Page 3 of My Special Ops Neighbor
Her knees went weak, and she sank onto her bed. "I can’t believe it. They were going to kill me. Not just take my files. Actually kill me."
"Yes." His tone was gentle but unflinching, and it helped steady her spinning thoughts. "Who did you piss off?"
"RareCore Industries," she managed. " Defense contract fraud. Eight months of evidence proving systematic fraud across dozens of contracts. Materials substitution, shell companies, offshore accounts. Body armor that won't stop bullets, tactical gear that fails in combat."
Understanding flickered in his eyes, followed by anger. "When contractors cut corners on military equipment, soldiers die."
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as emergency vehicles responded to whatever neighbors had reported. Gunshots in suburbia generated immediate police response. But they would have been too late, if it hadn’t been for Vincent.
"They’ll try again," Vincent said. "Whoever hired these men won't stop because two operatives failed. They'll send more, better equipped, probably within hours."
Red and blue lights began flashing through her window as police cars filled her street. Soon her house would be swarming with officers, detectives, federal agents once her Defense Contract Audit Agency connection became clear.
"So you think I should leave? Get a hotel room for tonight?”
“They found your home address, so they can track credit cards. Can you pay in cash?”
“Not without going to an ATM.” She bit her lip. She really should have some cash on hand for emergencies, but who would have thought something like this.
“Official protection takes days to arrange, and I imagine this RareCore might have connections that could compromise law enforcement channels."
She looked around her destroyed bedroom. Blood on hardwood floors her great-grandfather had installed. Bullet holes in the ceiling. She couldn’t stay here tonight. Not like this.
"Maybe, I can go to a friend’s house,” she said.
“You really want to get them involved in this?”
“No,” she said helplessly.
His gaze held hers with uncomfortable intensity. "My house is secure. Off-grid communications, reinforced construction, multiple escape routes. I have the training to keep you alive until official protection can be arranged."
"You want me to stay with you." Attraction flared in her stomach despite two unconscious men on her floor, blood spreading across antique rugs, and federal agents probably en route to take control of her life.
Vincent was offering her sanctuary. The same man she'd been fantasizing about while convinced he was a criminal. The man who'd just demonstrated exactly how lethal he could be.
"Yeah," he said, those gorgeous brown eyes never leaving hers. "I do.”
"Police! Anyone injured?"
The voice echoed from downstairs. Vincent called back, confirming their location, then lowered his voice.
"Think about it while you give your statement. But these jerks will try again. And next time, I might not be close enough to help."
Through it all—the questions, the statements, the crime scene photography—his words echoed in her mind. She'd spent weeks watching him from a distance, wondering what those strong hands might feel like, what all that power might be like unleashed in more intimate circumstances. Now she knew he was lethal, protective, and offering to keep her alive in his home, where they would be alone together.
After seeing what he'd done to two professional killers, she believed he could protect her.
The question was whether she could keep her hands to herself.
When the police detective asked if she had anywhere to go tonight, Yvette looked across her blood-stained bedroom at Vincent. His hooded gaze promised safety, security, and complications she wasn’t ready to think about.
"I'll stay with him," she said. "Until official protection is arranged."
The satisfaction that crossed his features suggested he'd been counting on exactly that answer.
