Alone? Did she seriously think I was sleeping with that scary guy? “Mom, you really don’t have to worry about that.”
She looked at me as if I had not one, not two, but three heads growing from my neck.
“What?” I asked defensively.
“I was young once, too, Dakota. And your boyfriend is no slouch.”
“Huh?” Had she just call my “boyfriend” hot?
“Honey,” she warned, “do I look like an idiot? Just promise you’ll be safe, okay?”
“No. It’s just that I—”
“Ooh.” My mom glanced at her watch. “Gotta go. See you tonight, honey.”
“But—” she disappeared.
I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. This was all just so dang bizarre, and the gift of a full night of sleep hadn’t changed that one bit.
“Nice pajamas.”
I popped up on my elbows.
Santiago’s intimidating, well-muscled frame occupied the doorway. He wore black leather boots, a navy blue tee, and faded button flies that hugged his powerful legs. I didn’t want to acknowledge how looking at him made me feel things I had no business feeling. But that would be like trying to ignore a truck parked on your face.
He bowed his head. “Good morning, Dakota,” he said in that deep, almost too-masculine-to-be-true voice with the thick Spanish accent.
“I…I…”
“We’re back to stuttering again, are we?”
I nodded, and he smiled as if I amused him.
“Get dressed—I have business to take care of today, so you’ll be going to my place after you eat.”
He had a place? “Your place?”
“Yes.”
“Why am I going there?”
Anger flickered in his eyes. “Because I can’t leave you here alone. My house is…” he paused, carefully considering his words, “in the hills, about fifteen minutes from here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?” he asked.
“Why you think I’d leave here and go anywhere with you?”
“Thought I’d answered that question already. Only, I’ll add to it that if you don’t come willingly, I’ll drag you. Get dressed.” He left and closed the door behind him.
Oh crap. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. What if his house had a basement with my name on it? And would he really drag me out of my home, kicking and screaming? No. Something told me this guy didn’t want to be noticed. He lived in the shadows.
A ghost…
I decided that no matter what, staying in my pajamas was not going to be helpful. I threw on my favorite jeans and a tee and then pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
Suddenly, I heard a loud crash from somewhere inside the house. I placed my ear to my bedroom door. The ruckus continued. Then I heard grunting and an “Ahhh!”
I yanked open the door and went into the hallway. The sound was actually coming from my mother’s bedroom only two doors down.
I ran and looked inside, hoping and praying it wasn’t my mother making that awful sound.
“Oh my God!” I screamed. Santiago was on top of a man, pounding him in the face. I couldn’t see the guy well, but he appeared to be wearing some sort of blue work uniform, like those guys from the electric company.
Santiago looked up at me. “Go to your room and lock the door. Don’t come out until I get you,” he screamed.
I couldn’t move.
“Do it!” he commanded.
I found my legs and scrambled to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. As an extra measure, I went into my private bathroom and locked that door, too. The house fell into an eerie silence, and I vacillated between holding my breath and panting. I could only imagine what was happening. Santiago was going to kill the man, right there in my mother’s bedroom.
Oh my God. What do I do?
Several minutes passed before I womaned up, went back into my room, and grabbed my phone next to my bed. I was about to hit 911 when I heard the sirens. I looked out my window at the two police cars pulling up. Had the neighbors heard the noise?
Thank God.
Deep voices rumbled through the house, and I wondered if they were taking Santiago away along with whomever he’d been beating to death. One could only hope.
What felt like an hour passed before a light knock on the door startled me from my state of paralysis. “Dakota. It’s safe now,” came Santiago’s deep voice. He knocked again. “Dakota? Open up.”
I slowly unlocked the door and turned the handle, cracking open the door.
Santiago’s intense gaze greeted me. “The police are here,” he said. “They want to speak to you.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Some asshole burglar. Nothing to be afraid of,” he replied.
“What? Someone just broke into my house?” I asked.
“Yeah. Thankfully,” he mumbled.
“I’m not following. You’re happy someone tried to rob us while I was home?”
He shrugged. “Come on. The police are waiting.” Santiago marched downstairs, and I followed. The living room, a sort of ode-to-white shrine because my mother liked to meditate in there, crawled with uniformed people.