“Did I? I’m not convinced. The poor woman suffered a broken nose and lost a tooth and had to leave her home.”
“She’s safe now, thanks to you.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “We have to do the same for you and Brodie.”
She placed a hand on his uplifted arm. “You have enough to worry about back in Steele Ridge.” Her gaze slid down to the remnants of her son’s toys. “My aunt will help me figure out who’s behind this.”
Desperately wanting to remove the look of devastation from her face, Zeke hooked a finger under her chin until her beautiful eyes met his. “There’s nothing in Steele Ridge more important to me than keeping you and Brodie safe.”
As the meaning of his words sank in, her eyes flared wide and the garbage bag sagged to the floor.
“But your family, BARS, the sword—”
“Are number two, number three, and number four.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth as if to keep them from trembling. “Zeke, I don’t know what to say. If you’re alluding to what I think you are, my position and your business—”
“Let me be clear,” he interrupted. “I love you, Special Agent Olivia Westcott, and Brodie’s carved on my heart, too. The rest, we will figure out.” He smiled. “Because that’s what we both do best—figure shit out.”
For a long moment, her features remained in a stasis of cautious hope and complicated reality.
Then a muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth and her gaze made a languid journey from his eyes to his mouth.
His body went rock hard and his mind turned laser-sharp. The desire to protect and possess waged a mini damn war, both on equal footing, until she reared up on her toes and whispered against his lips.
“Figuring shit out is number two.”
His free hand snaked around her waist. “Number one?”
“Making each other scream.”