“Come on! Gimme your purse, bitch!” The guy towers over me. I can’t make out his face since the shadows are cast over it, but he sounds young. Possibly even younger than me.

I hadn’t realized I was gripping my tiny purse so tightly. Loosening my hold, I let him take it, then watch in stunned disbelief as he tucks it under his arm like a football and takes off across the lot, rounding the corner and disappearing from view.

I’m panting, left sitting sprawled on the asphalt. Icy shock washes over me as I glance about the parking lot. My throat is dry, I can’t manage to form a single word, and I swallow hard. Trying to stand, my legs wobble and I stumble, falling down on my knees, wincing at the pain that lances through me when I make contact with the ground. I look down, see that my knees are scratched and bloody, and that’s when I find my voice.

And scream bloody freaking murder.

Within seconds Colin’s there for me first, with a few people from the restaurant surrounding me soon after. Someone, I don’t know who, calls 911. Colin has his arm around my shoulders, his face in mine, his voice a mixture of concern and cold, calm anger.

“What happened, baby?” He leans into me and whispers this in my ear, his hand smoothing over my hair in a comforting gesture. “Who did this to you?”

I press my head against his strong, solid shoulder and close my eyes for a moment, refusing to cry. I won’t let this upset me. That jackass who took my purse—and all of tonight’s tips with it—isn’t worth crying over. I’ve endured worse. Much, much worse. This is no big deal. “I was walking toward your car and this guy ran into me, pushing me onto the ground. He—he stole my purse.” My voice wavers and I sniff hard, willing the tears that threaten to disappear.

“Shit.” Colin sounds furious as he lifts his head and looks around the lot. His jaw is tight, I notice the tic in it he only gets when he’s super mad, and his eyes blaze with angry blue fire. “Anybody see him?”

“None of us were out here except for you.” Steven says this in the most antagonizing tone, one I hope Colin will ignore, but . . .

He doesn’t. Worse, he rises to the bait.

“Are you saying this is my fault, Harper?” Colin’s voice is low, full of quiet fury, and the look on Steven’s face says he definitely notices. And thankfully backs off.

The police show up quickly and question me, but I don’t have much to say. The female officer informs me that there have been a rash of robberies just like this over the last couple of months and I was lucky I didn’t get hurt worse. That a woman who was robbed a few nights ago walking across her apartment parking lot had been hit upside the head with a gun—and was still in the hospital because of her injuries.

That bit of information sends a cold ripple of fear down my spine.

Colin urges me to go to the emergency room so they can at least check me out and make sure I’m okay, but I refuse. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and go to sleep. Forget this ever happened to me.

“You need to call your bank and cancel all your credit cards,” Colin suggests on the drive home. The police had finally let us go, the female officer giving Colin a stern lecture about replacing the burnt-out lights in the parking lot and making sure the security guard he usually has on duty is actually . . . on duty.

Her chastising had pissed Colin off, not that I could blame him. He already feels responsible enough.

He always feels responsible, especially for my well-being. I wonder if he’s sick of it yet.

“I don’t have any credit cards,” I say wearily, earning a surprised glance from Colin.

“A bank card at least?” he asks. “I’m guessing the guy was looking for cash, but you never know what he might try. Credit card fraud is such a huge problem right now.”

“Yeah. I’ll call my bank in the morning to report it and get it replaced.” I close my eyes, my mind replaying over and over again the way the man rammed his big body into mine, sending me sprawling onto the ground. What would I have done if he’d actually used his hands on me, like what happened to that woman a few nights ago? Would I have fought back? Or just lain there and let him hit me?

“You really should call when we get home,” Colin continues. “Or you could borrow my cell phone and make the call right now.”

“I just . . . I can’t worry about that right now, Colin,” I whisper, wishing he would stop talking. The last thing I need right now is a lecture. And I can feel one coming on, along with a massive headache. “Please just let me sit here and be quiet for a little bit.”

“Fine,” he bites out, sounding irritated but I don’t care. He’s not the one who was just robbed. I know he’s worried about me, but I wish he would just . . . lay off for a second.

I know I should be appreciative of him going into his usual protector mode but for whatever reason, I’m beyond irritated, sick of him always running to my rescue, always trying to tell me what to do.

I’m probably being completely irrational, but seeing him yet again trying to take care of me, take over me really, only proves how badly I need to get away from him. Despite the connection we have, the amazing sex . . . it won’t last. He doesn’t stick.

And neither do I.

The rest of the quick drive home is quiet, and I escape into the house from the garage as soon as he cuts the car’s engine. I have no purse, which means the jackass who took it stole a bunch of my makeup, Colin’s house key, my cell, and my wallet. And again, I can’t help but remember how fat it had been with my night’s tips.