Page 161 of Where We Bloom

“You’re not going out there.”

“I’m going to check it out,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

Absolutely fuckingnot.

“Let Miller andSimon handle it.”

But my stubborn-as-hell man ignores my plea and stands just as the door opens again, and Simon rushes in, no weapon in sight.

“All clear, the suspect is apprehended.”

What the hell is going on?

“Who?” I demand. “What was he doing?”

Simon doesn’t even look my way. He’s talking directly to Connor as Skyla and I climb to our feet.

“The suspect is apprehended, sir, but we haven’t done a full canvas of the area to know if there are any more out there,” Simon adds.

“Who?” I demand. “What was he doing?”

Simon doesn’t even look my way. He’s talking directly to Connor as Skyla and I climb to our feet.

“The police are with him, boss,” Simon says.

“Miller called them in?”

“Yes, and they were literally a street away. They pulled up as we caught the guy.”

What guy?

“Good.” Connor tugs me against him. “Christ,” he mutters against my hair. “Need to get you to our home, bumble. And I need you to listen to my instructions and follow them.”

“Whoandwhy?” I demand again, but no one’s answering me.

Instead, Connor backs away and starts barking orders.

“Simon, follow Skyla home, and don’t leave her until she’s through the gate at their ranch. Miller, we’reheading straight to the house. I want alarms set around the perimeter of the property and all cameras on.”

“Sir,” they both say, their faces grim.

“What’s going on?” I ask as Connor opens the back door of the SUV and gestures for me to get inside.

But I don’t get inside. Instead, my gaze is pinned to the short, skinny man with wire-rimmed glasses being led to the back seat of the police car where Chase Wild is reading him his rights.

“Who is that man?” I ask.

“Angel, I need you to get in the car now. Please.” He gestures for me to get into the car, then slides in after me. I’ve barely got my seat belt on when Miller takes off toward home.

Connor holds my hand, but he’s distant. His face is hard as granite as he stares out the window, grinding his teeth together.

“Who was he?”

Nothing. He takes a breath and grinds his back teeth together.

Okay, I’ll try this another way.

“How was the flight?” I ask, trying to draw him into conversation.

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