He sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration before casting me a quick glance and taking the turn towards his house.
“Jared took a look at the soil outside your windows and found some shoe imprints along with what looks to be military- or police-issue boots. It’s either the cops who traipsed all over the place and compromised the scene, or…”
“Or what, Miah? Spit it out.”
“Or one of the assholes who broke into your house is a cop or military. The thing is, this may be my fault,” he admits.
He’s white-knuckling the steering wheel at this point, and I almost feel bad for him.
“What? How could it be your fault, Miah? It was probably just some random—”
“I’m working deep undercover to investigate corruption in the unit I’m working for. About a year ago we got intel that they were running drugs and controlling things down here to fund a homegrown militia operating in the Greater New Orleans area. Last night’s attack could have been them trying to get back at me because I’m sure these guys must at least suspect that I’m on to their dealings by now.”
“Well, phew. That takes a load of my chest.” I finally sigh, leaning my head back into the seat.
“I tell you that some highly trained psychos are after you because of my job and you act as if it’s nothing?”
“No, I’m just glad it wasn’t Nick after I told him off the other day,” I admit, giving him a sidelong glance. “Calm down, Miah, I got out of it fine and I trust you and your brothers to handle things from here on out. What? You thought I was too stupid to have seen the way the lot of you went all hard last night? Give me a break. I work with little kids who could outsmart us all with their lies.”
He nods as if satisfied by my answer and turns his eyes back to the deserted stretch of road leading to his home.
“Why would you suspect Nick?”
“Seriously? Because I would never think to suspect a homegrown militia…and he’s been acting weird lately.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know, just…he’s been calling nonstop. That’s why I turned my phone off today. Oh shoot, I should probably turn it back on,” I mumble, wincing when a slew of missed calls and texts start beeping like crazy the minute the phone powers up.
“Shit, are those all from him?” he growls, almost breaking the wheel off because he’s gripping it so hard.
“Er…yeah.”
I have no less than twenty-one missed calls starting from eight in the morning and a whopping fifteen texts before he finally gave up around twelve.
“I’ll have to talk to the guy before he does something to piss me off.”
“That would be a no.”
“No?” he asks calmly, giving me a dead stare and a raised brow.
“Yes. No, you may not intimidate my ex, and no, I won’t change my mind no matter how much you scowl at me. Nick may be acting a little nuts lately, but the guy is not dangerous.”
“You sure about that, Clari?”
No, I’m not too sure about that, and that’s one of the reasons I left in the first place, but telling Miah that with the mood he’s in would just stir up a can of worms that doesn’t need stirring right now.
“Okay, then, change of subject. Ma moved all of your stuff into my room and set up an account for you to go shopping to replace some of the stuff you lost.”
“What? I didn’t lose anything.”
“You’re not wearing any of your old underwear. Those fuckers could have pawed through your drawers and touched your delicates,” he snarls, making the turn into the drive and stopping for the gate to clang open.
“They didn’t.”
“You know this for sure, babe?”
“No, but I didn’t hear them rifling through anything, and I don’t think they did—”
“Ma already got you a few replacements and I already got rid of the rest, so you need to wear what you have or go commando. Personally, I like the idea of you not wearing a bra or panties, but it’s your choice, Clari.”
Nick used to buy all my underwear and make me model it for him on a regular basis. Not exactly torture, I know, but when the man you’re with points out your every flaw while wearing lingerie worth a few thousand dollars, it kind of makes the experience a little less exciting than it should have been.
But Miah’s not choosing any of it, is he, Clara? And besides, he’s not asking you to model the stuff under the glare of florescent lights. Suck it up and move on.
“Fine. Can I at least get an apology about my clothes?”
“Nope. My original assessment still stands, babe. That shit is ugly as hell, and if you don’t burn it or give it to Goodwill, I’ll just make it disappear one day. You don’t have to wear designer gear or anything revealing. You’re beautiful enough as it is. I just don’t like that drab stuff you’re always wearing. Go for some color and lose the flats, babe.”