He opened his mouth to speak, but then his gaze darted over my shoulder, surprise hit his eyes and his body snapped alert.

I was so pissed, I didn’t feel it.

When Walter Jones did that, I felt it.

And it was not good.

What it was was me learning the intensely uncomfortable feeling of the vibe Garrett Merrick gave off when he was about to lose his motherfucking mind. When he was about to lose hold on his brand of messy that made the likes of Ryker look adjusted. When he was preparing to get covered in a pile of shit in an effort to dig someone he cares about out from under it.

Slowly, even though I should have gone faster—his mood was so extreme, it made me move like I was surrounded in molasses—I turned to him.

I felt the vibe, but the look on his face confirmed it.

In fascinated, terrified awe, I saw that his handsome features now appeared carved from marble, and his eyes were glinting, wintry shards of blue ice that I could fucking swear lowered the temperature around us by thirty degrees.

I stood immobile, terrified, not that he would harm me, but that he was about to do something that might bring harm to him, and yet I was so enthralled by the sheer menace he was exuding that was so far from the Merry I knew, it shook me and I couldn’t move.

Merry was immobile too, for one beat…two…three…four…all of these feeling like eternity, nothing about him changing until finally I saw a minute shift in his expression and he stepped forward.

I braced to block his way so he wouldn’t go apeshit on Walter Jones.

“Step off Ms. Rivers’s stoop,” he ordered, that smooth voice that hid the rough underneath a memory, his voice was vibrating with the rage he was not hiding.

“Sir—” Walter Jones started.

Merry shifted a hand, pulling back the dark blue suit jacket he was wearing to expose the butt of his gun in its holster at the side of his chest as well as the shiny badge clipped to his belt.

“Take…your hand…off Ms. Rivers’s door…and step…the fuck…off her goddamned stoop,” Merry growled.

I heard the storm door whisper, but it didn’t bang into place because Merry moved quickly and caught it with his hand.

I moved to go after him.

He stopped and cast the blue ice of his eyes down to me.

“You stay in here, baby.”

His tone was not gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was a hard order he expected to be obeyed.

And the addition of “baby” was not meant to soften that order.

It was a communication to Walter Jones of who I was to Merry.

Thinking my best move at that point was to do what I was told, I nodded.

Merry pushed through the door. It whispered again as it closed and I caught it before it banged. Then I stood on the other side of it to watch Merry prowl the three strides that took him to Walter Jones, who was standing at the foot of my stoop.