Hard to Come By

Hard to Come By Read Free Page B

Book: Hard to Come By Read Free
Author: Laura Kaye
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance, Contemporary, Military
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flipped.
    So it was going to be the other Manny, then.
    The paranoid one. The nervous one. The angry one.
    In her mind’s eye, she saw herself hightailing it back to her car and getting the hell out of there. Problem was, no doubt he already knew she was home, and she didn’t want to deal with whatever drama leaving without seeing him might cause. Not to mention, this was the big brother she’d idolized her entire life. The one who’d protected her from playground bullies and taught her how to drive and had walked her down the aisle because their father was no longer around to do it. Emilie didn’t want to do anything to hurt that Manny, not after everything he’d always done for her.
    Besides, maybe you’re wrong. He could be fine. There could be a rational explanation for why he closed the shutters .
    Sure .
    She climbed the stairs, held the screen door open with her foot, and inserted the key into the lock.
    Just as she turned the knob, the door wrenched open, a hand closed around her wrist, and she was hauled into the dimness.
    She crashed into the wall behind the door—or was pushed into it—and was so surprised by the whole thing that she dropped the stack of mail and one of the bags she’d been carrying. Something shattered against the slate floor.
    Manny secured the door with a series of clicks, then whirled on her. “Did they follow you?”
    Emilie swallowed around her heart where it hammered in her throat. “Did who follow me?” she asked, ice trickling down her spine. Definitely not her Manny.
    He stepped closer until he towered over her, hislonger-than-usual dark waves hanging messily over his forehead and casting shadows over dark, disturbed eyes. His whole face frowned and he shook his head. “Anyone. Did anyone follow you?”
    The pain in her chest was her heart breaking. “No one followed me, Manny. Why would they?” Needing a break from the intensity of his gaze, she looked down to where his hand remained manacled to her wrist. “Please let me go. You’re hurting me.”
    His fingers were off her skin in an instant, proof that her protective brother was still in there somewhere. He retreated from her, shifting his feet and raking at his hair, agitation rolling off him in waves.
    “I’m gonna put these in the kitchen,” Emilie said, gesturing to the bags. Stepping over the mess covering the foyer floor, she made her way through the normally light and airy den to the kitchen. Except for the big windows over the corner sink, Manny had darkened, one way or another, every window she passed. Emilie settled the bags on the tile counter, then grabbed the roll of paper towels.
    She turned and found Manny hovering in the darkness just outside of the kitchen, as if he was hiding from the light cast by the corner window. Long-sleeved black shirt. Black jeans. Black boots. He nearly blended into the shadows. As she passed him, Emilie gently rubbed his arm and mentally willed her brother to come back to her.
    As a sister, wishing and hoping and yearning were all she could do.
    As a clinical psychologist, she knew it to be completely futile. You couldn’t help someone who refused to be helped. Or, more aptly, someone who refused to recognize there was a problem in the first place.
    Manny followed her to the foyer and hovered over her while she collected the mail, wiped up the spilled salsa, and carried the dripping bag to the sink. With her back to him, she removed and wiped down all the other items in the bag one by one. “Who do you expect might be following me?” she asked quietly.
    Long pause. And then, “It’s me they’re after.”
    It wasn’t the first time he’d given voice to his paranoia. Worst part was, as the months had passed and Manny’s mental health deteriorated, Emilie wasn’t sure what part of what he said was in his head and likely caused by some untreated PTSD from his years in Iraq and Afghanistan, and what part might be fed by reality. Once at a holiday get-together, she’d

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