“See you around,” John said. He turned to walk away and only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Kade didn’t speak for a moment and we both watched the darkness consume John. Finally, he looked down at me, turning my head so he could see the small cut on my neck from where the knife had pressed too hard.

“The thing is—”

I choked on a gasp, clutching at Kade. John had returned without a sound and he was staring shrewdly at us.

“The thing is,” he continued, “she knew my name.” His head tipped to one side. “How would she know that?”

Time seemed to stop as horrified realization set in. No one moved. John stared at Kade and Kade stared back.

“You should’ve kept walking,” Kade said, and his voice was as cold as an arctic wind.

John moved suddenly, as did Kade. I saw a knife flying through the air toward us, then I was on the ground, Kade crouching over me. A scream climbed up my throat as I saw the knife embedded in the back of Kade’s left shoulder. He jerked it out by the hilt, flipped it to grab the blade, and sent it flying through the night. It happened so fast, everything was a blur.

The blade sank into John’s throat. His eyes went wide and his hands clutched at his neck, pulling out the knife, but blood was flowing and he couldn’t breathe. He staggered, collapsing to his knees. I watched in horror as he fell face-first onto the sand.

Kade got up and walked to the body. Taking the knife from where it had fallen, he went to where the surf was flowing up the sand with the waves and washed it. Then he carefully wiped it off before tossing it back to the ground.

When he reached me, he took my hand and helped me to my feet. I was still shaking and now I could see blood staining the back of his shirt from the wound in his shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” I said stupidly. Hello, obvious. I’d seen him pull the damn knife out.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, a sob of relief building in my chest. “Is it over?” I managed to ask. “Is it finally over?”

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck as I cried. His arms circled my waist, holding me close. One hand rose to cradle the back of my head.

“I was s-so afraid he was going to h-hurt you,” I blubbered through my tears.

“Shhh. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

Kade packed us up and we left the posh hotel right then. And when he had the cabdriver drop us off at a run-down motel far from the beach, I didn’t complain.

“Old habits die hard,” he said with a half smile as he unlocked the door to our room.

We showered together and I took great pains to clean the wound in the back of his shoulder. I knew he wouldn’t get stitches, which meant he’d have another scar. He didn’t seem to mind, though, his hands drifting over any part of me he could reach as if he was reassuring himself that I was okay.

Butterfly bandages we’d bought at an all-night drugstore kept his wound closed and I used lots of them, not wanting Kade to be in pain from the skin tearing apart more.

We were both solemn as we climbed into bed. I hadn’t dressed and neither had Kade, though sex wasn’t on either of our minds. Instead, Kade nestled me against him spoon style, his hips cradling my backside while his arm draped over my waist, his large palm resting on the bump of my abdomen.

“How’d you know where he’d taken me?” I asked, my voice quiet in the dark.

“I knew what I’d do, if I was him,” Kade replied. “The bungalow presented limited options.”

I was silent as I digested that, then said, “Thanks for going all Batman and saving me.”

Kade chuckled at that and I smiled. I thought of something and turned in his arms so I could see him.

“So if John was called the Krait, did you have a code name, too?”

Kade’s lips twisted in a smirk. “Yep.”

“Well? What was it?”

Leaning down, he whispered in my ear.

I looked at him and grinned. “Okay, that might be hot.”

“Might be?” he asked, rubbing his nose alongside mine.

“Okay. Definitely,” I amended. “Definitely hot.”

Kade chuckled softly. “You’re such a cliché,” he said, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine.

Then he kissed me and I had to amend my earlier thought that neither of us had sex on the brain tonight.

Mona and Gerard were overjoyed to see Kade and me once we returned to Indy. Blane was in Washington, and it seemed Alisha had been right—word all over the news was that he was a shoo-in for the senate appointment. Kade and I told Mona and Gerard about the baby, and Mona got tears in her eyes, hugging me so tight and so long she nearly brought me to tears, too. They insisted on us staying for dinner, which was why we were still at Blane’s house late into the evening.

“We should probably go,” I said, turning to look up at Kade from where I lay on the couch, my head in his lap. Tigger readjusted his position lying across my legs. “Mona and Gerard left a while ago.” He took another drink of the scotch in the glass he held, his other hand resting on my stomach. I smothered a yawn.

“My place is still shut down,” he said. “I need to get the utilities turned back on. We can stay here or get a hotel, if you’d rather.”

I grimaced. “You really think I trust you to pick a hotel that won’t give me hives?”

Kade shook his head. “Such a princess,” he said, trying to hide a smile.

“You know,” I said, a sudden thought occurring to me, “you’ve never actually shown me your room here.” I’d seen him disappear into it many times, but I’d never been inside. “Does it still have all your high school stuff?” I’d pay serious cash to go through Kade Dennon’s yearbooks.

“All that crap is buried in a box somewhere in the closet,” he said, finishing his drink.

I climbed off his lap and stood. Tigger jumped to the floor, disgruntled. “I wanna see,” I said. “Show me?”

Kade cocked an eyebrow at me, but he stood and took my hand. He led me upstairs, only this time I didn’t go to my room, nor did I head for Blane’s at the end of the hall. Kade stopped in front of the door to his room and opened it.

I followed him inside, curiosity raging. I wanted to know more about who Kade was, what he’d been like when he was young.

Kade stood to the side, watching me as I looked around. The room was larger than mine, though not as big as Blane’s. Like in mine, the walls were painted in a mural, only the theme was . . .

“Cowboys and Indians?” I asked.

“Frederic Remington,” Kade clarified. “Famous American painter. He specialized in depictions of the Old West. I think Blane told me his mother hired someone to duplicate a few of his pieces as a mural in here.”

It was beautifully done, the figures of men on horses captured in such a way that they appeared to be moving. The landscape showed both the beauty and desolation of the American West. I spent several minutes moving around the room, inching along the walls to see the entire mural.

When I turned back to Kade, he was still watching me. He wore his typical dark jeans and black button-down shirt, left untucked and with one too many buttons undone in the front. He was the only man I’d ever seen who could get away with that and not look sleazy. His hair was black as night, a lock falling over his forehead, and his eyes were piercing blue beneath thick, dark lashes. His cuffs were turned back several times and my eyes caught on his hands—large, strong, capable. His forearms were marked by the trace of veins just under the skin, evidence of hours pumping iron.

“I love when you look at me like that,” Kade said, his voice a low murmur.

Startled, I jerked my gaze back up to his face. “Like what?” I asked innocently.

Kade moved closer. “Like you want to rip my clothes off and have your way with me,” he teased, reaching out to wrap a lock of my hair around his finger.