I checked the peephole again, and this time I saw someone out there—someone that sent my already overworked heart into cardiac arrest territory.

Jax was standing on the other side of the door.

Nine

“What the hell were you thinking?” was the first thing out of Jax’s mouth when I opened the front door.

I had a better question. “What are you doing here? I called Clyde.”

“And Clyde told me, so I’m here.” He pushed inside, pulled the door from my grasp, and pushed it shut, locking it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Having not come to terms with the fact that it was Jax that was suddenly standing in the foyer, I blinked slowly. “What question?”

“Why in the hell did you answer the door in the middle of the night?”

“Oh. I checked the peephole first, you know.”

Jax stared at me.

“And I didn’t see anyone,” I added in my defense.

He folded well-defined arms across his chest. “So, let me get this correct. You heard knocking on your front door, went and actually used the peephole, but when you didn’t see anyone, you thought, Oh, what the hell, I’ll just open the door? Did it ever occur to you that someone could’ve been hiding?”

Oh wow, he looked and sounded pissed, but he could kiss my rosy red behind. “The guy wasn’t hiding. He was sitting down.”

His dark brows flew up. “Did you know that when you opened the door?”

“Well, no, but—”

“So, why in the hell did you answer the door?” he demanded again, eyes turning dark.

“Look, I get that answering the door was stupid.” My hand tightened around my cell phone, and I sort of wanted to slam my other fist into his chest. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” he growled.

My eyes narrowed. “I get it. I don’t need you to keep pointing it out.”

“Jesus Christ, Calla, I’ve told you about the kind of shit your mom was messed up in, and I told you not to stay here. The least you could do is not answer the door in the middle of the night.”

I drew in a deep breath as I reached up and brushed the still damp hair back behind my right ear. “Got it. Thanks for hand-delivering your message. Now you can . . .” I trailed off, eyes widening.

A scary look entered his eyes, and then he was right in front of me, moving like he had in the office earlier in the night. I backed up, hitting the wall, and there was no other place to go. The tips of two of his fingers pressed lightly under my right temple. His gaze, troubled and stormy, was fixed to that area.

My heart was pounding as fast as it had when Greasy Guy had busted up into the house. “Jax . . . ?”

His gaze swept over to mine. “Did he hit you?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Then what happened to your temple? It’s red and swollen.” His voice was icy and hard.