"Oh. Yeah." With a shaky laugh, she said, "I hope you called the police."
I nodded against her. "They'll be here any minute."
Anna's note had been the last thing I'd seen before coming upstairs to bed. She'd taped it to the fridge, where I wouldn't miss it.
Dear Flynn: Bad news. Someone stole your waffle maker. And all the waffle mix. You should call the police ASAP. Trust me. They'll want to know.
P.S. I fear the toaster may be next.
I smiled in the darkness and not only because of the note. Her hair was soft, and her body was tight and sweet. I wanted to get closer, to make her whimper with something other than fear.
As far as the screaming, hey I could fix that, too.
I could replace all of the bad stuff with the good. I could make her forget the dream and whatever was bothering her. Hell, if I wanted, I could make her forget her own name.
Cocky? Maybe.But that didn't make it untrue.
Now Anna was saying, "Well, that's good. I mean, you can't be too careful, huh?" As she said it, she burrowed closer into my arms and leaned her head against my shoulder.
I replied, "You're tellingme."
In a sleepy voice, she asked, "What do you mean?"
My lips brushed her ear. "I'm being carefulnow."
Her breath hitched, and she was quiet for a long moment before she said, "Flynn?"
"Yeah?"
"You need to leave."
I froze. "What?"
"Seriously, you need to go." As she said it, she softly pushed me away, breaking the contact between us.
I moved back, giving her some room. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
It was an obvious lie. And now, I was torn. If she didn't want me here, it wasn't my place to stay. But the thought of leaving her alone when she was still upset – well, that didn't seem right either.
I studied her face. "About your dream, do you want to talk about it?"
With a little frown, she shook her head.
She looked so small and forlorn that I couldn’t let it go. "If you want, we could get dressed and talk downstairs."
Her gaze drifted the door, the one I'd just busted through. She bit her lip. "I guess I owe you a new door, huh?"
"Fuck the door," I said. "Ibroke it, not you." Deliberately, I softened my tone. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
As I said it, I wanted to reach for her hand, or better yet, gather her once again in my arms. But all I could do was ask, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh yeah. Definitely." She tried to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"
It was an obvious dismissal, a nice way of telling me to get the fuck out of her bedroom. I didn'twantto leave her, not like this. But I didn't have any right to push the issue beyond a certain point.
I wasn't her boyfriend.
I was her employer.
And I didn't like it.
