Brandon neared the exit to her house. He glanced at her.

“You know, Leigh—”

“You don’t have to convince me.” She looked at him. “I agree.”

“Agree what?”

“I shouldn’t stay alone at my house tonight. Michael Lloyd is still at large.”

Brandon’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be there right now anyway. The idea of him prowling around my patio . . .” She shuddered.

“Do you want to come to my place?”

She hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

They finished the drive in silence. Brandon pulled into a front-row space in the lot beside his building. Leigh walked up the stairs in front of him, and he noticed the scratches on her ankles, probably from traipsing around Mason’s property.

Brandon unlocked the door and ushered her inside. The last time they’d done this, he’d been dripping wet and out of his mind with lust. This time, he was consumed by a different emotion. Leigh had been brutalized tonight, and the man who’d done it had slipped through Brandon’s grasp. He’d been right there. If Brandon had just landed one good punch, he could have wrestled him into submission, but he’d gotten away. A smoldering anger filled Brandon’s chest and made it hard for him to breathe.

He turned and locked the door.

Leigh looked at him in the dimness. He pulled her into his arms, and for a long moment, they just stood there.

“You’re shivering,” he said against the top of her head.

“It’s cold in here.”

It wasn’t, but her clothes were probably still damp under his jacket. And she could be still in shock.

He eased away. “How about a hot shower?”

She arched her eyebrows.

“Not with me. You can relax and get rid of the chill.”

She pulled back and nodded. “That sounds really good.”

Brandon followed her to his bathroom and switched on the light. It was messy, but at least he hadn’t left any dirty clothes on the floor. He opened the glass door to the shower and turned the water to hot but not scalding.

“Be right back.”

He left her alone to go hunt up a clean towel. He found some in the dryer and grabbed his first-aid kit from the hall closet in case she had any more injuries he hadn’t seen yet.

Returning to the steamy bathroom, he found her standing in front of the sink in her torn white blouse, her skirt and his jacket in a heap at her feet. She leaned toward the mirror, studying the purple bump on her forehead. She peeled the tape back and slowly lifted her bandage to examine the stitches that looked like three black spiders.

“So ugly.” She sighed and replaced the bandage. “I hope that resident knew what he was doing.”