Page 101 of Unseen Danger

As soon as the assistant closed the door behind them, Branson threw Nevaeh a glance. “Well?” He started down the stone steps to the elegant driveway where they’d parked his pickup a short distance away. In case Jill didn’t want him seen in front of her house, Branson had said.

“Not sure that accomplished much.” Nevaeh kept pace beside him, something she suspected he made easier by shortening his strides. “She hates D-Chop and isn’t a very good mother, but we knew that already.”

“So she definitely has motive.” Branson walked around the truck with her. To keep talking longer? “Did you notice how she avoided directly answering several of the questions?”

Nevaeh nodded. “Like she wanted to avoid a head-on lie.” Nevaeh reached for the door handle, but Branson’s large hand beat her to it.

She glanced at him, and her pulse ratcheted up. Man, he stood awfully close. But heat instead of the cold rush of fear surged through her body this time.

He pulled open the passenger door, giving her a second to find her voice.

“You don’t have to open doors for me.” Though she had to admit, only to herself, that she didn’t mind it now or when he’d done it when they’d left PK-9 headquarters.

“Okay if I want to?” The sweetness in his question pulled her gaze up to his gentle eyes. To his teasing half-smile.

She couldn’t help the grin that curled her lips. “Whatever makes you happy.” She glanced down at Alvarez, whose tail wagged in anticipation of a ride. “Al, in.”

The rottie mix jumped onto the floor in front of her seat and then clambered into the extended cab’s back seat.

“How does he know to go in the back right away?”

Nevaeh stepped up to sit on the passenger seat. “He’s used to riding in my Chevy.”

“Oh, yeah. I saw you have a Silverado, too. Good taste.” Branson smiled as he gently closed the door.

Nevaeh couldn’t help watching him as he rounded the front of the truck and reached the driver’s side. For such a big man, he sure moved nice. A confident, easygoing stride without the cockiness of the guys she’d grown up with, their swagger trying to earn or maintain their status in the hood.

He gave her a cute little smile as he slid onto the driver’s seat. His large body seemed to fill the cab, his bulging bicep crossing halfway over the console between them just from the astounding circumference of his arm.

But the close quarters caused something very different than fear to flutter in her belly.

Branson cleared his throat as he started the engine. “Can I ask you a question?” He pulled into the center of the driveway and headed for the road.

Tension squeezed her chest. That question itself never sounded good. And there was more than one thing he could ask that she wouldn’t want to answer. “Shoot.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable, riding in the truck with me?”

A flush rushed to her cheeks. Yeah, that would definitely be on the list of things she didn’t want to answer.

“I know at first…when we first met, it seemed like I maybe made you…uneasy?” An uptick of his voice made a question of the statement.

She swallowed. “That was before.”

“Would you…” He glanced at her, his soft blue eyes touching her gently before bouncing back to the road. “Would you tell me why? Was it something I did?”

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The man had saved her life. She owed him some answers. “No. It’s me.”

“Does it have to do with your PTSD?”

She shot him a glance. But no judgment lurked in his open expression. “Yeah.”

“I hope I don’t remind you of whatever happened. I hope I’m not…”

Was he going to say a trigger? She couldn’t let him keep thinking that. Or at least not that it was his fault.

Her mouth turned dry. She took a breath. “You maybe figured from what we said at the PK-9 meeting that I used to be a correctional officer at Whitlow Heights Prison.”

He nodded.