Page 102 of Knox

Run, Kelsey!

The memory swept through her, buckled her knees, and she pressed her hand to her chest.

Looked up at Knox. He wore such a fierceness in his countenance, as if he’d walk through fire for her—and without a doubt, she knew he would.

But trouble, disaster and danger seemed to simply follow her, and…

It wouldn’t be long before he got hurt too. That he went down fighting.

That she lost someone else who had become her entire world.

“Knox—”

“No, Kelsey.” He stepped closer, touched her shoulders. “Please, don’t leave. We can drive to Helena, but…let me protect you.”

“You can’t, Knox. You can’t—”

“Yes I can!”

Oh, she wanted to cry with the desire to just collapse into his arms. Somehow, she shook her head.

“Listen.” He took a breath, as if schooling his voice. “It’s what I do, Kelsey. You pegged it. I’m safe. I’m nice. I’m boring. I might even be an old soul. But that’s also what makes me the guy who shows up to do the hard stuff, the dirty work, the manual labor. I’m the guy who makes dinner for his wife and does the laundry and stays home with the kids while she hangs out with her girlfriends. I’m the guy who builds a house on the rock and doesn’t move when the storm hits. Godmademe to take care of you, to protect you.”

Oh, sweet Knox. Kelsey ran the palms of her hands under her eyes. “I know.”

He drew in a breath.

“I know you are,” Kelsey said again, this time quietly. “And I know you’d like to promise me that nothing will ever happen to me again, but it’s impossible. Don’t you see—crazy things happen, and…I don’t know why. Even if Russell is dead—”

“He is.”

She held up her hand. “Even if—I need to be honest.” Her eyes filled. “Meeting you, being here has been the most wonderful two weeks of my life. But clearly I’ve dragged you into something…”

He was shaking his head, something of horror on his face. “Maybe I’ve draggedyouinto something.”

What?And her question must have emerged through her frown.

“Come with me.” And in case she said no, he took her hand. Pulled her down the hall to his room. A cowboy’s room, simple, with a dresser, a king bed, a rocking chair, and—

“Oh my. Knox, what—?”

He’d opened the closet and stepped back.

She stared at the collage taped to the back wall. “What is this?”

“I…I think there is more to the San Antonio bombing than they’re telling us. And I’ve been doing some digging. I hired a private eye in San Antonio to track down these two guys.” He had a photograph and now showed it to her. “I got this from a camera in the arena. Paid the security there to pull it for me, but do you recognize this guy?”

He pointed to a man, tall, dark, gauged ears, a port-wine stain that crept up his neck.

“This isn’t a good view.”

“No, but…” He took the picture from her. “Could it be?”

“I don’t know—what is going on, Knox?”

“I think these guys were behind the bombing. And now one of them is here.” He shook his head, ran a hand behind his neck. “Maybe they’re afterme.”

He was simply being desperate, now. She kept her voice soft, hoping not to bruise him. “I don’t know, but I have to go with Glo.”