Her eyebrows raised at his question. “You know he’s offered before?”

“He mentioned it when he called earlier.”

“He could have contacted me for all I know but I still don’t have my phone.” Or her laptop, her tablet, e-reader or half a dozen other electronic devices she was used to carrying with her at all times. Being so disconnected was jarring.

At the same time, it was also oddly nice not to have to deal with anyone who’d known Hugh, whether they thought she was guilty or not. The thought of talking to people she worked with about Hugh made her want to tailspin into a breakdown.

“I don’t think he’d make an offer just yet.” Roman’s voice was dry.

Taylor snorted. “Yeah, but this jet is a nice touch. If it wasn’t for Hugh I probably would have considered Mr. Christiansen’s offer—well, offers.” But she hadn’t even thought about it, nice as it was to be headhunted. Now she had no clue what she planned to do once the dust settled. One of the main reasons she’d stayed with Powers Group was because of Hugh and because she loved her job. Now the thought of going back to work for the company was depressing.

Roman seemed to sense her mood change because he reached out and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be there soon, rest if you want,” he murmured.

She wished he wasn’t being so sweet and caring. Okay, that wasn’t true. She was incredibly appreciative of his support. It just made it harder because she knew this wasn’t going to last. Throat tight with a cacophony of emotions brought on by thoughts of her dead friend, she nodded and closed her eyes. The seat was like a big cloud so it wasn’t hard to relax. She couldn’t help but notice that Roman never let her hand go.

And she wasn’t inclined to pull it back from him. He made her feel safe, grounded and…not so alone.

* * *

“You ready?” Roman asked quietly as he and Taylor waited to disembark. As soon as they’d landed he’d received a call from Wyatt—who’d clearly taken a personal interest in this situation—letting him know that the detective assigned to the case, two uniformed officers and three men from Powers Group security were waiting for them. No one wanted to take any chances that Taylor didn’t make it to the police station.

After watching a couple news clips on his phone before they’d taken off, he’d seen how much the media was paying attention to the story of Hugh Powers’ death. No doubt the Oceanside PD wanted this wrapped up quickly and efficiently. There’d recently been an earthquake a couple hours north though so half the media attention was on the natural disaster.

Taylor nodded, her bright blue eyes seeming more vivid against her face under the afternoon sun streaming in through the open windows. “I think so. Guess it doesn’t matter now… Thank you for coming with me.”

He just grunted, not needing her thanks. Not wanting it. All he wanted to do was chase away the shadows in her eyes, see her smile. A real one.

When the plane door opened, she tensed next to him. Seconds later the pilot, co-pilot and flight attendant thanked them for flying with them with smiles on their faces—Wyatt’s people were always professional—before Roman and Taylor exited.

Carryon bag in hand, he went first, wanting to shield her from everything. Two matching, black SUVs and a slightly smaller black Ford Explorer were on the tarmac not far from the plane. Six men in total waited at the bottom. Three in black suits with black ties. All alert, all armed even if he couldn’t see their weapons. Two men were in police uniforms and one man was in slacks and a sports coat. He was the tallest. His hands were shoved in his pockets, pushing the bottom of his coat back and revealing his badge hooked on his belt. When he saw them, he straightened.

Roman reached behind him with his free hand and was pleased when Taylor took his hand. Moments later as they reached the bottom of the rolling stairs, the tallest man approached. Oh yeah, definitely the detective on the case.

The tall, lanky man with dark hair nodded at both of them, his focus narrowing on Taylor as he pushed his sunglasses back on his head. “Ms. Arenas?”

“You can call me Taylor,” she said softly, clutching Roman’s hand tightly as she came to stand next to him. He liked that she was leaning on him, but told himself not to get used to this.

“I’m Detective Durnin, but Byron is fine. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

She nodded and Roman was getting to know her enough that he realized she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Yes, she has,” Roman answered for her.

The detective looked at him, his expression guarded. “Are you her attorney?”

“No, I’m Roman MacNeil. I work for Wyatt Christiansen. Taylor is coming in of her own accord because she’s done nothing wrong. But if at any time I deem necessary—if you try to steamroll her with bullshit—Mr. Christiansen’s attorneys are on-call for her.” There was a bite of warning to Roman’s words. He wanted everyone to understand how they could and couldn’t treat Taylor. He knew he was likely being an overprotective dick, but he didn’t care. If someone had an agenda or wanted to make a name for themselves, sometimes innocent people got caught in the crossfire. In this situation he didn’t think that would happen when the most viable suspect had disappeared, but he was covering all of Taylor’s bases for now. She was a strong woman, but she was also emotionally connected to this case.

Next to him Taylor jerked slightly at his words. He hadn’t told her what Wyatt had said, but it was true. If at any time Roman thought Taylor needed legal representation, he was supposed to call Wyatt’s guy in case she didn’t have an attorney of her own. And Roman doubted she could call the law firm who represented Powers Group because of the conflict of interest.

The detective’s jaw tightened, but he simply nodded. “I’m aware of the situation.” His expression softened a fraction as he turned back to Taylor. “We’ve reviewed the statement you made with the Vegas PD and we’re sorry for your ordeal. Do you need medical attention before we head to the station?”

Taylor shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I just want to take care of all this now.”

As soon as she’d spoken, one of the men in suits came forward, a broad-shouldered, stocky Hispanic man, his laser-like focus on Taylor.

Roman instantly tensed, taking a small step forward out of instinct even though it was clear the police knew who these men were or they wouldn’t have been allowed on the tarmac.

“As agreed, she’ll be riding there under our protection,” the Hispanic man spoke as he nodded at Taylor.

Must be Benjamin Escobar. Wyatt had told Roman the man would be here.

The detective nodded and Roman could tell he wasn’t a fan of the situation. But he guessed Durnin’s higher-ups wanted this situation handled with kid gloves. A young, innocent woman had been shot then forced to go on the run because she’d been terrified the man who’d killed her boss would come after her—after the police had missed key evidence in the elevator.

“We’ll be right behind you,” the detective said before nodding at the two men in uniform and heading for the idling Explorer.

“I’m sorry about Hugh, Taylor,” Escobar said as he motioned toward one of the SUVs. He sounded sincere, but the man was hard to read. If Roman had to guess, however, the guy had definite military training. It was in his bearing and vigilant posture. “The police are going to catch that fucker Neal.”

“Thanks, Benjamin. I heard that you told the police I wasn’t involved even before I came forward.”

The man lifted his shoulders. “I knew you didn’t do it. You loved him too much.”

To Roman’s surprise, Taylor started crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks and Escobar stared at her in horror, as if the sight of her tears was too much to handle. Roman understood the feeling.