“How did you get into the building?” Bailey asked their visitor, making Havana’s brows snap together.
“Where is she?” a voice demanded. Dieter.
“She’s in—hey, it’s rude to shove people.”
Havana entered the living area to see Bailey frowning at his back as he marched into the apartment like he had every right.
He made a beeline for Havana and yanked her to him, hugging her tight. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“Corbin called me and told me what happened. I needed to see for myself that you were fully healed.”
“I am,” she said, stepping out of his embrace and putting space between them. “How did you get in the complex?”
“Someone had wedged the main door open so they could go back and forth with some furniture,” he replied. “Now please tell me you have the name of the person who tried to kill you yesterday. Or even better, his severed head.”
“I wish I could.”
He cursed beneath his breath. “He needs to be found before he thinks to try it again. Shit, Havana, I can’t believe you almost died.” Dieter’s gaze switched to something behind her, and then his entire body went tight.
Glancing over her shoulder, Havana watched as Tate slowly stalked into the living area. His unblinking stare was locked on the newcomer as his long legs covered the space with his usual animal grace. Then he was at her side, his arm brushing hers.
And now she felt awkward. Dieter wasn’t her ex-boyfriend, but he was close enough to count. Tate knew that; he knew she’d once cared for this man. She didn’t want him to think that those feelings still lived inside her, but if she touched Tate in reassurance, he might think she was trying to shove their relationship in Dieter’s face to make the guy jealous or something.
“Everything all right, Havana?” Tate asked, his eyes still fixed on their visitor.
“Yeah, fine.” She was about to make the introductions, but Dieter spoke before she had the chance.
“Who are you?” he asked Tate, his tone somewhat belligerent with a note of territorialism … like that of a bratty juvenile who didn’t like finding an unfamiliar guest in his home.
The male at her side didn’t bristle. “Tate Devereaux, Havana’s—”
“Landlord, right,” Dieter finished, narrowing his eyes.
“Among other things.” Tate flicked up a brow. “And you are?”
“Dieter,” he replied simply. Like Tate would know who he was. Like Havana must talk about him all the time or something.
“Just Dieter?” asked Tate. “Like just Madonna, or just Cher?”
The eagle shifter’s nostrils flared. “Dieter Lincoln. I thought your enforcers were supposed to be guarding Havana.”
“They were,” said Tate. “Hence why the shooter targeted her via drive-by. He no doubt figured it was his best bet of hurting her without being caught.”
“Well, he was right, wasn’t he?” Dieter snarked. “She took three bullets yesterday. Could’ve died.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Tate, his voice so carefully calm it raised the hairs on her nape. It must have had a similar effect on Dieter, because he seemed to resist the urge to toss more shitty comments at Tate. Wise decision.
“Ever since Tate realized there was a danger to me, he’s been on top of this situation,” said Havana. “You don’t get to come here and point fingers at people who have been trying to keep me safe when you haven’t done a single thing to help.”
“Not because I don’t care,” said Dieter. “I was just—”
“With Tabitha. Which is where you should have been. All I’m saying is that you need to jump off your high horse.”
“And you need to leave this place and lay low for a while. These people after you? They either know your routine, or they’re having you followed—neither of those scenarios are comforting. You could move in with me until it’s over. Or I can arrange for you to stay on my girl’s territory for a while.”
Havana stared at him. He couldn’t honestly think either of those things would happen. “I don’t have any intention of going into hiding.”
“Swallow your damn pride. Being an alpha doesn’t make you invincible. What happened yesterday should have taught you that lesson. Laying low is best and you know it. Jesus, Havana, surely you realize you’re lucky to be goddamn alive.”
A growl rattled Tate’s chest. “I get that your emotions are running high right now, but you need to watch your tone.”
He’d taken the words right out of her mouth.
Dieter blinked. “What?”
“I don’t like the way you’re speaking to her,” Tate went on, his face hard. “More, I don’t like that you think you can talk to her that way. It stops. Now. And while we’re on the subject of what I don’t like, you can take a step back as well. I don’t want you this close to her while you’re angry.”
Dieter’s brows slid together. “You think I’d, what, hurt her?”