“What do you think it is?” she asks, both of us eyeing it very cautiously.
“A wicked jack in the box. A food bomb of some sort. Or maybe a dead rodent,” I say with a shrug.
“Why are you grinning?” she asks, smiling just like me.
I lean back and look through the large window at the house across the street.
“Because he still hasn’t given up. Now he’s trying to get me to come to him. He hasn’t bothered me since the other day.”
His bike rolls up in his yard, and a myriad of feelings wash through my stomach. But I frown when I see it’s Ethan stepping off. Why is Ethan driving Rye’s motorcycle?
Then I see my Camry pulling up to my side of the curb, and I’m almost positive my heart leaps into my throat. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.
“I guess he beat it out of John,” Maggie says with a grin I can feel.
I turn to her, and sure enough, her smile is broadly pasted onto her face. “John? He went to see John?” I ask, feeling sicker by the second.
John is dead. Rye is going to need an alibi.
“He asked what happened to your car. I told him. He found the pawn shop somehow—meaning he had to have gotten it out of John. And here he comes.”
Shit. I’m crying. Again. I hate crying, but this confusing bastard does so many crazy things to my heart.
I open the door before he reaches the top of the porch, and I’m in his arms before he can even tell me what he’s done. He smiles as he hugs me and kisses me on the head, but then he puts distance between us as he backs up.
“You’re not mad,” he says in relief, his whole body visibly relaxing.
How can I get mad?
“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper, scared of speaking in any other tone.
He stares at me for a moment, and his eyes change. They look different than I’ve ever seen them before. Then he clears his throat and nods toward the car.
“If you have any more problems, let me know. Don’t ever deal with your ex directly again.”
That’s... worrisome. John really might be dead.
“What did you do?” I ask while following him, trying to keep up with his long strides.
I only get a glimpse of his smirk before it vanishes.
“Handled it.”
I glance down to his knuckles, but they show no proof of problems.
“He’ll sue you if you hurt him. He’s a money-hungry son of a bitch.”
He laughs as he slows down and tosses his arm around my shoulders. My heart does that freaky fluttering thing as he guides me toward my car.
“If some psycho charges into your home and punches you, then you might call the cops. But not if you’ve forged your ex-wife’s name on a title transfer. Not to mention, someone once told me that the tattoos make me look like a bad boy,” he says while winking.
Heart is still fluttering.
“How did you know—”
“Pawn shop guy told me everything. He’s a regular at my garage.” He pauses as we near my car. “I took it by the garage and had Wrench check it out. Looks like everything is still working good, but if it acts up, call me. I’ll come get it and take it back.”
If it wouldn’t be completely crazy, I’d kiss him right now. If he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t do this.