Excitement and dread warred. She exhaled, forcing herself to accept Ian at face value. He might not be all that he seemed, might turn out to be too good to be true after all, might have done unscrupulous things in his past, but he was her only lifeline at the moment. And she liked to think she could still give a man the benefit of the doubt.
Jamison is asleep. Back door is unlocked.
Savannah glanced at Jamison one last time before she closed the bedroom door, then stopped in the bathroom to look at her reflection. The woman staring back looked so much more together than she felt. So much more vibrant and hopeful.
The back door whined open. She turned off the bathroom light and moved across the kitchen soundlessly in her stocking feet. Ian appeared as a looming shadow in the laundry room. Savannah had a sudden, clear image of what he must have looked like to those he’d killed just before he’d ended their lives, and her stomach dropped.
How many homes or offices had he infiltrated just as easily as he’d walked in her back door? How many people had he terrified? How many had he killed? In cold blood? Had there been women? Children?
He stepped into the doorway between the rooms. The moonlight illuminated his outstretched hand, offering his phone. Savannah shook off the nerves and closed the distance. His free hand curled around her wrist and drew her close. Savannah’s heart rate spiked, and chills shivered down her spine.
He leaned close and whispered, “Put this on your coffee table. It will block the wavelength for the listening devices.”
She did as he said and turned from the living room to find him right behind her. Her heart skipped; her stomach jumped. She stepped back, an automatic reaction she regretted when his expression registered concern.
Savannah swallowed her unease, stepped close, and rested a hand against his chest. His clean scent filled Savannah’s head with citrus and man. “How is your tooth? Were they able to fix it?”
“They were.” The low vibration of his voice slipped over her, creating another shiver in her belly. This one pleasant. “But my mouth has been missing yours.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her at the same time. As soon as she was in his arms with his heat warming her body, all her apprehension melted away. All her doubts evaporated. She leaned into him, and he was there, his strength supporting her. And when she kissed him back, Savannah found emotional bedrock.
Ian broke the kiss, hugging her close. “You’re making me want to skip to the fun stuff.”
She would have supported that idea wholeheartedly if she didn’t have a piano hanging over her head on fraying rope. She was anxious to see if Ian could find solid evidence she could use to keep Hank at bay.
“The sooner we get the dirt out of the way, the sooner we get to the fun stuff.” She stepped away and turned for the hallway. “I just need to pull everything together.”
When Ian followed her into the bedroom, Savannah realized he was going to see her hiding place. As she opened the closet and removed the floorboards to expose the space beneath, she wondered if she should find a new cubbyhole to stash her dirt. Then hated herself—and even Misty a little—for this new doubt creeping through her head.
“Wow,” he said, standing behind her as she dragged up the shoebox holding the papers and CDs she’d collected over the years. “That’s quite a stash.”
Savannah handed him one box and pulled out another. “I know the CD’s are antiquated, and I have the recordings saved to the cloud, but the way Hank operates, I felt like I needed a hard copy too. I hope there’s something in here to cut Hank off at the knees.” She pushed to her feet, realizing how bad that sounded, and turned to face Ian. “I don’t really mean—”
He cupped her face, but his brow was creased with worry. “I know, baby. I know.”
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and turned toward the bed, setting the box on her coverlet. “Just hoping for the same.”
He was so sincere. So authentically concerned for both her and Jamison. Savannah would never have investigated his background the way Misty had. She would never have questioned anything he told her. Yet because of Misty’s suspicions, Savannah had already uncovered him in a lie. And that made her feel both vulnerable and angry. She didn’t care where he’d really gone this afternoon. She only cared that he’d lied about it.
Jamison.
She had to focus on Jamison. And at this point, she couldn’t be concerned with how she did that, who helped her or why. After she was sure she’d never lose Jamison, she could worry about Ian and a relationship—if they ever got that far.
At the headboard, she crossed her legs and pulled one of the boxes into her lap. “Okay, let’s do this.”
He toed out of his boots and joined her on the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, he pulled the other box into his lap and turned his gaze on her. “Try not to worry. We’ll find something. He won’t take Jamison.”
Right now, Savannah was happy Ian was on her side. She pulled the cover off her own box and scanned the CDs. Her stomach clenched. So much hate. So, so much hate.
“What are those?” he asked, pulling out photocopies from his own box.
“I transferred my—I guess you’d call them conversations, but they’re really arguments—with Hank from my phone to the CDs.” And suddenly, she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of exposing the underbelly of her marriage to her new lover. She met his gaze. “I’ll warn you now, it’s not pretty. And if you don’t see me the same after you’ve heard and seen all this, I won’t blame you.”
His expression softened, and a smile flickered over his lips. He reached out and squeezed her thigh. “Like I said before, I can guarantee I’ve seen worse.”
If Misty’s information about the Manhunters was accurate, and if Ian was in fact a Manhunter, Savannah couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d seen. Or what he might have done.