Who was he supposed to tell, since Rachel had fallen off the map? He’d already tried reaching out to officials. If he ended up locked in a loony bin, he wouldn’t be of any help to Cat.
He’d been all set to go home after breakfast, but while he was forking down French toast, he’d realized a silver sedan was casing her house. The vehicle had driven by at least three times before driving away. He’d warned her to be careful here alone, and she’d simply shrugged off his concern, insisting no one would mess with her because of all the dogs.
Her lack of concern fueled his determination to keep watch.
A movement caught his attention and he straightened in the seat, the weight of his gun in the holster familiar, comforting. A truck pulled onto the street, a black, crew cab Ford with a lone male in front.
Could just be someone dropping off or picking up a pet. Except the dude got out of the truck and—no dog. Catriona met him at the gate, no dog with her either.
Someone touring the place? Maybe. But still strange he hadn’t brought his pet along.
He profiled the guy. Military haircut. Lean but fit. Wearing what looked like some kind of festival T-shirt and running shorts. The back of his truck had a huge Gatorade dispenser.
So maybe the guy was a boyfriend. Just because he’d gotten vibes from Catriona that she was attracted to him didn’t mean squat. She could still have a boyfriend, or some guy who wanted to get to know her better.
Yeah, that fit better, because if she had a guy, there would have been signs.
Harley nudged him.
“Not now, girl.”
She head-butted him harder.
“Really, in a minute. I’m busy.”
She pawed him on the leg again and again.
“Okay, okay, you need to go out. All that water. Got it.” He turned to get her leash from the back.
And saw a silver sedan cruising down the street. Straight toward Catriona’s house. The guy riding shotgun had a shotgun. He pointed it through the open window, directly at Cat’s home.
Brandon whipped the truck into drive and nailed the gas. Tires squealing, he peeled out of the driveway, the nose of his truck aimed at the sedan.
***
Catriona’s breath whooshed from her lungs as she hit the ground. One quick gasp filled her mouth with sand.
Not all that surprising, since she’d been crushed to the ground by some guy she’d just met. A military guy named Jose James who’d said he was looking for Brandon a second before he’d body-slammed her to the gritty driveway.
Pops echoed. Like gunshots? Ohmigod, ohmigod, she gasped for breath, her chest going tighter.
A crash sounded, close, out on the road. Crunching metal and shattering glass. Then a bubble of silence.
Barking erupted in the aftermath. Dogs of all sizes charged and pawed at the fence, their frenzy deafening. Her senses went on overload trying to process so much at once.
Panic scratched at her nerves as tangibly as the sand and gravel under her cheek. Of course they were freaked out. So was she.
Desperate to see what was going on, she spit the sand out of her mouth. “What the hell are you doing? Get off me, please.”
“Hold still,” he warned against her ear.
“Really, I’m oka—”
Abruptly, he was off her as quickly as he’d flattened her.
She rolled to her back, then to her feet, and found not just the new guy but… Brandon running toward her?
Thank God he’d returned, because this stranger was seriously freaking her out. And oh God, Brandon’s truck was buried in the side of the silver sedan. There were two men in front, both sitting up and alert. Apparently unharmed. Engine revving, the car squealed into reverse, then forward, spewing smoke as it roared away.