Fury bunched Cannon’s shoulders, tightened his hands and turned his voice into a snarl. “I should have killed him.”

Oh, wow. Speechless, Yvette watched the working of his jaw, the way his right eye twitched. He was even more volatile than she’d realized.

Nervously twining two fingers in the ends of her hair, she considered him, then came to a decision. If it was Heath, or for that matter any other man, she’d be worried at the level of his rage.

But this was Cannon, and no matter what, she always felt safer with him, never threatened.

She understood that his fury was on her behalf. Putting aside any errors in judgment when it came to Mindi, Yvette knew he cared for her—as he cared for everyone. She couldn’t bear seeing him like this.

There were no words to make the situation better. It required more than that.

She knew what she needed.

He was a big, bad fighter, but maybe he needed it, too.

Unhooking her seat belt, she scooted over next to him.

“What are you doing? Get your belt back on.”

“No.”

His hands tightened on the wheel, squeezing it as if to crack it in half. “Yvette,” he warned.

Hugging up to his arm, she sighed at the contact with his warm body. Rock-solid muscles flexed under her hands, more evidence of his anger. “I’m okay,” she gently told him.

When Cannon growled, “What if he’d gotten you into his car?”

She could only admit, “I don’t know.” It had scared her to death, wondering what he’d do.

They would be home in another two or three minutes. She wanted a bowl of cereal, her pj’s, Cannon and bed. Not necessarily in that order.

She put her head back against his shoulder. “He kept saying he loved me and just wanted to talk.” Needing the contact, she slipped her fingers up under the sleeve of his T-shirt, opening her palm over all that sleek, hot strength. He had the most amazing shoulders and biceps, she wanted to bite him. Lick him.

Kiss him everywhere.

Musing aloud, she said, “Maybe I should try calling him. Let him talk—”

“Hell, no.”

“Okay.” She squeezed his arm, loving the feel of him despite all that had happened.

Tomorrow she’d bring it up again and suggest they ask Margaret about it. It might be a way to bring Heath out in the open. She could even give the number to one of them to try calling from her phone.

Knowing he lurked around the area, able to spring on her again, scared her more than anything else.

It seemed so quiet, being on the road this time of night with only the occasional car going past. She idly stroked the inside of Cannon’s arm, where he was sleek and smooth and hard.

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” She was too tired for that.

“I’m not.” He shrugged her off his shoulder, but only so he could put his arm around her. “I’m mad at...a lot of shit. But not you.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, I do.” He gave her a brief warning squeeze. “We’re going to have a nice long talk.”

Stifling a groan, she asked, “Not tonight, right?”

“We’ll see.”

Which as good as meant he planned to talk tonight. Another groan tried to get out, but she swallowed it back. If he needed to talk, she’d talk. Maybe while sitting on his lap.

In her pajamas.

And maybe under those circumstances, she’d be able to avoid the conversation until morning.

A minute later he pulled into the driveway, got out to open the garage door and pulled in to park.

Holding the hem of Armie’s oversize shirt, Yvette hopped out on her own. More than anything, she wanted comfort, snuggling. Sex.

She wanted Cannon.

But if he wanted to lecture her instead, he could damn well wait, at least until she’d gotten her cereal.

* * *

CANNON WATCHED HER hustle her sexy little ass inside and knew he’d chased her away.

He struggled with his temper, knew it was useless and considered heading straight downstairs to the workout equipment in the basement.

Wouldn’t hurt for him to work off some rage before confronting her.

Mad? Hell, mad didn’t even begin to cover it. He was caught in such a gripping fury it was all he could do not to go out and find trouble. Surely someone somewhere in the neighborhood needed an old-fashioned beatdown. And if it was more than one person, that’d suit him just fine.

Right now he’d relish a brawl.

But he was respected in his self-assigned role as peacekeeper, in large part because he didn’t seek trouble.

He just took care of it when it happened.

It’d be unfair to leave Yvette wondering what he had to say, so he got out of the car. The light from his open door spilled out around the concrete floor and pegboard walls—and reflected off the open garage window.

Knowing he’d left it closed and locked, Cannon slowly got out. Something in the air alerted him; he scanned the garage, and then the window.

One pane was missing, broken out, the glass crunching underneath his feet.

Broken so an intruder could reach inside and open the lock.

He searched the interior and noticed only a few displaced items, the garbage can moved, tool drawers open as if someone had been searching.

Vigilant, he went to the window to pull it down—and thanks to a bright moon he saw the shadow move across the lawn.

Someone was still here.

Hoping it’d be Heath, needing it to be that prick, he headed outside to investigate, his stride long and hurried. He’d just passed through the garage door when more glass crashed—inside the house.