Cell up to his ear, he spoke in staccato sentences. “Will Robinson here. Yes, that’s my name. Ask the chief. He knows me. Send a car to this address. Attempted robbery. Scared off the miscreant. Yes, I know. Send. The. Car.” He rattled off her address.
Police. That meant neighbors peeking through blinds and speculating on her behavior. She’d never contacted the police because she didn’t want such a scenario. Clothes might be useful, especially for Will. His would go in the dryer. Her obvious nipplestand would merit a bra and a less wet top too.
His bare feet made a slapping noise on the wood floor. The act of shoving his wet clothes into the dryer kept her busy, refusing to acknowledge his presence behind her. The police would be no help. The officers might get some titillation over the fact that sexy photos were involved, but wouldn’t take it seriously. Her fingers pressed his pants into a ball before flinging them hard into the dryer.
“Hey.” His comment reminded her he was behind her. “No reason to take your anger out on my clothes. The police had to be called.”
Her violent pivot sent her tumbling back against the washer. Really. Decided to call the police now. Yeah, right. Summoning up her best glacial stare, she sent it his way. He must have felt it since he shuffled backward about a foot. Yeah, she was pissed. “Whose choice was it to call the police?”
He placed an open hand against the sliver of chest the robe exposed. “I made the decision since it was my car.”
“Your car, your precious old car!” She shoved past him, jabbing him with an elbow. Childish thing to do, she knew. “I have to get dressed since the police are coming.”
Sebastian had popped out from the table, his sanctuary in times of high emotion. Her brisk walk with balled fists swinging by her side sent him scurrying back under the protective forest of wooden legs. Smart dog, smarter than most men she knew, especially since she could hear footsteps behind her.
“Tonya, wait. It’s not about the car and it's not old.” His hand landed on her shoulder.
She spun around wanting to fight and relieve the frustration from Clint’s scare tactics, her job insecurity, and the buildup to a sexual release that didn’t look like it was coming any time soon. “Okay, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer, what’s it about?”
The lines between his eyebrows relaxed as he replied. “You, it’s about you. It’s about creating a documented history of harassment. You’ll need that to get a restraining order. It’s about fighting back.”
The intenseness of his eyes faded, replaced by a tenderness that erased most of her anger, but not all. “I don’t want to fight back. It might get worse. I just want it to stop.”
“I understand.” His hand cradled her cheek. “I wish I knew some other way. As a divorce lawyer, I know this area. Occasionally, a spouse harassed my client. In a few cases, my client was the stalker. I know the ends and outs of the legal system. We have to press back.”
His profession and experience gave validity to his words. They made sense, but Clint didn’t operate on logic. “I’m afraid Clint will only up the ante.”
Will nodded. “That’s a possibility.”