I'm going to check your windows."

"What keeps him from breaking a window to get in?" she asks as she follows me down the dark hallway.

I don't respond to the question because I know she won't like the answer. Locks are for law-abiding people. Most criminals expect to encounter them, and they always have a means to bypass them.

"Caitlyn," I grumble when I find the bathroom window unlocked.

She presses her back flat to the wall when I step back into the hallway, allowing me to pass without touching her.

I find three more windows unlocked—one in her bedroom and both of the windows in the kitchen.

"I never open the windows," she says when I turn back to face her.

Concern pulls my brows together. "Have you checked these recently?"

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