Easton looked at her, and the way her blonde hair glinted in the sunlight. “When this is over, she’s staying with me anyway.”

Vander raised a brow. “She know that yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

His brother smiled. “Damn, I never thought I’d see the day when you finally found the right woman, and she isn’t tripping over herself to throw herself at the great Easton Norcross.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, save that for your blonde bombshell.”

A shot rang out.

Easton and Vander tensed.

Another gunshot, and the window of a parked car shattered.

Easton reacted. He took two steps and dived on Harlow.

He took her down to the sidewalk, covering her body with his.

Chapter Thirteen

Gunshots echoed in Harlow’s ears, and a scream stuck in her throat.

Easton lay on top of her—a heavy, solid weight. His cologne filled her senses, the beat of her heart was a roar in her head.

Someone was shooting at them.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Easton wasn’t moving. Her heart stopped. Was he hit? God, was he hurt and bleeding?

“Easton—”

“Hold still. Stay down.” She felt him shift a little. “Vander?”

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Vander growled from nearby.

Where was her dad? Harlow bit her lip, fighting back her fear.

She heard more gunshots close by. She jolted and turned her head. She spotted Vander on the sidewalk, a deadly-looking black pistol in his hand.

Then, the shooting stopped, and Vander sprinted out of view.

“Easton…”

“Just a bit longer, baby. Need to make sure it’s safe.”

He was literally shielding her with his body. Protecting her. She closed her eyes. People looked at him and just saw a rich billionaire. Probably imagined him as a self-absorbed, rich man who had everything.

They didn’t see the hard-working, protective man who’d thrown himself in front of a bullet to protect her.

Something shifted inside her.

He was a man she could lean on. Who wouldn’t let her down.

“Clear!” Vander called out.

Easton rose and pulled her up. He kept her close to his front.

“The shooter’s gone.” A muscle ticked in Vander’s jaw.

“Dad?” Harlow scanned the sidewalk. Her pulse tripped. “Where’s my father?”

Vander blew out a breath. “I saw him take off.”

“No.” She shook her head.

Easton hugged her close.

“Judging by the shots, the shooter was aiming for him,” Vander noted.

“Oh, no.” Harlow clung to Easton.

“He can’t run for long,” Vander said. “We’ll find him again.”

“Come on, baby.” Easton squeezed the back of her neck. “Let’s get to work. Vander will find your father.”

“What if the shooter finds him first? Or Rhoda? Or Antoine? One of them is behind this.”

“They won’t.” Easton forced her to look at him. “Your father made this mess. He knows we’re here to help. He’s just not thinking clearly.”