C H A P T E R F O U R

As soon as I heard the crash, I sprang to my feet, the tingle of adrenaline touching my skin and fingertips.

My house had been broken into.

Though I didn't hear anything while listening, I was aware. I knew.

Even when I changed anything or my house was being fixed, The Great ML avoided it and kept moving as quietly as always, as if he could sense obstacles in the dark.

He didn't have a crash. He would never crash.

I wished I had a weapon as I grabbed for the phone. also a baseball bat I need anything to relieve my helplessness.

less isolated If an inanimate thing had the potential to cause harm, I would have welcomed its companionship.

I quickly snatched up the phone and phoned 911.

"What's the nature of your emergency?"

I muttered, "My name is Giabella Gomez.  Send someone. They're here, in the home. I live at three, three, two Magsaysay Avenue and someone has broken in. This is not a joke," she said.

I hung up the phone, set it down on the bed, and then rolled the other way, toward my snow globe. I adored that globe of snow. It was a snow globe by Rosina Wachtmeister with a cheerful cat inside, little flowers swirling around the base, and glitter dancing around the cat when you turned it over and shook it.

They might not be able to rape me if I used it to clock someone in the head.

I grabbed it and quickly raced on tiptoes to the other wall, where I leaned against it and regarded the door.

My body was alive, and I could feel every inch of it. My heart was racing so quickly that I could hear it in my ears. I was so afraid that I could not even think.

There was someone outside. Even though I couldn't hear them, I could feel them.

Footsteps in the hallway could be heard after that.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.

I made an effort to recall the police's expected response time. Even though I wasn't sure if it was the proper or incorrect figure, the number seven minutes suddenly entered my thoughts.

I lacked seven minutes. He was nearby.

I stared at my door as I climbed the wall stealthily approached it. Most of it was locked. In an effort to learn when The Great ML will arrive, I had started practicing this. I left it partially open, not completely shut.

While it didn't make a lot of noise, the door did creak.

It never squeaked thanks to The Great ML.

The first thing I saw was a dim LED lamp. Then I noticed a man's hand in the shadows, fingers extended, touching my door, and gently pushing it open.

I halted my breathing. He wouldn't want to hear me breathing, so I stopped. I wanted to make a statement if I was going to break my snow globe by hitting him over the head with it.

When I raised the snow globe, the door continued to open.

Then there were sirens.

Thank you very much, God.

The hand came to a halt, then vanished. The footsteps were quicker, and I could hear them thudding down the stairs.

Then there was silence.

Then I slipped down and hugged my joyful kitten snow globe, my back to the wall.

I was in my kitchen, looking into my living room.

My heels were on the seat of my chair, my cheek was plastered against one of my knees, my arms were tight around my calves, and my nightgown was wrapped around my legs.

I was really happy with myself for wearing my badass mocha-colored, soft-knit, short bat-sleeved caftan to bed. Caftans weren't renowned for being hot, but this one was, owing to the fact that it was clinging in all the right places. That caftan was the go-to nightgown for when your house was abruptly invaded by macho cops.

That's what I was looking at. The fact that my neighborhood was teeming with macho cops. They were roaming around my living room, looking at things and dipping spoons into a dish of chocolate chip cookie dough that I had dug out of the fridge for them.

Something I didn't hear was that my window beside the entrance had been damaged, and that a light in the living room that was hidden under a dust cover had also been desEnricoed.

Aside from that, there was no damage, and the officer who led me through the home was informed by me, an authority on the issue, that nothing was missing .

However, they did not accept my statement. Two cops turned into four, four officers turned into six, and now there were eight, and they told me I had to wait until the detective arrived.

I wasn't up on police procedure, and I couldn't say I wasn't grateful (given that I was super, double, extra, way freaked out) that they seemed to be taking this seriously enough to send a large contingent of officers to stand guard in my living room eating cookie batter and a full-fledged detective to speak with me.

However, nothing was taken, and although my caller went directly to the bedroom, and I doubted he was seeking my Wachtmeister snow globe, it appeared to be a standard break-in that the uniformed cops could handle.

So I realized something was wrong, and that something was Isabelle Gomez.

Someone appeared to have arrived and then something intriguing appeared to be happening in the living room five seconds later.

I was fixated on him.

Was this some kind of cosmic joke, really?

He was a tall man, and there was nothing "ish" about his height. He was standing at my doorway. He was simply very tall. He also had a square jaw, dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Around his neck and the collar of his leather jacket, his thick hair was slightly curled. His eyes have a soul. His jaw was firmly set. He was dressed in dark brown leather, a chocolate brown turtleneck underneath, pants, a beautiful belt, boots, and a badge hung on that belt. I was going to buy a Men of the Manila Police Department calendar the moment I woke up tomorrow since I had no doubt he was on the cover.

Why was this taking place? Why? What have I done? Three attractive males who I couldn't have for even a day. One was unsettling and the leader of a motorcycle group that could have committed a felony but was certainly antisocial, so he was excluded. One was unpleasant, enigmatic, and a jerk, so he was kicked out. And this one wasn't terrifying; he was handsome, but he was also the detective assigned to my case, which meant he was probably not authorized to associate with a victim, presumably me, and thus he was out.

I didn't remove my cheek from my knee, and he didn't look away as he came into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, twisted it around to face me, not too near, not too far away, and sat down.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, his gaze fixed on me.

"Giabella Gomez?" he inquired, his voice soft and deep.
I nodded against my knee.

"My name is Connor Magtanggol."

Detective Connor Magtanggol. Yowza. Wonderful name.

"That's an excellent name for a cop," I whispered softly, keeping my cheek close to my knee.

His brow furrowed slightly. This was not what he had anticipated. He probably expected a "Hi," "Thank you for coming," or "God, you're hot."

"It is?" he inquired.

"Connor," I said quietly. "Strong, but not harshly so; softly so.  And when you're near to someone you care about and they say something you can't hear, you don't say, 'What?' 'Mm?' you say. 'Really soft. Put that and the last one together, gentle and powerful, as a cop should be... Connor."

He fixed his gaze on me.

I just continued babbling. "And Magtanggol means protector when translated into English.  You are a savior and protector  for people in need." I took a deep breath and then said, "Perfect."

He fixed his gaze on me once again.

"Giabella sounds like a song," he said.

Uh... nice.

I so loved my name.

"A brief one," I said.

"But a lovely one," he said.

Uh...nice. I smiled at him, and Detective Connor Magtanggol returned my grin.

Yowza!

Then his neck rotated to gaze over his shoulder, his torso straightened, and he stood, still staring behind him.

My gaze was drawn there, and I kept my cheek to my knee as my heart skipped a beat.

The All-Powerful ML was standing there.