Page 4 of Protected from Malice
His deep, rumbly voice sends shivers through my body whenever he talks.
He comes across as gruff. Unfriendly, even, if you don’t know him.
But I’ve seen enough to know he has a deeply-hidden sensitive side. Like those days in the hospital after Indy was hurt, when even tough Rafe couldn’t hide his worry.
Rafe.
The one man who makes all the rest seem like… not enough.
But Rafe is in Texas. Or he’s bouncing around the country, chasing after fugitives for his job as a bounty hunter. He texts at least once a month to check in, but he never visits. Never even mentions the idea of it.
Why would he, though? It was one thing when Indy brought Rafe along. But now that Indy’s turned into a recluse and never goes anywhere, there’s no reason for me to see Rafe anymore.
And anyway, in Rafe’s mind, I’m just the little sister. Someone he swore to look after if anything happened to Indy, but no more than an obligation.
Although he still calls. Texts. It might only be once a month, but it’s always like clockwork. And he doesn’t just ask about Indy. He asks about my job. If I’m liking living on the west coast after spending most of my life on the other side of the country. He even remembers to ask about the cryptic crosswords I love to do, quizzing me on how many I’ve solved since the last time we talked.
I just wish?—
A blast of light grabs my attention, nearly blinding me as I glance in the rearview mirror at it.
With rush hour over, the road is darker than usual, so the headlights behind me are particularly bright in comparison.
For a second, I brush them aside as nothing out of the ordinary.
Just an impatient driver racing to get home, oblivious or uncaring that their brights are still on. Perhaps thinking that by tailgating me, they’ll somehow get me to drive faster.
Or maybe they think the aggressive driving will convince me to pull over to let them speed on by.
Both annoying reasons, but nothing surprising.
But I’m not speeding up, not when I’m already driving five miles over the speed limit. And on this unlit road with a narrow shoulder, I’m not terribly eager to pull off it. Especially not for some rude person who can’t take an extra five minutes to get home.
So I keep my speed steady. Try to ignore the lights closing in behind me. Turn my mind to other things, like what I’m going to do when I get home.
Take a quick shower, of course. Then a frozen dinner, since I don’t have the energy to prepare an entire meal from scratch just for me. I’ll spend a couple hours on the couch, watching cooking shows—which Indy always makes fun of me for, since I’m most definitelynota good cook—and working on my newest puzzle book. Maybe I’ll text Zada to see how she’s doing.
What Iwon’tdo?
Spend the night peering out the window, searching for suspicious cars driving by.
Incessantly check my security cameras to make sure they’re still working.
Hold my breath every time I hear a strange sound, feeling foolish when I realize seconds later that it was something as simple as the ice machine kicking on or the water pipes creaking.
I’mnotdoing any of those things. Not tonight.
I’m going to focus on all the normal, comforting things. Wearing my favorite cozy sweats and the old Army sweatshirt Indy gave me. Watching people stress about nothing more serious than cookies going flat or a cake cracking. Finishing my current cryptic crossword and possibly starting a new one.
And I’m going to keep telling myself that everything isjust fineuntil I believe it.
Except.
Are the headlights getting even closer?
Brighter?
Can I actually hear the roar of the engine from the car behind me?
