* * * *
Garrison couldn’t help but chuckle at the feisty little brunette who ran the shelter. He’d never had the pleasure of actually meeting her before, but he’d heard stories.
She was tenacious at protecting the women at the shelter, but apparently far laxer when it came to her own well-being. The fact that she hadn’t called them herself chafed, and he’d had to keep his desire to lecture her to himself. She wasn’t his. It wasn’t his place to tell her what she needed to do, even if she was making poor choices.
She also really didnotwant to be around him. It was written in the way she walked, the space between them, in how, as she drove, she leaned against the door to get as far away from him as she could.
It didn’t bother him—he’d grown used to that reaction when dealing with women who had bad histories with men. He couldn’t exactly take it personally, not when he was well aware thatsomeonehad put that fear into her.
Still, she’d admitted that getting their help was the right choice, so the girl was smart enough to think past her initial fears.
She drove a white SUV with four-wheel drive, something tall enough that she had to grab the roll bar to hoist her short frame into. It surprised him, because he’d expected her to be more of a compact sedan sort of woman.
She maneuvered the large vehicle down the roads like it was nothing.
Garrison didn’t try to tempt her into talking. What was the point?
Connor and Trent would meet them at her house after they’d finished checking out the shelter. They’d make sure all the security systems were working properly, contact a few others they worked with to handle escorts for the other employees and volunteers, and ensure that Gracey, the woman who had called them, had all their information.
While they did similar things for a lot of women at the shelter, keeping the director safe was even more important. She single-handedly ran that place, along with overseeing a few others in adjacent towns. She’d taken one tiny, run-down building and grown it into a real haven for women who needed it.
Garrison had seen other directors come and go, most trying their best but without the head for business that Sunny seemed to possess. While he’d never personally met her—Trent wasn’t wrong, she’d always seemed to be gone or busy when they arrived—he’d been impressed by her work ethic for a long time.
The last director had been an older woman named Beth who had been sweet but absent-minded. She’d constantly missed details, had reached out many times when something had fallen by the wayside because she’d forgotten something important. Since Sunny Kaylor had taken over, they hadn’t been called for anything but escorts.
Women from the shelter would call on their own sometimes, but other than basic security, the shelter rarely needed anything. He’d gotten involved years before, back when Beth had needed new security cameras and other Doms he knew from Sanctuary had called him in. As it turned out, the Doms at Sanctuary tended to like chipping in. It must have been that protective streak they had.
He wanted to pick Sunny’s brain, to find out how she’d turned the dog and pony show into the well-oiled machine she’d created. Still, Garrison gave her the quiet he was pretty sure she wanted as he looked out the window and let out a big yawn.
The night before had beenamazing.
Well, all except the little fox running out on them. He couldn’t help an unease at that, a desire to find out if she was okay.
Sure, part of it was wanting to see her again, but another part was needing to know she’d made it home safely. He chalked that up to his damn Dom tendencies.
Well, that and the memory of how sweet she’d been.
The sighs on her soft lips, the way she’d arched her back, her taste, how she’d giveneverything. It wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times he’d told himself to forget it.
He’d had plenty of nights of meaningless, anonymous sex before. He was hardly a fifteen-year-old with his first girlfriend.
So why couldn’t he put this one out of his mind?
Because it isn’t meaningless.
The vehicle bounced as it went over an aggressive bump and down a tricky, washed-out road. In fact, Garrison thought for a moment the woman would need to put it into four low to make it.
“I know the number of someone who can drag this,” Garrison said as he placed his hand against the roof to steady himself.
“No, thank you.” Her curt words caught him off guard.
Then he thought about it and let out a soft laugh. “You keep it this way on purpose, right? Not many cars can sneak up on you through this.”
She nodded, before pulling the vehicle in front of a cute little house, the desert plants around it all cleared away for lines of sight.
The girl might have been a long way from whoever had hurt her, but she still lived as if waiting for them to come back at any moment.
Which made Garrison all the more certain the threat needed to be properly explored. No one did this if the asshole who had hurt them was really gone, if they were sure they’d never come back.