Page 30 of Rock

He smirked. “I heard about the cooler.”

She frowned as she followed him into the kitchen. “How?”

“Ink and Breaker. They’re prospects for my MC. They’re the reason I found out you were in town. I overheard them joking about the house with the blue carpet on the wall last night.”

She winced as she rubbed her head.

“Tonight, they came back to the compound, pumping their chests about the smoking-hot older woman who’d fed them lunch and surprised them by treating them with respect eventhough they were covered with tattoos and wore MC jackets. They think you’re the bomb.” He grinned.

Damn, he looked fine. His hair was gray, but he was still fit and healthy as far as she could tell. His smile was the same. His eyes lit up every time he graced her with one.

Rock pulled a cold bottle of water from the cooler. He ran his hand down the outside of it to wipe away some of the excess water before opening the cap and handing it to her. “The electricity is on. Why didn’t you put these in the fridge?”

“I had that cooler downstairs most of the day so the guys wouldn’t have to come upstairs every time they needed a drink. Breaker carried it back up before they left.”

It was surreal talking to him like this. Like no time had passed between them. He held her gaze for long seconds. “You haven’t changed. You’re still the thoughtful, kind Little Lyla I knew as a teenager.”

She blushed and took a sip of the water to hide her thoughts. His voice did things to her. It hadn’t changed either. His body might have aged, but his eyes were the same. His tone hadn’t lost its depth. He was stroking her arm like he had decades ago. She felt like she was in a time warp.

Sirens filled the silence, and she set the water bottle on the counter to follow Rock into the front room. The door was still standing open. It had been the entire time. Rock had kicked it against the wall in his haste to get to her, but it had been ajar when Rock arrived to find her being assaulted.

Two officers entered the house. They greeted Rock with first names and handshakes, which made Lyla feel warm and relaxed.

The female turned to her. She held out a hand. “Officer Wright. Please, call me Susan, though.”

Lyla took her hand. “Lyla.”

The woman opened her phone and started typing. “Can I get your last name?”

“Sealock. Lyla Sealock.”

Susan typed that in. “So, a man broke in and attacked you?”

Lyla shook her head. “No. He knocked. I answered the door. He pushed his way in and slammed me against the wall. I screamed a few times, but it was hard to continue with him shaking me so hard.”

“Did he say what his intentions were?” Susan asked.

“No. He kept asking ‘where is it?’ as if I had something of his.”

“And you have no idea what he was referring to?”

Lyla shook her head. “No.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“No. I just got here yesterday.”

Susan nodded. “Can you give me a description of the guy?”

“Five-eight, probably. Worn gray ballcap. Bad teeth. I think he was high. His eyes were bloodshot. He was strong but kind of skinny. There was a scar under his right eye, running toward his ear.”

“Old or new scar?”

“Old,” Lyla confirmed.

“What was he wearing?”

Lyla rubbed her temples, thinking, picturing him. “Dark hoodie, dirty jeans, work boots.”

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